[The Imperial Palace — Royal Garden — Continuation]
Seyra stood frozen, Enlil’s little hand clasped tightly in hers. Behind her, the measured sound of approaching footsteps grew closer, each one seeming to announce the arrival of a rather unpleasant fate.
"Seyra Veyrath."
The voice was calm, deep, and unmistakably familiar.
It was not raised in anger, nor did it carry the sharpness of a reprimand. Somehow, that made it considerably more frightening. Vaerun Veyrath had never needed to shout to make himself heard, and his daughter had already learned that his quiet displeasure was far more troublesome than an outright scolding.
She turned.
Vaerun stood beneath the garden archway, the evening breeze stirring the dark strands of his hair. His silver eyes were fixed upon her, his expression composed save for the faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
Seyra recognized that smile. It was the smile of a man who had discovered exactly what sort of trouble someone had caused and was now deciding how best to address it.
Unfortunately, that someone happened to be his four-year-old daughter.
"H-Hello Papa..." she murmured.
"Come here, my daughter."
. . .
. . .
Seyra’s fingers tightened around Enlil’s hand.
My daughter?
The endearment sounded suspiciously sweet. Far too sweet, in fact, considering the circumstances.
Her gaze darted towards the enormous crimson tiger beside the fountain, then returned to Vaerun. A second glance at the beast did little to reassure her.
’Why are there so many terrifying creatures around me? And where is my elemental contracted beast?"
Before she could consider making another escape, a familiar white figure emerged from the shadows behind Vaerun.
Veyra approached with the silent grace of a predator, her pale coat catching the golden light of the garden lanterns. Her golden eyes settled upon Seyra, and a faint pressure stirred through the air as the elemental power surrounding her master responded to his displeasure.
The white leopard circled Vaerun once before coming to rest beside him; neither beast made a move towards the children. Nevertheless, their combined presence made the garden feel considerably smaller.
’Oh...so Veyra chose Papa’s side...’
. . .
. . .
Vaerun continued towards his daughter; his expression had not changed as he remarked, "My daughter appears to have become rather clever lately."
Seyra blinked.
"R...really, Papa?"
"Indeed."
He stopped before her and lowered himself slightly, bringing his face level with hers. His silver eyes examined her little expression, lingering on the suspiciously innocent smile she had arranged upon her face.
"Intelligent enough to recruit another child, interrupt an imperial announcement, and arrange for the Emperor and his Azram to fall together in front of the entire court."
Seyra’s smile faltered. Vaerun tilted his head.
"An impressive accomplishment for someone who still requires assistance with her sandals."
Enlil lowered his head, his cheeks growing pink. Seyra, meanwhile, found the garden flowers suddenly fascinating.
"I... didn’t do anything, Papa."
"Nothing at all?"
She shook her head.
"I’m a delicate flower who only wanted to enjoy the beautiful garden and spend some peaceful time with my little friend."
Vaerun regarded her for a moment. Then his gaze shifted towards Enlil, who was standing so rigidly that he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
"A delicate flower," Vaerun repeated thoughtfully.
"Yes!"
"One that apparently grows rather dangerous thorns."
Seyra’s lips parted, but no answer came; a quiet laugh escaped Vaerun. He reached forward, brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead, and then gently caught one of her cheeks between his fingers.
"Come here, little troublemaker."
Before Seyra could protest, he gave her cheek a firm tug.
"Paaapaaa!"
Her little face scrunched up as Vaerun’s smile deepened. "As a father, I must accept some responsibility for this unfortunate development."
Seyra rubbed her cheek as soon as he released it.
"What development?"
"My failure to teach my daughter how to use her intelligence responsibly."
He studied her with mock solemnity.
"Imagine. A child who can devise a conspiracy against the imperial court, yet cannot resist laughing at her own plan."
Seyra’s mouth opened in protest.
"I wasn’t laughing!"
Vaerun raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
"I was... coughing!"
"Coughing?"
She nodded vigorously.
"Yes!"
"How unfortunate. Your cough sounded remarkably like laughter."
Enlil pressed his lips together. His shoulders trembled once before he quickly lowered his head.
Vaerun noticed, his gaze shifted towards the boy, and Enlil immediately became very interested in the stone beneath his feet.
The Azram sighed softly before lifting Seyra into his arms. She settled against him almost instinctively, one small hand finding its familiar place against his shoulder.
"As for tonight," he continued, adjusting the fabric of her shawl, "I believe you and I have something to discuss."
Seyra looked up.
"Discuss?"
"Yes. Your little adventure has caused quite enough excitement for one evening."
"But Papa, it was an accident."
"Was it?"
She nodded.
"A very small accident."
Vaerun looked at her.
