Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

”And throw it onto the floor. Shriek. Tell me it is garbage. Tell me you desire a... a hippogriff. Demand that I fetch you a mythical beast immediately.”

Seraphina stared at him.

She looked at the plate.

She looked back at Kaelus.

Her mind tried to understand the Reaper of the North.

’Is this a test? Is he testing my manners? Did the smog finally melt his brain? Why is he actively encouraging me to act like the soot-gremlin across the table?’

”But... the plate is nice,” Seraphina reasoned cautiously, trying to navigate the minefield. ”And if I throw it, it will break. And then the maid will have to clean it up. The maids here look very tired, Papa. I don’t want to make them sweep up chicken.”

It was the most mature, responsible answer a child could give.

It was a devastating, critical failure for Kaelus.

The Archduke slumped back in his chair, utterly defeated.

His massive shoulders dropped.

He looked like a general who had just watched his entire army surrender to a flock of sheep.

”You are too good,” Kaelus whispered, burying his face in his hand, his voice laced with pure fatherly depression. ”You are entirely too good for this world, and I am failing you.”

Seraphina watched him, her heart aching slightly.

She didn’t understand why being good was making him so sad.

She reached over and gently patted his heavily armored forearm.

”I don’t need a hippowgiff, Papa,” she consoled him softly. ”I have you. You’re much scarier than a hippowgiff.”

Behind them, Sir Gallahan let out a soft, muffled sob of pure emotion, hastily wiping his eyes with his pristine white cape.

***

The next morning, the Black Bastion launched their counter-offensive.

If Seraphina would not demand things on her own, they would force her into a state of indulgence until her natural, childish greed was finally unlocked.

Seraphina was sitting in the guest annex parlor, quietly folding a piece of silver parchment into an intricate, multi-layered lotus flower intended for Sir Boris, who had requested one to put on his war hammer.

Suddenly, the double doors to the parlor burst open.

Sir Lucas marched into the room, followed by four junior knights.

They were not carrying weapons.

They were carrying comically large wooden crates.

”Make way! Secure the perimeter!” Lucas barked, directing the knights.

They slammed the crates down onto the expensive rugs.

Lucas grabbed a crowbar and violently popped the lids off.

A veritable avalanche of absolute, high-end, luxury nonsense spilled onto the floor.

There were dolls dressed in authentic, spun-gold silk gowns.

There were intricate, clockwork trains that puffed real, magically scented steam.

There were massive, incredibly soft plush bears imported from the Eastern Empires, nearly twice the size of Seraphina.

There were puzzle boxes made of solid mythril and ivory.

”What... what is all this?” Seraphina asked, dropping her paper lotus, her eyes wide as a tidal wave of toys flooded the room.

Duke Kaelus stepped into the parlor, his dark coat sweeping behind him.

He looked at the mountain of toys, then looked at Seraphina, his expression a mask of fierce, unyielding determination.

”You are a growing child,” Kaelus announced, his voice booming with authority. ”It has come to my attention that your personal inventory is severely lacking in recreational assets. I have requisitioned the entire stock of Iron-forge’s finest merchants.”

Seraphina stared at the pile.

It was literally thousands of gold pieces worth of toys.

It was enough to fund a small army.

”Papa,” Seraphina said slowly, overwhelmed. ”This is... this is too much. I can’t play with all of these. I only have two hands.”

”Then you shall throw the excess out the window,” Kaelus countered flawlessly, stepping forward. He reached into the pile, grabbed an expensive, porcelain-faced doll wearing a diamond tiara, and shoved it toward her. ”Take this. If you do not like its face, rip its head off. Command me to buy you a better one.”

Seraphina took the doll.

She looked at its beautifully painted face.

She looked at the real diamonds.

Her poverty-stricken past life screamed in agony at the thought of destroying something so valuable.

’Do you know how much rent this doll could pay?! I could buy a house with this tiara! I am not ripping its head off!’

”She’s very pretty,” Seraphina said diplomatically, gently placing the doll onto the sofa next to her. ”I will name her Beatrice. I think she wants to sit here and watch me fold paper.”

Kaelus’s eye twitched.

”She is not a spectator, Seraphina,” Kaelus urged, his voice bordering on frantic. ”She is just a property! She is yours to destroy! Demand a tea set! Demand a solid gold carriage for her! Act unreasonably!”

Seraphina looked at Kaelus.

She looked at Lucas, who was nodding encouragingly, miming a throwing motion with his hands.

She finally realized what was happening.

’Oh my god,’ Seraphina thought, a hilarious revelation washing over her. ’They are trying to teach me how to throw a tantrum. They think I’m traumatized because I don’t scream at the servants. So they want me to be a brat?’

It was the most backward, absurd, fiercely loving thing she had ever experienced.

They were so terrified that her maturity was a trauma response that they were actively trying to ruin her manners.

A wicked, brilliant, and manipulative idea blossomed in Seraphina’s mind.

If they wanted a spoiled brat, she could give them a spoiled brat.

But she was going to do it in the most Northern way possible.

Seraphina stood up from the sofa.

She looked at the mountain of toys.

She looked at the porcelain doll.

And then, slowly, she let her face fall into an expression of apathy.

”You are right, Papa,” Seraphina said, her voice dropping to a flat, deadpan tone that was a mimicry of Kaelus’s own voice. ”These toys are inadequate. They are structurally weak and lack value, even if they are so expensive.”

Kaelus froze.

Lucas gasped.