Chapter 94: Torn

Seraphina reached out, grabbed the diamond-tiara-wearing doll by its delicate, spun-gold dress, and casually, mercilessly tossed it over her shoulder.

It hit the wall with a loud SMASH, the porcelain face shattering into a dozen pieces.

"Beatrice is weak," Seraphina declared coldly, not even looking back at the carnage.

Sir Gallahan, who had just entered the room, clutched his heart, a tear of pure joy forming in his eye. ’She destroyed it. The emotional repression is lifting! Go on, My Lady! Break more! Break at least a dozen... no, a hundred more things! I’m here to cheer for you!’

Seraphina turned to Kaelus, crossing her small arms, her dark eyes flashing with arrogance.

"I do not want dolls," Seraphina demanded, raising her chin. "I do not want clockwork trains. I am the heir to the Sovereign of the North. What I want is weapons and artifacts!"

Kaelus’s breath hitched.

His violet eyes widened.

"I want a dagger," Seraphina continued, stepping closer, poking a tiny finger directly into the center of Kaelus’s chest. "A real one, made of mithril, with a ruby in the hilt. And I want Sir Boris to teach me how to crush kneecaps. And if you say no, I am going to hold my breath until I turn blue and pass out on your expensive carpet!"

The room plunged into a stunned silence.

The junior knights looked at each other in terror.

A six-year-old was demanding bladed weapons and threatening self-asphyxiation.

It was a textbook model, dominating tantrum.

Kaelus stared down at her.

He looked at her fierce, demanding scowl.

He heard the utterly unreasonable, dangerous demands.

The weight of fatherly depression that had plagued him for days vanished.

It evaporated into the hot, smoggy air, replaced by pride.

She was finally demanding things.

She was threatening him and acting like an arrogant, spoiled, unreasonable tyrant.

She was perfect.

"Sir Lucas!" Kaelus roared, a terrifying, ecstatic grin splitting his face, his violet eyes blazing with joy.

"Yes, Your Grace!" Lucas barked, vibrating with excitement.

"Send a rider to the Bastion immediately! Inform the Master Smith to halt all military production! I want a custom, perfectly balanced, lightweight mythril dagger forged by sundown tomorrow! Line the hilt with blood-rubies!"

"It shall be done at once!" Lucas cheered, practically sprinting out of the room.

Kaelus dropped to one knee, wrapping his arms around Seraphina and lifting her into the air.

"You are a true daughter of the North," Kaelus praised her, his voice thick with genuine, overwhelming affection, completely ignoring the shattered porcelain doll on the floor. "You shall have your daggers. You shall have the finest arsenal in the Empire. Ask for a broadsword next! Demand a siege engine! The Bastion is yours to command!"

Seraphina giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

’Parenting is so weird,’ she thought happily, watching Gallahan sweep the broken doll into the fireplace with a look of satisfaction. ’But if being a brat gets me custom mythril daggers and a happy hedgehog... I can definitely work with this.’

The true test of Seraphina’s newly unlocked ’spoiled’ persona occurred the very next afternoon, in the grand courtyard of the Iron Forge.

The Black Bastion was preparing for their final departure.

The audit was complete, the ledgers had been thoroughly terrifyingly inspected, and Kaelus was eager to leave the suffocating heat of Voran’s territory.

Seraphina was standing near the carriage, holding a beautifully folded, complex paper origami dragon.

She had spent two hours crafting it, using the very last piece of expensive, silver-threaded parchment Kaelus had given her.

It was her masterpiece.

As she waited for Kaelus to finish his final, threatening conversation with Duke Voran near the gates, a shadow fell over her.

"What is that?"

Seraphina turned.

Standing a few feet away, flanked by two nervous-looking nannies, was Lady Drusilla.

The eight-year-old heiress looked just as angry and sweaty as usual.

The three parasitic soot-gremlins were still clinging to her shoulders, pulsating with negative energy.

Drusilla glared at the paper dragon in Seraphina’s hands, her eyes narrowing with intense jealousy.

"It’s a dragon," Seraphina said simply, holding it close to her chest.

"It’s just paper," Drusilla sneered, stepping closer. She pointed a heavy, ringed finger at it. "It looks stupid. But I want it. Give it to me. Papa says everything in this courtyard belongs to me."

A few days ago, Seraphina would have analyzed the situation, recognized the pointlessness of fighting an eight-year-old over folded paper, and handed it over to avoid the headache.

But not today.

Today, she had a reputation to uphold.

She was the heir of the Sovereign of the North.

She had a custom mythril dagger being forged for her.

She was supposed to be a brat.

"No," Seraphina said, her voice flat, staring directly into Drusilla’s eyes.

Drusilla gasped, genuinely shocked.

No one had ever said ’no’ to her in her own courtyard.

Her face immediately flushed a violent red.

"Give it to me!" Drusilla shrieked, lunging forward.

She reached out with her pudgy hands and aggressively snatched the paper dragon from Seraphina’s grip.

Because the paper was delicate, and Drusilla’s grip was violently clumsy, the inevitable happened.

Riiiiiip.

The intricate, beautiful silver dragon tore perfectly in half.

One wing remained in Seraphina’s hand; the rest of the crumpled body fell to the iron cobblestones.

The courtyard went dead silent.

The knights of the Black Bastion stopped moving.

Sir Boris, who was loading a crate, slowly turned his head.

Sir Lucas rested his hand on his sword.

Near the gates, Duke Kaelus stopped speaking mid-sentence.

He slowly turned around.

He saw the torn paper on the ground.

He saw the orange-haired brat standing over his daughter.

The air in the courtyard instantly crystallized.

The heat of the forge was obliterated by fury.

Kaelus began to walk toward the girls, his violet eyes glowing with a lethal light.

Duke Voran, realizing his daughter had just signed their death warrants, scrambled after him, sweating profusely.