Chapter 209: Invitation

"No, no, no!" Seraphina scolded, crossing her arms and tapping her small foot. "That’s not how a mom talks! You have to sound sweet! You have to sound like Auntie Lysa! Try it again, and this time, use a high voice!"

Alistair closed his eyes.

A single thought echoed in his brilliant, scholarly mind: ’If this torture continues any longer, I am going to throw myself off the highest balcony of this estate.’

"There, there, Lord Fluffington," Alistair tried again, forcing his voice into a painful, strained, mocking falsetto that sounded hilarious. "Mommy is here! Have some tea! The economic recession is temporary, but a mother’s love is eternal!"

Seraphina burst into a fit of bright, bubbly, uncontainable giggles, clapping her hands in delight. "Yes! That’s it! You are a very good Madam Sparkles!"

From behind the desk, Kaelus let out a low, dark chuckle.

"You know, Alistair," Kaelus mused, swirling a glass of dark wine in his hand, a wickedly sadistic glint in his eye. "Seraphina does lack a maternal figure. And given how naturally you have taken to the role of Madam Sparkles, perhaps I should consider making the arrangement permanent."

Alistair froze, the tiny pink teacup slipping from his fingers to clatter against the saucer.

"I am... I beg your pardon, Your Grace?" Alistair stammered, horrified.

"If she ever truly needs a mother," Kaelus drawled, taking a slow sip of his wine, "I might just have to marry you, Alistair. You already manage my finances, you organize my schedule, and you complain exactly like a dissatisfied, high-maintenance spouse. Putting a ring on your finger would simply be a formality at this point."

Alistair’s face cycled rapidly through a spectrum of colors, from pale white, to furious red, to a sickly, nauseous green.

"I would rather drink poison," Alistair hissed, completely forgetting his station in the face of the ultimate insult. "I would rather throw myself into a volcano! I am not your spouse! I am not a mother! I am an intellectual asset!"

"You are currently a princess with twelve pigtails and a unicorn on your cheek," Kaelus corrected flawlessly, gesturing to Alistair’s face. "Know your place, Madam Sparkles. Go ahead, and pour the tea."

Seraphina was laughing so hard she fell backward onto the plush cushions, clutching her stomach.

Her mind found the banter between the terrifying warlord and the fussy scholar to be the absolute pinnacle of domestic comedy.

They were like an old, bickering married couple, comfortable in their strange, toxic, yet highly efficient dynamic.

As Alistair aggressively, resentfully poured more imaginary tea for the stuffed bear, plotting his own resignation letter in his head, the heavy oak doors of the study opened once more.

Stepping into the room with his usual, rigid, silent military precision was Sebastian.

The Head Butler carried a silver salver in his left hand. Resting upon the polished metal were two sealed envelopes.

Sebastian stopped just inside the doorway.

His single pale blue eye swept the room.

He saw the Archduke sitting at his desk, swirling wine and looking incredibly smug. He saw the tiny Sovereign rolling on the floor in a fit of giggles.

And then, his gaze locked onto the Chief Administrative Aide.

Sebastian stared at Alistair.

Alistair stared back at him.

He stared at the neon-orange and lime-green pigtails, the shimmering holographic unicorn, the starry freckles, and the strawberry-smeared lips.

He stared at the tiny pink plastic teacup pinched between the scholar’s elegant fingers.

The room fell silent, save for Seraphina’s fading giggles.

For ten long seconds, Sebastian did not speak.

The veteran knight, a man who had faced down charging armored trolls without blinking, simply stared at the Chief Aide.

Alistair sat frozen on the floor, his dignity utterly annihilated.

He closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate.

"Chief Aide," Sebastian’s gravelly, rumbling voice finally broke the silence. The butler’s scarred face remained an impenetrable, stone-cold mask of absolute professionalism, but an almost imperceptible twitch occurred at the corner of his mouth. "Your... tactical camouflage is highly innovative. I imagine the enemy would be completely paralyzed by confusion."

Alistair let out a pathetic, muffled sob, burying his face in his hands. "Just kill me, Sebastian. Draw your blade and end my suffering."

"I am afraid I cannot, sir. You have not yet finalized the payroll," Sebastian deadpanned flawlessly.

Sebastian turned his attention to the Archduke, marching briskly toward the mahogany desk.

He set the silver salver down precisely in front of Kaelus.

"There are some Incoming correspondence, Your Grace," Sebastian reported, his tone shifting into business. "Two missives. One arrived via the official Imperial couriers. The other was delivered by a private rider."

Kaelus set his wine glass down.

The smug amusement vanished from his face, instantly replaced by the cold, calculating mask of the politician.

He reached for the first envelope.

It was forged from thick, cream-colored vellum, sealed with a massive dollop of crimson wax bearing the intricate, unmistakable crest of the Golden Sun, the seal of the Emperor.

"Ah," Kaelus murmured, a dark, cynical sneer twisting his lips as he broke the wax seal. "The inevitable summons. The Palace is finally making its move."

Seraphina sat up, instantly abandoning her tea party, her instincts snapping to attention.

She watched Kaelus unfold the heavy parchment, scanning the elegant, flowing calligraphy.

"What does it say, Papa?" Seraphina asked, crawling closer.

"It is a formal invitation, Mushroom," Kaelus sighed, tossing the letter onto the desk with a gesture of profound disdain. "The Emperor is hosting a grand banquet at the Palace this coming weekend. Ostensibly, it is a ’celebration’ in honor of my victorious return from the Southern audit and the successful eradication of the Ashen Forest anomaly."

"That sounds nice!" Seraphina offered, playing the naive child. "Will there be cake?"

"There will be cake laced with venom," Kaelus scoffed. "It is not a celebration, Seraphina. It is a trap. The Emperor could not keep me contained in the committee meetings, so he is dragging me into the social arena."