Chapter 45: Angry Papa

Chapter 45: Angry Papa And then—from the far end of the hallway came a thunderous, panicked yell. "PRINCESSSSSSS!!!!!" I turned my head innocently. There stood Theon. Face red. Eyes wide. Hair slightly mussed, like he had run into a wall. Twice. Maybe three times. He looked like a man who had just been accused of kissing the Emperor in front of the entire court. Papa still hadn’t moved. His arms around me were like iron. His face? Absolutely unreadable. I blinked up at him, then turned to Theon. "Huh? What happened?" The papers in Theon’s hands slipped through his fingers and scattered like sad little confessions across the floor. He looked at me like I had summoned Satan himself. "Princess," he gasped, rushing toward us like his life depended on it. "What did you just say?!" I tilted my head, blinking innocently. "Huh? What did I say?" "That... that me and His Majesty... we..." He looked like he was about to pass out. Or combust. Possibly both. "You can’t just say things like that!!" I frowned. "But... you and Papa are in love, right? Isn’t that why Papa never married?" The air went still. Deadly still. Nanny. Marella. Theon. Even Papa—everyone froze like the palace had been hit with a Medusa curse. Then— "Princess..." Nanny gasped in horror, clutching her chest like she’d just witnessed a murder. "It’s not like that!" "What?!" I furrowed, "But—but Theon and Papa are always together!" "It’s not like that, Princess!!" Theon yelled too, hands flailing as if trying to erase my words from the air. "We’re not—! That’s not—!! I SERVE HIS MAJESTY!!" I squinted at him, dead serious. "But Theon, you look at him like you’d die for him." "PRINCESS!!" Theon choked. "You can’t just say things like that!!" Huh?! Was I wrong? Why are they behaving like this? Did I misunderstand them? I blinked again, still confused. "But... I saw many times... Papa stands naked when he’s alone—" "LAVINIA!!" Papa raised his voice. I looked at him, and then he sighed like he was trying very, very hard to hold onto his last shred of dignity. "It’s not what you think." "But Papa—" I started again. "IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!!" he said, louder this time—like he was stamping a royal decree on the conversation. The hallway fell into stunned silence. Except for Marshmallow, who was licking his paw like we weren’t all in the middle of a social meltdown. Papa exhaled sharply and muttered, "Is that really... How do you see me?" I gave him a sympathetic look. "But Papa, loving another man isn’t a crime. You can love who you want!" "LAVINIA," he said firmly, face twitching. "Enough." I shut my mouth immediately, sensing I might be one sentence away from being grounded until I turned ten. Then, his eyes slowly slid toward Marella. "And you... stop reading those ridiculous romance novels out loud where she can hear them. If I see another one, I’ll rip them apart page by page." Marella hiccupped in fear and dropped into a bow. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty! I apologize!" I looked back at Papa. "So... you and Theon are not—?" "NO, PRINCESS, WE ARE NOT!!" Theon wailed, nearly on his knees. Then, eyes still glistening with panic, he added, "Even if I did like men, I would never fall for His Majesty!" ... Silence. Papa turned his head slowly. Very slowly. "What’s wrong with me?" he asked, voice eerily calm. Theon’s face drained of all color. "N-No! That’s not what I meant—!! I just meant—!! You’re amazing! Beautiful even! But terrifying! So terrifying! Like a majestic beast! With abs!!" A pause. Even Marshmallow stopped licking. Papa stared at him. I whispered, "So... is that a maybe?" Theon looked like he was going to faint. Honestly, if someone had handed him a fainting couch, he would’ve collapsed onto it dramatically. Papa, on the other hand, simply let out a long, weary sigh. The kind that carried the weight of an entire empire... and one overly curious toddler. It was the sigh of a man who deeply regretted every life decision that had led him to this exact hallway. "Take the princess to her chambers," he said. "Papa, wait—!" "Before she destroys any more reputations," he added, without even looking at me. Then he scooped me up and deposited me into Nanny’s arms like a cursed relic he couldn’t wait to be rid of. As I blinked up at him, he turned toward Theon and said with royal authority, "You. Come with me. We need to—" He