Chapter 92: Is It Too Hot?

"Then we must demonstrate it," Lucas declared, a glint appearing in his scarred eyes. "We must wage a campaign of indulgence. We will not merely spoil her; we will force her to demand more! We will show her that the entire Bastion exists solely to cater to her most ridiculous whims!"

Kaelus straightened up, his mind latching onto the plan with the fervor of a starving man.

If there was one thing Duke Kaelus von Nacht understood, it was holding a relentless campaign.

"Gather the Vanguard," Kaelus commanded, his voice ringing with renewed, lethal determination. "Operation: Throwing Tantrum commences immediately."

****

The problem with trying to teach a reincarnated, twenty-something cynical artist how to act like a spoiled six-year-old was that Seraphina was blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare being waged around her.

From Seraphina’s perspective, her behavior was entirely logical.

She was living in a fortress owned by a corrupt industrialist.

Drusilla was an annoying, loud, walking biological hazard covered in parasitic gremlins that fed on negative energy.

Engaging in a screaming match with Drusilla was not only exhausting for an adult mind, but it also actively strengthened the dark curses clinging to the girl.

Why would she fight over wooden blocks?

The blocks were asymmetrical and poorly sanded.

The book on magic was far more interesting; it had detailed diagrams of blast furnaces that she found vaguely soothing.

She was perfectly content.

She was staying out of trouble, staying in the shadows, and waiting for Kaelus to finish his boring ledgers so they could get back on the road.

That evening, the grand dining hall served as the stage for the climax of Kaelus’s fatherly envy.

Dinner was, once again, a heavy affair to handle.

The obsidian table groaned under the weight of roasted meats and thick gravies.

Kaelus was seated at his usual spot, meticulously inspecting a piece of roasted fowl before placing it on Seraphina’s plate.

Down at the other end of the table, the daily, ear-splitting ritual of Lady Drusilla’s existence began.

A terrified servant, shaking so badly the silver tray rattled, placed a bowl of thick, creamy mushroom soup in front of the eight-year-old heiress.

Drusilla picked up her gold spoon, dipped it into the soup, and touched it to her lips.

For one second, the room was silent.

And then, Drusilla inhaled a deep breath and unleashed a shriek that threatened to shatter the stained-glass windows.

"IT’S TOO HOOOOOT!" Drusilla wailed, slamming her spoon down so hard it bounced off the table. She shoved the bowl away, sending a wave of hot soup sloshing over the edge, narrowly missing the servant’s hand. "You burned my tongue! You stupid, clumsy idiot! I hate mushrooms! I told you I wanted the sweet corn broth! Papa! He is trying to kill me!"

Duke Reginald Voran, who had been loudly chewing on a piece of mutton, dropped his food instantly.

He didn’t scold her or tell her to be quiet.

He panicked.

"My ruby! My precious jewel! Show me your tongue! Did he burn you?!" Voran scrambled out of his massive iron chair, rushing over to his daughter. He turned a furious, bloodshot glare onto the terrified servant. "You incompetent fool! How dare you serve soup above the normal temperature! Guards! Take this man to the lower mines! Let him sweat in the deep shafts for a month to learn temperature control!"

"Mercy, My Lord! Please!" the servant sobbed as two armored mercenaries dragged him out of the hall.

Drusilla was not appeased.

She crossed her arms, her face a mottled, furious red, tears of pure rage leaking from her eyes. "I am starving! My tongue hurts! The dinner is ruined! Everything is terrible! I want a new pony! A white one! With pink ribbons!"

"Of course, my sweet! Of course!" Voran sweated, aggressively patting her hair. "I will send a rider to the Southern breeders tonight! You shall have a white pony! Two white ponies! Whatever you desire! Just please, cease your weeping!"

It was a display of spoiled parenting.

It was the definition of creating a monster, and a "bad" example for Duke Nacht.

But across the table, Duke Kaelus von Nacht was not looking at Voran with disgust.

He was looking at Voran with profound, soul-crushing envy.

Kaelus stared at the sweating, panicked Duke.

He watched Voran desperately promise ponies to soothe his daughter’s non-existence pain.

He saw the way Drusilla commanded her father’s entire universe with a single, unreasonable shriek.

’Look at him,’ Kaelus’s internal monologue wept, his violet eyes burning with absolute jealousy. ’He is a corrupt, pathetic pig. Yet his daughter feels entirely comfortable demanding equines over soup temperature. She knows her father will bend the world to her whim. She relies on him completely.’

Kaelus slowly turned his head to look at Seraphina.

Seraphina was sitting perfectly still.

She had paused her chewing during the screaming match, waiting politely for the noise to subside.

When Drusilla stopped screaming, Seraphina calmly picked up her napkin, dabbed the corners of her mouth, and took a small, quiet sip of water.

She didn’t demand a pony.

She didn’t complain about the temperature of her chicken.

Kaelus felt a piece of his soul break off and crumble into dust.

"Seraphina," Kaelus said, his voice strained.

Seraphina looked up, blinking her large, dark eyes. "Yes, Papa Duke?"

Kaelus leaned forward, placing his massive hands flat on the obsidian table. "Is your chicken... too hot?"

Seraphina looked down at the perfectly cubed, meticulously inspected pieces of fowl on her plate. "No. It’s perfect. Papa blew on it earlier and went phewww....! I can eat it happily!"

Kaelus ground his teeth together. "Are you certain? Is it perhaps... too dry? Too seasoned? Does it offend your palate in any conceivable way?"

Seraphina tilted her head, thoroughly confused by the intense interrogation.

She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "It tastes like chicken, Papa. It’s good."

"Throw it off," Kaelus ordered softly.

Seraphina froze. "...What?"

"Pick up the plate," Kaelus commanded, his violet eyes glowing.