"An accident that involved the Malik falling, me falling, and half the court forgetting how to breathe?"
. . .
. . .
Seyra considered this, then she offered a small smile.
"It was a big accident."
"At least we agree on something."
He shifted her more securely against his chest and began walking towards the palace.
Seyra rested her chin on his shoulder, watching the fountain disappear behind them. For a little while, she remained unusually quiet, and then, in a softer voice, she asked, "Are you angry with me, Papa?"
Vaerun glanced down, his expression eased, and his hand moved gently over her back.
"I am displeased with what you did."
Her little fingers curled into his robe.
"But?"
"But that does not mean I shall stop loving you."
Seyra lifted her head. Vaerun brushed his thumb across her cheek, where a faint redness remained from his earlier tug.
"Being clever is a fine thing, Seyra. But you must learn when to use that cleverness. You involved Enlil in something he did not fully understand, and you placed yourself in the middle of a situation that could have become dangerous."
Seyra’s eyes lowered.
"I didn’t want Malik to be hurt."
"I know."
Vaerun’s answer came without hesitation.
He had understood the intention behind her little scheme. That did not make him any more pleased with the method.
"Next time you wish to interfere in imperial affairs, you will speak to me first."
Seyra looked up at him.
"Will you let me?"
"No." Her face fell. Vaerun’s mouth twitched. "Which is precisely why you should speak to me first."
For a moment, Seyra stared at him.
Then a small giggle escaped her.
Vaerun shook his head, though the severity had finally left his expression. He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead and continued towards the palace, carrying his daughter as naturally as though she had not just orchestrated the most scandalous incident in the history of the imperial court.
Behind them, Enlil watched the pair disappear beneath the archway; he remained beside the fountain for a moment, contemplating the evening’s events.
Enlil swallowed; perhaps he would never agree to another one of Seyra’s plans again.
***
[The Eshkaran Empire — Across the Imperial Capital — The Following Morning]
By sunrise, the scandal had travelled farther than any imperial messenger could have managed in three days.
It had crossed the great market squares, slipped through the courtyards of noble estates, passed beneath the arches of merchant houses, and reached even the distant settlements beyond the capital.
The story was everywhere.
In the markets, merchants discussed it while arranging baskets of dates and figs. At the tea stalls, old men leaned towards one another with the solemn expressions of scholars discussing matters of state. Servants whispered over their morning chores, while noble ladies gathered behind embroidered curtains, exchanging details with an enthusiasm that had been entirely absent during the previous evening’s official speeches.
And the most extraordinary part?
Nobody could agree on exactly what had happened.
"I heard Malik was embracing the Azram!"
"Embracing? They kissed!"
"Impossible! The Azram would never—"
"Then why did the Emperor leave the banquet with his ears red?"
"Perhaps the wine was too strong."
"Wine? The Malik has survived poisoned wine!"
A fruit merchant, who had apparently appointed himself the leading authority on imperial affairs, leaned across his stall.
"I heard the Azram fell upon His Majesty and refused to get up."
His neighbor stared.
"Who told you that?"
"My cousin’s wife’s brother serves in the palace."
A pause.
"Is he a guard?"
"No. He delivers firewood."
The neighbor slowly turned away; at another stall, two elderly women were having a considerably more serious discussion.
"Do you think Malik will marry the Azram?"
The other woman nearly dropped her basket. "Marry? He has a daughter now!"
"Then the child will become an imperial princess."
Both fell silent.
Then, almost simultaneously, they nodded. It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion.
At the Academy of Aether Studies, several young scholars had abandoned their morning discussions of elemental resonance to debate the incident.
One insisted that the collision must have been caused by an unstable current of air. Another argued that the Fire Guardian’s presence had influenced the Emperor’s temperament.
A third, who had apparently seen the entire event, simply said, "They kissed."
The discussion ended.
Meanwhile, in the noble quarter, the matter had become considerably more dangerous.
Letters were being sent. Invitations were being withdrawn. Several noble houses had already begun discussing what the incident might mean for the imperial succession, the relationship between the throne and House Veyrath, and the future of the empire.
And somewhere within the capital, a particularly unfortunate courtier was desperately trying to convince his wife that he had not laughed during the incident.
Unfortunately, she had seen him.
The scandal had acquired a life of its own, by the time the morning bells rang for the second hour, the people of Eshkaran had reached one undeniable conclusion:
The previous evening’s birthday celebration had been far more entertaining than anyone had expected.
And the two men at its centre? Neither had yet made a public statement. Which, naturally, only made matters worse.
***
[House Veyrath — Vaerun’s Chamber— Morning]
"OW!"
A small cry echoed through the sitting chamber. Mira paused, the little bronze container of medicinal balm in her hand.
"My lady, please remain still."
