[The Imperial Palace — Eshkaran Empire — Great Banquet Hall — Birthday Ceremony]
"You listen only to me, alright?"
Seyra spoke in a hushed voice, her tiny hands rested on her hips, and her violet eyes regarded Enlil with the utmost seriousness. She looked like a little princess preparing to entrust her most precious secret to a trusted knight.
Unfortunately, the secret in question involved a rather questionable scheme. Enlil nodded, although his brows drew together in uncertainty.
"B-but what if..."
"Shhh!" Seyra raised one little finger to her lips. "An important mission requires silence."
Enlil immediately covered his mouth. Seyra nodded approvingly.
Good...an obedient assistant.
She was beginning to appreciate this boy’s qualities before she could explain the remaining details of her plan; however, an unfamiliar voice interrupted them.
"Hey!"
Both children turned.
A boy of approximately seven stood before them, his hands planted firmly on his hips.
His fine linen tunic was embroidered with gold thread, and a jeweled clasp decorated his shoulder. Several delicate gold ornaments adorned his wrists, while his neatly combed hair suggested that someone had spent a considerable amount of time making him presentable for the imperial celebration.
Unfortunately, no amount of expensive clothing could improve the expression on his face.
He wore the smug look of someone who had never been denied anything and had consequently mistaken his privilege for superiority.
Behind a nearby bronze pillar, Master Belran Ashur watched over the rim of his golden wine cup, a faint, satisfied smile curved his lips. He had sent his son to do his dirty work.
What a clever man...or perhaps not. He had absolutely no idea what sort of trouble he had just assigned his son to.
Seyra examined the approaching boy. His puffed chest, his raised chin, and his rather unpleasant expression.
Her violet eyes remained still.
"What?"
The boy’s smirk widened.
"I heard you’re that stray cat the Azram took in out of pity."
. . .
. . .
Enlil’s expression changed, his little fingers curled into fists. "H-how dare you—"
"Quiet!" the boy snapped. "I wasn’t talking to you."
Enlil immediately fell silent, his face paled, and he lowered his head. Seyra noticed, and her eyes narrowed slightly.
’Ah...so that was the game.’
She had seen this particular manner of behavior countless times in her previous life. The arrogant little bully who borrowed his confidence from his family name and believed that insulting someone weaker made him important.
A rather pathetic species. Unfortunately, they were also remarkably common. Seyra looked at the boy again, and then her lips curved into a sweet smile.
"How rude."
The boy frowned.
"What?"
"You haven’t introduced yourself."
He lifted his chin. "I don’t have to introduce myself to you."
"Oh." Seyra nodded thoughtfully. "Then I’ll call you Little Snippy."
His expression changed.
"What?"
"Little Snippy."
"How dare you! My name is—"
"Little Snippy, it is."
The boy’s face reddened. "You insolent little—!"
He pointed an accusing finger at her.
"I came to warn you that a bastard like you has no place in this society!"
. . .
. . .
For a moment, the sounds of the banquet hall seemed to recede.
Enlil stared at the boy in disbelief. Seyra, however, remained perfectly still.
A bastard? How original. She almost wanted to applaud.
’What an arrogant, pooping little bastard. Does this child have no imagination? If you’re going to insult someone, at least put some effort into it. Even a badly written villain in a third-rate play would have better dialogue.’
She tilted her head.
"Oh."
The boy blinked as Seyra smiled sweetly. "Is that what your dung-fly father taught you to say?"
. . .
. . .
Silence.
The boy froze, his mouth opening and closing. His face turned an impressive shade of crimson.
"WAAAAAAAAH!"
His wail burst across the banquet hall. Several nobles turned in surprise. A servant carrying a silver tray of dates nearly dropped the entire offering.
The musicians stumbled over their melody; behind the bronze pillar, Master Belran’s expression changed. His golden wine cup was immediately placed upon a nearby table.
Then, with remarkable speed, he hurried towards his son.
"My son!" He swept the crying boy into his arms. "What happened? Who dared upset you?"
The boy clung to his father’s shoulder, sobbing so loudly that one might have thought the Divine Dragon itself had descended to devour him.
Seyra stared.
’...What a soap-opera entrance.’
