Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

She moved her Bishop.

”Checkmate. Again.”

Outside the drawing room doors, Sir Gallahan and Sir Boris were silently weeping with joy, passing gold coins back and forth.

Kaelus sat back in his chair, staring at the ruined obsidian army.

He wasn’t angry. He was completely, utterly captivated.

The terrifying brilliance of her mind was the greatest puzzle he had ever encountered.

The pain of the letter, the dread of his siblings, it was all eclipsed by the burning, obsessive need to figure out how this six-year-old kept trapping his Queen.

”Reset the board,” Kaelus ordered, his eyes glowing with manic, competitive zeal. ”I have discovered a flaw in your left flank. I will shatter you this time.”

”You can try, hedgehog,” Seraphina grinned, happily setting her white pieces back into place.

She was having the time of her life.

She was eating her body weight in premium desserts, successfully came in term temporarily with the fussy scholar, and was bonding with the most terrifying man in the world over mutual, bloodthirsty board games.

***

Later that evening, after a luxurious bath and a thoroughly exhausting day of dominating the Archduke, Seraphina was sitting in her nightgown on the velvet stool in front of the vanity mirror in her bedroom.

The heavy oak door opened.

Duke Kaelus von Nacht stepped into the room.

He was not carrying a sword or any military dispatch.

He was carrying a silver tray laden with an array of delicate, soft-bristled hairbrushes, jars of scented oils, and a vast, colorful collection of silk ribbons.

He looked incredibly serious aas he approached the vanity with the grim, intense focus of a man approaching a live bomb that needed defusing.

”Papa?” Seraphina asked, blinking at him in the mirror.

”I have been informed,” Kaelus began, his deep voice taking on a formal, almost academic tone, ”that a proper guardian of a young lady must possess an understanding of personal grooming and aesthetic maintenance. Sir Gallahan’s braids are acceptable, but they lack the structural integrity required for long-term wear. I have procured instructional manuals for them too, and....”

Seraphina stared at him.

The terrifying Reaper of the North, the man who slaughtered demons, had spent his afternoon reading books on how to do little girls’ hair.

He set the tray down on the vanity.

He stood behind her, looking at her messy, tangled dark hair in the mirror. He reached out with his large, black-gloved hands, hesitating for a moment before gently, carefully taking a soft brush.

He began to brush her hair.

He treated the task with all seriousness. He sectioned the hair perfectly, applied the oil to untangle her hair with accuracy.

He moved the brush with slow, measured strokes, ensuring he didn’t pull a single strand too hard, his face a mask of terrifying concentration.

”I practiced on the training dummies in the armory,” Kaelus confessed quietly, his violet eyes completely focused on his work. ”The straw was highly uncooperative. I also attempted a basic French braid on Alistair while he was distracted by his ledgers. He was... displeased. But the weave was flawless.”

Seraphina slapped a hand over her mouth, suppressing a loud, bubbling giggle at the mental image of Kaelus braiding the screaming scholar’s hair.

”You are doing very well, Papa,” Seraphina smiled softly, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

Kaelus began to weave the three strands of hair together.

His calloused fingers moved surprisingly fast, executing the braid with tight, symmetrical perfection. He tied it off with a crimson silk ribbon, adjusting the bow until the loops were identical.

He stepped back, analyzing his work.

”It is structurally sound,” Kaelus declared proudly, wiping a non-existent bead of sweat from his brow. ”It will withstand heavy winds and evasive maneuvers.”

He reached back to the tray, picking up a tiny, delicate jar of soft, pale pink blush and a small brush.

”And now,” Kaelus said, his expression turning grave. ”The manual suggested a ’light dusting on the apples of the cheeks’ to project health and vitality.”

He leaned down, holding the tiny brush like a scalpel.

He dabbed it into the pink powder, tapped off the excess as the book instructed, and very, very gently brushed it across her soft cheeks.

He stepped back again, analyzing her face in the mirror.

The blush was slightly uneven.

One cheek was noticeably pinker than the other. It looked a bit like she had been lightly slapped by a fairy.

Kaelus frowned, his eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. ”The pigmentation distribution is asymmetrical. I can’t believe I failed in such a simple task. No, I must wipe it off and do it again.”

”No, Papa, it’s perfect as it is,” Seraphina laughed, turning around on the stool and throwing her arms around his waist.

She hugged him tightly, pressing her pink-dusted cheek against his dark linen shirt.

Her heart swelled with a deep wave of pure happiness.

He was a warlord. He was a killer, a man drowning in trauma, blood, and political enemies.

And yet, he had spent his evening practicing braids on training dummies and reading makeup tutorials just so he could be the mother she didn’t have. He was trying so incredibly hard. He was giving her everything he had, expecting nothing but her safety in return.

’I am so lucky,’ Seraphina thought, closing her eyes, feeling incredibly, deeply blessed to have found this terrifying, loving, ridiculous man.

Kaelus wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head, letting out a long, contented sigh.

The fears of the Capital, the dread of his siblings, the stress of the Emperor, it all vanished in the quiet warmth of the bedroom.

”You are beautiful, my little Mushroom,” Kaelus whispered into her hair. ”And tomorrow, we shall conquer Alistair’s curriculum again. Together.”

”Together,” Seraphina agreed, smiling into his shirt.

The Sovereign of the North had her army of ducks, her genius intellect, and the absolute, unwavering devotion of a father who knew how to French-braid.

The Capital didn’t stand a chance.