Chapter 246: Outsider

But the geopolitical mystery of the Nacht family drama would have to wait.

Right now, her father was suffocating.

Duke Kaelus von Nacht was standing behind his desk. The terrifying Reaper of the North looked as though he had been struck by lightning.

His face was drained of color, his violet eyes wide, haunted, and completely paralyzed by the ghosts of his past. He wasn’t looking at the Uncle.

He was staring at Elara and Caspian, his chest rising and falling in shallow, frantic breaths, trapped in the emotional ice of fifteen years ago.

He was drowning.

Seraphina didn’t care about the siblings’ secret sorrow right now.

She didn’t care about the Uncle’s greed.

Her primary directive was the emotional preservation of her grumpy hedgehog.

She had to maintain her swag, break the tension, and remind Kaelus exactly who he was, and more importantly, who she was.

***

Seraphina ignored the gaping, sputtering Uncle.

She ignored the flinching siblings.

She marched across the room, her tiny leather boots clicking sharply against the polished floorboards as she radiated unapologetic, and arrogant ownership of the space.

She reached the mahogany desk. She didn’t ask to be picked up or offer a sweet, comforting hug.

She grabbed the heavy leather belt cinched around Kaelus’s waist. She hauled her right foot up, planting her small boot directly onto the Archduke’s kneecap.

Using his armor as a literal jungle gym, she scaled the warlord with practiced, monkey-like agility.

Kaelus blinked, jolted out of his trauma-spiral by the sudden, aggressive climbing maneuver.

Seraphina reached his chest, grabbed his velvet lapels, and swung herself around, dropping heavily into his lap with a solid, authoritative thud.

She didn’t cuddle into his chest.

She sat up straight, leaning her back against his chest. She crossed her tiny arms tightly over her chest, then tilted her chin up at an exact, forty-five-degree angle of pure aristocratic disdain.

She narrowed her dark eyes, channeling every single ounce of her father’s signature, terrifying, arrogant glare, and aimed it squarely at the Uncle.

She looked like a miniature, highly judgmental, incredibly lethal copy of the Reaper.

The psychological effect on the room was instantaneous and catastrophic.

Kaelus von Nacht stared down at the top of his daughter’s head. He felt the warm weight of her sitting on his lap. He saw her mimicking his exact posture of absolute authority.

The icy, suffocating paralysis that had gripped his heart shattered into a million pieces.

The ghost of the frightened, abandoned seventeen-year-old boy was instantly banished.

He was not that boy anymore.

He was the Archduke. He was the Sovereign of the Vanguard.

And he was a father.

Kaelus took a deep, shuddering breath. The color returned to his flawless face.

The chaotic, swirling hurricane of his mana stabilized, sharpening into a cold, focused, and protective aura. He casually, smoothly wrapped his left arm around Seraphina’s waist, securing her to his lap, leaning back in his heavy leather chair.

His violet eyes, previously haunted and wide, narrowed into twin, glowing slits of malice.

The Reaper was back online.

"I apologize for the interruption, Uncle Valerius," Kaelus drawled, his deep, resonant baritone echoing with a silky, freezing mockery that made the older man flinch. "It appears the true ruler of this estate has arrived to conduct the audit. Please, continue whatever pathetic, rambling insult you were attempting to formulate."

Uncle Valerius’s plump face turned a violent, blotchy shade of purple. He stared at the six-year-old child sitting on the warlord’s lap, looking absolutely offended by her existence.

Behind the Uncle, Elara let out a tiny, soft gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

Her emerald aura flared with a sudden spike of genuine, maternal warmth as she looked at Seraphina.

Caspian’s jaw slackened, a look of bewildered respect crossing his features as he witnessed the tiny girl completely neutralize the Archduke’s legendary temper.

"Control your ward, Kaelus!" Uncle Valerius sputtered, slamming his walking stick against the carpet, his waxed mustache twitching with indignation. "This is a private, familial negotiation! It is highly inappropriate for a child to be present, let alone acting with such brazen, uncultured insolence!"

"My ward?" Kaelus’s voice dropped an octave, the temperature in the room plummeting. "She is my daughter, Count Valerius. She is the Heir to the North. Her presence is a privilege you have barely earned. Address her with respect, or I will have Sebastian throw you out of the highest window of this manor."

***

Uncle Valerius sneered, his beady eyes shifting from Kaelus to Seraphina, analyzing her with open, undisguised revulsion.

"Your daughter," Valerius scoffed, his voice dripping with condescending venom. "A charming fairy tale you have spun for the Emperor, Kaelus. But let us dispense with the political theater. We are family. We have eyes. Just look at her!"

Valerius jabbed a finger in Seraphina’s direction.

"She possesses hair the color of coal, and eyes like dirty puddles in an alleyway!" the Uncle declared triumphantly, as if he had just uncovered a massive conspiracy. "The Nacht bloodline is defined by raven hair and the violet eyes of the abyss! The Valen line is marked by fire! The Vance line is marked by wind! This child bears absolutely no physical, magical, or genetic resemblance to our noble heritage! She is nothing but a mudblood! A provincial stray you plucked from the gutter to play house!"

Seraphina didn’t flinch.

She raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow, perfectly mimicking Kaelus’s signature expression of boredom.

’Dirty puddles in an alleyway?’ Seraphina’s inner adult sighed. ’My eyes are pitch black, you rotting pumpkin. If you had an ounce of magical sensitivity, you would know I could compress your internal organs into a diamond. But please, continue digging your own grave.’

"Your point, Count Valerius?" Kaelus asked softly, his fingers tightening slightly around Seraphina’s waist, his aura beginning to frost the edges of the desk.

"My point is that, Your Execellency the Archduke, is that the Northern Vanguard cannot be inherited by a mere commoner outsider."