She almost admired the dramatic performance. Belran’s gaze shifted towards her, his expression transformed into one of theatrical indignation.
"Lady Seyra." He spoke loudly enough for the surrounding nobles to hear. "What did you say to my child?"
More courtiers began gathering, a few servants stopped in their tracks, while several nobles exchanged curious glances.
Seyra looked at the boy, then at Belran.
"Little Snippy and a dung fly."
. . .
. . .
GASP!
A collective gasp swept through the gathering. One noble nearly choked on his wine. Belran’s eyes widened.
"You called my son a dung fly?"
Seyra blinked.
"No."
Belran paused, then she pointed a little finger at him. "I called YOU one."
. . .
. . .
For a moment, the entire gathering appeared to lose its ability to function. Enlil stared at Seyra; the nobles stared at Seyra. Even Belran’s son stopped crying for a brief second.
Master Belran’s face turned crimson.
"You—!"
Before he could finish, another voice thundered across the hall.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
The crowd immediately parted. Azram Vaerun strode towards them, his midnight-blue robes moved with every measured step, the silver embroidery catching the light of the golden lamps. His expression was cold, his silver eyes sweeping across the gathered nobles.
Beside him walked Emperor Malik.
The Emperor’s amber gaze moved over the scene, taking in the crying boy, the furious nobleman, and the little girl standing beside Enlil.
The surrounding nobles immediately bowed.
"Your Majesty."
"Azram."
Vaerun ignored the greetings; his gaze had already settled upon his daughter. Seyra’s face brightened.
"Papa!"
She hurried towards him, lifting both little arms. Vaerun caught her effortlessly and settled her against his chest, one hand supporting her back while the other rested securely beneath her legs. His expression remained unchanged, but his eyes had become considerably colder.
"Do I need to ask twice?" His voice was low. "I asked what is happening here."
Belran swallowed.
"A-Azram, my son—"
"I’ll tell Papa!"
Seyra interrupted. Vaerun lowered his gaze. "Go on."
Seyra immediately pointed towards the boy.
"I was playing with Enlil when that idiot came over and called me a stray cat." Her little finger moved towards the boy. "Then he said I was a bastard and didn’t belong in society."
A ripple of unease travelled through the gathering. Belran’s face lost some of its color and Seyra continued, entirely unbothered.
"So I called him Little Snippy and said his father was a dung fly." She paused, then looked up at Vaerun. "Was that wrong, Papa?"
. . .
. . .
Silence.
Vaerun looked at his daughter, and a faint movement appeared at the corner of Malik’s mouth. He raised his golden cup towards his lips, concealing his amusement.
Vaerun adjusted Seyra in his arms.
"Yes, you did wrong, Seyra."
Seyra blinked.
Behind Belran’s shoulder, the nobleman’s expression changed and a faint, triumphant smile appeared.
’I knew it...even the Azram would not openly support that stray girl.’
But Vaerun had not finished.
"You should have ordered Captain Ishtar to separate his head from his body."
. . .
. . .
Belran’s smile disappeared. Malik nearly inhaled his wine.
Seyra’s violet eyes sparkled.
’Ah...Papa is truly a man of culture.’
Vaerun finally lowered her to the floor.
"Stay beside Malik."
Seyra nodded obediently; she walked towards the Emperor and held the edge of his embroidered robe. Malik looked down at her.
"Are you all right, little one?"
Seyra nodded.
Vaerun turned towards Belran; the smile vanished from Malik’s face as he watched the Azram approach the nobleman. The gathering instinctively moved aside.
Belran straightened his back, though the movement did little to hide his uneasiness.
"Azram, this is a misunderstanding. My son is young. He was merely—"
"Your son is seven." Vaerun stopped before him. "My daughter is four, yet somehow, a boy old enough to understand his words has chosen to repeat insults that sound far beyond his years."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Tell me, Belran Ashur... who taught him?"
Belran’s lips parted.
"N-no one, Azram. Children sometimes repeat things they hear without understanding—"
"Then perhaps you should have taught him better."
Vaerun’s voice remained even.
Belran bowed his head. "Of course. I shall speak to him—"
"Did you send him?"
The question was quiet.
Belran stiffened.
"N-no, Azram."
Vaerun’s expression did not change. "Look at me when you lie."
