Chapter 202: Trump Card!

"I folded a paper swan, but it lacked your structural genius!"

Even Sir Lucas, the cold-blooded master assassin of the North, let out a deep sigh of relief, reaching out to gently pat the top of her head. "It is good to see you so cheerful, My Lady. The Archduke has been insufferable without your presence."

Seraphina giggled, hugging Boris’s neck. "I missed you guys too! Did you bring me any snacks? The chef uncle here is making me eat spinach!"

Standing a few yards away, hovering near the open door of the carriage and clutching a stack of registration forms, was Alistair.

The Chief Administrative Aide looked at the emotional reunion with an expression of soul-deep nausea. His flawless, porcelain face was twisted into a harsh cringe, his emerald eyes rolling so far back into his head it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

’They are the Vanguard of the North,’ Alistair’s internal monologue shrieked in despair. ’They are supposed to be the most terrifying killing machines on the continent. And they are currently weeping over a small child who smells like a milk powder and bakery. This is humiliating. If the Capital gossips see this, our intimidation factor will drop to absolute zero.’

Alistair let out a loud, incredibly dramatic sigh.

Seraphina’s acute hearing picked up the sigh instantly. She peeked over Sir Boris’s massive shoulder, her dark eyes locking onto the beautiful, blonde-haired aide.

She remembered his fussy, arrogant attitude from three days ago, and the delightful entertainment of popping his psychological balloons.

Seraphina didn’t confront him directly.

She immediately turned her head toward the dark-clad figure of Duke Kaelus, who was slowly descending the marble stairs, pulling on his black leather gloves.

Seraphina pointed a tiny, accusing finger directly at Alistair, puffed her soft cheeks out, and let her lower lip wobble with Oscar-worthy precision.

"Papa," Seraphina whimpered, pitching her voice into a tone of pathetic, wounded innocence. "The shiny Princess is making a sour face at me again. I think he is judging my dress. He makes me feel very sad."

Silence.

Every knight in the driveway stopped moving.

Sir Boris slowly turned his head toward Alistair, Sir Gallahan lowered his handkerchief, while Sir Lucas’s eyes narrowed with the quiet, predatory interest of a man who had just smelled blood.

Alistair froze.

His emerald eyes widened in absolute horror.

No.

He looked at Seraphina.

The little girl was still wrapped around Boris’s neck, her bottom lip trembling.

Her enormous dark eyes looked suspiciously moist.

No, no, no.

The temperature in the courtyard plummeted by twenty degrees. The gravel frosted over. Kaelus slowly turned his head, his glowing violet eyes locking onto his Chief Aide with a look of pure homicidal intent.

Alistair flinched, clutching his files against his chest like a shield.

Alistair knew that expression.

He had seen generals lie with less precision, negotiated with merchants who possessed less terrifying control over their facial muscles.

She’s doing it deliberately.

And then Alistair felt it.

He slowly turned his head.

Kaelus von Nacht had stopped halfway down the marble stairs.

The Archduke’s violet eyes were fixed directly on him.

There was no anger on his face.

That was somehow worse.

Alistair’s soul attempted to leave his body.

"Your Grace," he began carefully.

Kaelus continued staring.

Alistair swallowed.

"I assure you, I-I have done absolutely nothing to offend the young Lady!" Alistair stammered frantically, his pristine complexion turning the color of chalk.

Seraphina sniffled.

A tiny, pitiful sound.

Kaelus’s expression darkened.

"She says you were judging her."

"I was not!"

The denial came out much too quickly.

Seraphina’s lower lip trembled harder.

"I knew it..."

She buried her face against Boris’s enormous chest.

"The Princess doesn’t like my dress."

Boris’s face immediately twisted with righteous outrage.

"How dare you insult the Mushroom’s dress?!"

"I DIDN’T!"

Alistair’s beautiful face had gone pale. "I was merely... clearing my respiratory tract! The Capital smog is very abrasive! The Lady’s dress is aesthetically adequate!"

Sir Gallahan stepped forward, solemnly placing a hand over his heart.

"The dress is magnificent."

Sir Lucas nodded.

"It provides excellent mobility."

Boris sniffed.

"And it has pockets, too."

Seraphina peeked out from behind him.

"I like pockets."

"Exactly!" Boris thundered.

Alistair stared at the four of them.

"Why are we discussing pockets?!"

Kaelus finally descended the remaining steps.

His boots struck the marble one after another.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Alistair’s survival instincts screamed.

He immediately straightened his posture.

"Your Grace, allow me to clarify. I was merely concerned that the navy dress might attract attention because of its quality. My comment was administrative, not personal."

Seraphina blinked.

"Oh."

Her expression brightened.

"So you weren’t calling my dress ugly?"

"No!"

Alistair nearly shouted the answer.

Seraphina smiled.

"Then you’re not a shiny Princess."

Alistair froze.

"What?"

"You said my dress was pretty."

"I said it was... adequately inconspicuous."

"So you’re not judging me?"

"No."

"You’re not making a sour face at me?"

"I was concentrating."

"So you’re not angry?"

"No."

Seraphina nodded solemnly.

"Okay."

Alistair exhaled.

The crisis was over.

Then Seraphina added cheerfully:

"But you still look like a shiny Princess."

The entire driveway exploded.

Boris’s shoulders began shaking.

Gallahan covered his mouth.

Even Lucas’s lips twitched.

Alistair stared at the child in utter disbelief.

Kaelus remained completely expressionless.

Then—

A faint sound escaped him.

"Hmph."

It took Alistair several seconds to realize the terrifying Archduke had just suppressed a laugh.

"Alistair," Kaelus rumbled, his voice a harmless threat.

"If you cause my daughter distress on the day of her registration, I will personally throw you into the estate’s reflection pool and deduct the cleaning costs from your salary. Manage your facial expressions."

"Yes, Your Grace," Alistair choked out, forcing his beautiful face into a rigid, paralyzed mask of terror. His emerald eyes narrowed.

They are all against me.

Seraphina smiled innocently, and buried her face in Boris’s shoulder to hide her wicked, triumphant smirk.

Tattling to the Reaper was the ultimate, undisputed trump card!