Chapter 67: Level 10 Adorabomb

Chapter 67: Level 10 Adorabomb "Bye-bye, Osric! Good luck with your training!" I called out, skipping backward dramatically like a stage actress taking her final bow. Osric chuckled and waved. "Visit often, Lavi!" "Sure~" I sang back, grinning before twirling around and dashing toward the dining hall. Lunch with Papa was waiting, and I’d already missed snack time twice this week. Tragedy. As I skipped down the corridor, humming a tune only I knew, I slowed to a halt. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone leaning casually against a pillar. "...Grand Duke Regis?" He wasn’t doing anything—just standing there with that infuriating smirk, arms folded, eyes lazily watching our direction like he was bored and done with swinging his sword at the same time. I felt a chill crawl down my back. "...Oooh~~," I shivered involuntarily. Ravick, who had trailed behind me like a dutiful shadow, leaned down slightly. "Is something the matter, Princess?" My eyes were still glued to Grand Duke Smirky-McCreepsalot, who now turned and walked away as if he hadn’t just been staring like some villain in a cloak. (He wasn’t wearing a cloak, but he had the vibe.) "I dunno," I muttered. "Just felt... a weird shiver." "Maybe she’s cold!" Marella said brightly, her crisis-response mode kicking in like I’d announced a dragon attack. "I’ll bring something warm right away!" And off she went like a meteor in a maid uniform. "Wait—no, I don’t need—" I sighed. "She’s already gone." I shook my head and kept walking toward the dining hall, hugging my arms around myself just a little. It probably was nothing. Just the usual father watching his son training. But that smirk... Ugh. It was the kind of smirk you’d see on a cat right before it knocked your teacup off the table. Why was he even looking our way like that? ...Actually, how long had he been standing there? I scrunched my nose. Nope. Not thinking about it. I had better things to do. Like lunch. *** The dining hall was buzzing—not with people, just with me, because the second I saw the dessert tray, I practically vibrated in my seat. "JELLY!" I shouted like I’d spotted a wild unicorn. The maids had barely finished setting the dishes before I launched my spoon into the air like a weapon of mass sugar consumption. I was swinging my legs under the table, back and forth, faster than a pendulum on a sugar rush. The jelly—layered in sunset colors—wobbled every time I poked it, and it made me giggle like a maniac. Chef Elowen was a genius. A jelly wizard. A gelatin goddess. I was convinced she deserved a temple. My cheeks were stuffed, my mouth full, and I was humming and chewing at the same time. Multitasking at its finest. Across the table, Papa—His Majesty, the Emperor of the Entire Empire and Probably the Universe—watched me with the face of a man who had long given up trying to look dignified in front of his daughter. He leaned over, took a napkin, and gently wiped the jelly from the corner of my mouth with all the grace of a royal butler. "I see you like this new chef’s desserts very much," he said dryly, dodging a rogue jelly bounce. I smacked the table with both hands (not hard, just enough to make the jelly jiggle again) and declared with the passion of a tiny dictator, "I LOVE THEM TOO MUCH, PAPA!" He raised an eyebrow. "Too much?" "TOO MUCH," I confirmed, arms raised like I’d just won the Sugar Olympics. "Should we be concerned? I don’t think sugar is good for your health." Gasp. My spoon clattered to the table. The jelly wobbled in horror. My soul left my body and hovered above the ceiling. "Papa," I said slowly, dramatically, like a heroine confronting her greatest tragedy, "you’re not... cancelling my daily desserts, are you?" He said nothing. He just sipped his tea like a suspicious man plotting suspicious things. "I swear," I said, pointing a jelly-covered spoon at him, "if you take away my desserts, I will go on a hunger strike. A dessert-only hunger strike!" Papa raised a brow again. "That’s... not how hunger strikes work." "I will march around the palace!" I declared. "Holding banners! Screaming slogans! ’NO CAKE, NO PEACE!’" He stared at me. Blinked once. Blinked twice. Then—snort—he chuckled. "Papa! I am serious!" I slammed my tiny palm on the table again. "Don’t test me!" He leaned forward with that lazy, amused smile of his and patted my head like I was a very loud cat demanding tribute. "Then why don’t you please me," he said, "and maybe I’ll reconsider your dessert privileges." Seriously! Who says that to his daughter!? Is he really my father or a vending machine with conditions? Fine. If that’s how we’re doing this, then I’ll