Belran’s head snapped up; for an instant, their eyes met, and whatever excuse he had prepared seemed to disappear from his mind. Vaerun continued.
"You stood behind that bronze pillar and watched your son approach my daughter."
A faint tremor passed through Belran’s hand.
"You watched him insult her. You waited until she responded, then hurried forward to play the concerned father before the assembled nobles."
Vaerun’s gaze sharpened.
"Did you truly believe I would not notice?"
Belran’s throat moved.
"I was merely concerned for my child."
"And I am concerned for mine."
The words fell softly; that made them considerably more frightening. Vaerun glanced towards Seyra. She was standing beside Malik, her little fingers wrapped around the Emperor’s robe. Enlil had moved closer to her, his small hand gripping the edge of her sleeve.
Vaerun looked back at Belran.
"You mistook my daughter’s age for weakness, you mistook her adoption for a stain...and you mistook the Emperor’s birthday celebration for an opportunity to test how much disrespect House Veyrath would endure."
Belran’s knees nearly buckled.
"I would never dare insult House Veyrath, Azram!"
"You already did."
The words fell like a blade and the surrounding nobles lowered their eyes. Nobody wished to become the next subject of the Azram’s displeasure. Vaerun continued.
"Your conduct has made it clear that you are unfit to hold any position of trust within my household."
Belran looked up sharply.
"Azram?"
"You are dismissed from your position as my daughter’s tutor." His expression turned rigid. "And House Ashur will receive no further support from House Veyrath."
A stunned gasp travelled through the gathering.
The consequences were immediate.
House Ashur had enjoyed considerable favour through its association with Veyrath. That patronage had opened doors, secured trade agreements, and protected its interests among the other noble houses.
Withdrawing it was no minor reprimand. It was a declaration that the house had lost one of its most powerful shields.
Belran went pale.
"Azram, please! Surely this matter can be settled privately—"
"Privately?"
Vaerun looked at the gathered nobles.
"You chose to insult my daughter before the entire court. Why should your punishment be hidden from it?"
Belran lowered his head.
"Please..."
But Vaerun had already turned away, at that moment, a low growl rolled through the hall. The surrounding nobles stiffened. From the shadow of a towering bronze pillar emerged Veyra.
The magnificent white leopard moved without a sound, her pale coat shimmering beneath the golden lamplight. Her powerful shoulders rolled beneath her fur, and her cold eyes settled upon Belran and his son.
The boy immediately clung to his father’s robe. Veyra stopped as another growl vibrated through her chest.
The air around them seemed to thicken.
Belran’s breathing became laboured. His son stumbled backwards, and both dropped to their knees beneath the oppressive presence of the beast.
"Azram! Please!"
Belran struggled to raise his head. Vaerun did not even turn around.
"Consider this a lesson, Lord Ashur." His voice carried across the hall. "Next time, teach your child respect before sending him to deliver your insults."
Veyra’s growl faded.
The Azram turned away and just like that, the matter was finished. Vaerun walked towards his daughter. Seyra immediately reached for his hand.
Then, as though he had not just dismantled a nobleman’s standing before the entire imperial court, he looked down at her.
"Did you eat?"
Seyra blinked, her little stomach chose that exact moment to betray her with a quiet growl.
"I’m hungry."
Vaerun nodded.
"Then we’ll find you something to eat."
He reached down and lifted her into his arms. Seyra happily settled against his chest. Behind them, House Ashur remained kneeling beneath the golden lamps. Malik watched the departing pair with an expression that was difficult to interpret.
Then he glanced towards the little girl in Vaerun’s arms.
"Lady Seyra."
She turned.
"Yes, Malik?"
"Did you enjoy the celebration?"
Seyra thought for a moment, then she nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes!"
Malik’s lips curved.
"I can see that."
Seyra glanced over Vaerun’s shoulder. Belran was still kneeling, his face an interesting shade of grey, his son had buried his face against his father’s arm and a tiny, satisfied smile appeared on her lips.
"That was fun."
Vaerun’s expression remained stern, but Seyra giggled anyway, swinging her legs as he settled her at his side and offered her another bite of honey cake.
Across the hall, Kassur Nabu watched them, his smile was small and satisfied.
’Now, this is the moment to bring Malik down.’