stopped. Pissed. Annoyed. He blinked. Then he frowned. Deeply. "...Don’t show me your face for a week." Theon looked personally offended. "I wasn’t planning to! I don’t want to see your face either!" Papa didn’t even respond. He just turned and started walking away, muttering under his breath, "Looks like I need a drink..." Marella and Nanny watched him disappear down the corridor in stunned silence. Theon slumped against the wall like his soul had left his body. I watched Papa’s tall figure retreating into the distance, his steps heavy, one hand running through his hair in visible stress. Did I go too far? Maybe I really misunderstood them. "...Nanny," I tugged at her sleeve, voice soft. "Is Papa angry?" Nanny blinked down at me, her expression melting into the kind of face grown-ups make when they don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Then, with a gentle pat on my head, she said, "Don’t worry, Princess. His Majesty can’t stay angry at you for long." I hummed, quietly, but my eyes were still stuck on the hallway. He did look angry. Like very angry. The kind of angry that makes people pack their bags and flee to the neighboring kingdom. After that, Papa vanished like a ghost with a grudge. Not at afternoon lunch. Not at evening snacks. And not even in the garden, where he always walked with me—even if it was just for five minutes. I stood by the window of my nursery, hands behind my back like a tiny philosopher, watching the empty courtyard below. "Alright... I get it. Papa is very angry," I mumbled to myself, the wind gently blowing my bangs like I was the heroine in a tragic drama. But what could I do? Papa and Theon looked so close... like those best-friends-to-lovers in a BL novel. I might be a little corrupted. But whatever—as a good daughter, it’s my duty to win Papa back Marshmallow was sprawled on the floor, batting a little red ball around like he didn’t have a care in the world. I turned to him seriously. "Marshi..." I called. He meowed. "Papa is angry. We need to convince him." He tilted his head, as if to say ’And whose fault is that?’ "But what should I do? How do I convince him?" I muttered, pacing back and forth in deep toddler despair. Just then, the door opened and Nanny entered, her voice cheerful. "Snack time, Princess! Fresh cookies, sliced peaches, and warm milk—just how you like it." I turned, eyes locking onto the plate of cookies like it was the answer to life’s greatest question. And that’s when it hit me. The IdeaTM. My little hand shot into the air like a royal decree. "That’s it! Let’s bake cookies!" Nanny blinked. "Pardon?" "I need to bake apology cookies!" I declared, chest puffed out with purpose. "But Princess, I already—" Nanny started, confused. "No, Nanny!" I said firmly, face serious, heart determined. "I am going to bake cookies for Papa. Apology cookies. The strongest magic known to mankind." Marshmallow meowed in support. "I’ll make them myself," I said, fists on my hips. "With love. So Papa will forgive me." Nanny blinked and then gasped in horror. "Princess..." she said carefully, "the royal kitchens are not a playground. They have hot ovens, sharp knives, and many, many breakable things. It’s not exactly a place for a... small, enthusiastic tornado." I gasped. "Nanny, are you calling me a tornado?" "I’m calling you three years old," she said, holding up three fingers. "And your version of ’helping’ usually ends with something on fire." "I won’t set anything on fire!" I said with utmost toddler sincerity. "I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll make cookies with love and—extra sugar. Papa will forgive me. I know it." It looked like Nanny wouldn’t agree, so... Desperate measures had to be taken. Then, I clung to her skirt dramatically and looked up at her with the saddest eyes I could summon. "Nanny, please... Papa is angry. I need to apologize. Please... e.e.e.e.e.e.e.e..." Nanny looked like she was having a very intense internal battle. Finally, she sighed and muttered, "...We’ll ask the head chef for permission." She gave me a look. "And I’ll supervise everything. You are not going near the oven. I will bake them myself." "Deal!" I cried, spinning dramatically like I had just won a war. "Marshi, you’re head of taste-testing!" Marshmallow meowed like a true soldier and pounced on the tray of snacks with purpose. And just like that, Operation Cookie Peace Treaty had officially begun.