"But it hurts!"
"I am barely touching your cheek."
"That’s because your fingers are made of stone!"
Mira pressed her lips together, desperately suppressing a smile.
Seyra sat upon a cushioned chair, her little feet dangling above the floor. Her violet eyes were narrowed in deep displeasure, and both her cheeks were being treated with a generous layer of fragrant herbal balm.
The faint redness had remained from the previous evening.
Apparently, Vaerun’s idea of a gentle disciplinary tug had been somewhat more enthusiastic than Seyra had appreciated. Mira carefully rubbed the ointment into her left cheek.
"There. Just a little longer."
Seyra puffed out her lower lip.
"Papa is cruel."
Across the room, Vaerun sat beside the low cedarwood table, calmly sipping his morning tea.
He had changed into a dark robe embroidered with silver thread, and a small collection of reports rested beside his cup. His expression was as composed as ever, as though the entire empire had not spent the morning discussing his accidental kiss with the Emperor.
He turned a page.
"You deserved that punishment, you conspired against the Emperor."
Seyra opened her mouth, and a moment later, she pointed an accusing little finger at him. "But you fell on Malik!"
Mira’s hand stopped.
A servant near the doorway suddenly became very interested in the arrangement of the curtains. Vaerun slowly lowered his cup.
Seyra blinked innocently.
"What?"
The Azram regarded his daughter for several seconds, then he took another sip of tea. "I was attempting to prevent Malik from striking the floor."
Seyra tilted her head.
"But you kissed him."
Mira coughed, the servant by the doorway turned around. Vaerun’s fingers paused around his cup and a brief silence followed.
Then he placed the cup back upon its saucer.
"Finish treating her cheeks, Mira."
"Yes, Azram."
Seyra watched him suspiciously.
He didn’t deny it.
Her little eyes brightened.
"Papa?"
Vaerun resumed reading.
"Hm?"
"Does Malik have red cheeks too?"
Mira lowered her head, a tiny tremor passed through her shoulders. Vaerun turned another page.
"I wouldn’t know."
"Why?"
"Because I haven’t examined His Majesty’s cheeks."
Seyra thought about that, then she nodded gravely. "Maybe he needs balm too."
. . .
. . .
Mira finally lost her composure.
A small laugh escaped her before she quickly covered her mouth. Vaerun glanced at her. Mira immediately straightened.
"My apologies, Azram."
He said nothing.
Seyra, however, was delighted and she swung her legs. "Papa, should we send Malik some balm?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because he has an entire Imperial Household capable of looking after him."
Seyra considered this, then she leaned towards Mira and whispered loudly enough for the entire chamber to hear. "Maybe they should send him two containers."
Vaerun closed his eyes briefly.
"One would be sufficient."
Seyra giggled. Mira finished applying the balm and gently wiped the excess from the little girl’s chin.
"There. All done, my lady."
Seyra immediately touched both cheeks.
"Are they better?"
"Much better."
She turned towards Vaerun, presenting her face with great seriousness.
"Papa, look."
Vaerun lifted his gaze. Two small, slightly pink cheeks stared back at him as he studied them. Then he reached forward and gently touched her forehead.
"Does it still hurt?"
Seyra paused as her expression softened.
"A little."
Vaerun’s hand moved to her cheek, this time with considerably more care. "Then don’t rub them."
Seyra nodded, he picked up a small piece of honey cake from the covered plate and placed it in her hand.
"Eat."
Her eyes immediately brightened and she took a bite. For a few moments, the room was peaceful.
Then Seyra looked up again.
"Papa?"
"Yes?"
"Since you hurt my cheeks yesterday, can I have extra honey cakes today?"
Vaerun looked at her.
Seyra smiled sweetly.
"Because I am injured."
He took a slow sip of tea.
"Your injuries appear to have left your appetite entirely unaffected."
"That’s because I’m strong."
The Azram continued reading, seemingly satisfied that order had finally been restored to his household. Unfortunately, the peace did not last and a knock sounded at the chamber doors.
"Enter."
A palace messenger stepped inside and bowed deeply. "Forgive the interruption, a message has arrived from the Imperial Palace."
Vaerun extended his hand, the messenger presented a sealed letter bearing the imperial crest. Seyra stopped chewing and her violet eyes moved towards the letter.
Seyra leaned forward.
"What does it say?"
Vaerun folded the letter.
"Malik wishes to see us at the palace."
Seyra blinked.
"Oh."
A pause, then, with great concern, she asked:
"Is he going to kiss you again?"
Mira nearly dropped the balm container.
Vaerun slowly turned his head towards his daughter. Seyra took another bite of honey cake and for the first time that morning, the Azram of House Veyrath looked as though he might genuinely regret teaching his daughter to speak.