weaponize the only thing I’ve got: my cuteness. "Paaaapaaa~ Pweeease~~~ Don’t cancel my desserts~~~" I batted my lashes, made my eyes shimmer like teary puppy eyes, and imagined invisible sparkly stars shooting out of me like I was a magical girl in a drama anime. He just blinked and swatted the sparkles away with one hand like they were mosquitoes. "You need to try your best, my daughter." What the heck!? Did he just deflect my Level 10 Adorabomb!? "Humph! You should be the one trying to please me, Papa," I pouted, crossing my arms with dramatic flair. "Me?" Papa asked. I nodded, still pouting. "I received numerous presents from everyone in the empire—except you!" That got his attention. Papa blinked. Once. Twice. The glimmer of realization hit him like a rogue tax report. Then he turned and waved a maid over with all the seriousness of a man preparing for war. He leaned down, whispered something to her like it was a state secret, and she nodded with military precision before gliding away. Hey. Hey!! Why is everyone whispering?! I wanna know too! Before I could crawl across the table demanding answers, Theon walked in, solemn as always, carrying a single piece of paper like it was the crown jewels. He bowed and handed it to Papa, who casually slid it across the table toward me. "Here," he said. Suspicious. Very suspicious. I picked up the paper and looked at it. My eyes squinted. My soul squinted. "...Papa," I said slowly. "Why are you giving me a map? Are you going to tutor me? Is this some new tutoring method? Do you want me to study geography first?" He leaned back in his chair with the proudest smile known to mankind. "Just point to one of the cities," he said. "I’ll give it to you." ... WHAT. My spoon dropped. The jelly shivered. I almost choked on my own heartbeat. "Papa!! I don’t need something like that!" I flailed. "What am I supposed to do with a city!?" He just tilted his head like a cat planning mischief. "I see," he said thoughtfully. Oh good, he’s listening. He finally understands I’m a normal kid who just wants dessert— "Then let’s give you an entire state." .... ..... That’s right. How could I forget that my great, glorious, slightly unhinged father is a tyrant who thinks everything should be done too extra? Other kids get cake. I get land. And that, dear diary (which I don’t have but should probably start), is how I ended up having an entire state gifted to me by Papa—just because I wanted more dessert. No negotiation. No second thought. No sanity. One second I was pouting over jelly, and the next I was the owner of some land or something. Anyway, it’s not like I mind—I mean, power is power—but still. A bit much, don’t you think? As I was gently spooning more jelly into my mouth (you know, like a responsible future ruler), a man entered the dining hall, bowed deeply, and spoke in that overly serious tone adults love to use when the situation definitely doesn’t require it. "Your Majesty, Grand Duke Regis has requested a private audience." Theon narrowed his eyes slightly. "Perhaps it’s regarding the princess’s kidnapping incident, Your Majesty." Papa’s face turned unreadable in that scary royal way. He gave a single, thoughtful nod. "I see." Then, turning just slightly to the side, he called, "Ravick." Ravick appeared like a summoned shadow—calm, composed, and completely unaffected by sudden land ownership. "Yes, Your Majesty." "Escort the princess to her chamber. I’ll return shortly." "Understood." Wait. Hold on. I blinked. "Papa!" Papa paused at the doorway, half-turning back with his usual calm expression. "Yes?" "You’re coming to sleep with me tonight, right?" He tilted his head slightly, curious. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" "No," I said casually, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just miss you." And it was true. I really miss Papa. Ever since the kidnapping incident, Papa had been too busy—meetings, reports, suspicious nobles to glare at—so he hadn’t been coming to sleep in the chamber with me. And without him, the bed just felt... too big. Too quiet. Too blanket-y. Like the pillows were plotting. Or the sheets were trying to swallow me whole. Papa blinked. Once. Twice. Then he smiled. That rare, warm, heart-melting smile that made the room feel less like a grand, echoing palace and more like home. "I will." And with that, he walked off, his cape fluttering like he was off to conquer paperwork and scold suspicious nobles in dark corridors. I leaned back in my chair, satisfied. Jelly in my belly. A state in my name. And Papa is coming to sleep beside me tonight. Honestly? Life was good. ...Which, knowing my luck, meant it wouldn’t stay that way for long.