The carriage ride back to the palace was… awkward.

  You’d think after summoning a literal god, blackening holy water, and being sort-of-but-not-officially cursed, there’d be some tension in the air. And you’d be right.

  But instead of tension, the King and Queen were giggling.

  Yes. Giggling. Royal giggling. Regal chuckling. Monarchic mirth.

  “He’s so powerful!” Queen Elenwynn beamed, cuddling me like I was a plush grenade. “He summoned a god, Vaelric!”

  “I know, I was there! He turned the water into… oil? Ink? I don’t know, but it was awesome!”

  So this is what a cult looks like.

  Back in my royal nursery—a ridiculous pink-and-gold room larger than most taverns—their giddy energy still hadn’t worn off.

  King Vaelric spun me around, holding me like Simba. “You summoned a god! A real god! We should make you High Priest!”

  Queen Elenwynn nodded solemnly. “And crown him Holy Chaos Baby. Or... The Wiggling Oracle.”

  "Please stop talking."

  I was still wearing the pink frilly outfit. At this point, it had absorbed fear, holy water, and at least 20% sarcasm. It was cursed. I was cursed. We were all cursed.

  Finally, they plopped onto the royal couch, me sandwiched between them like the world's most confused hotdog.

  “Okay,” the Queen said, returning to Serious Queen Mode?, “what do we do with him?”

  “Well…” King Vaelric tapped his chin like he was thinking. I could tell he wasn’t. He just liked the noise. “We keep him here. Until he’s fifteen. We tell everyone he’s been exiled, but actually raise him in secret. By the time he’s of age, people will have moved on. Blamed Larry again. Or the goat uprisings.”

  The Queen stared at him. “That’s... smart.”

  The King beamed. “Right?! Praise me.”

  She raised her hand and gently patted his head.

  They were absolutely sick in the head. I loved them for it. But sick.

  Then she smacked him.

  “OW! What was that for!?”

  “If your plan fails, we actually have to exile him. My baby!”

  “But you just said it was a good—ow! Stop hitting me!”

  They began bickering. Like lovers. With head smacks.

  I, in the middle, drooled in existential horror.

  Eventually, they cuddled me, kissed my cheeks, and whispered suspiciously sweet things like “Mama will murder for you” and “Dada will burn a country for that smile.”

  Well... maybe exile wouldn’t be that bad.

  Just as we were about to have another round of “Let’s Worship the Chaos Baby,” a knock came at the door.

  “Your Majesties,” said a voice through the wood, “urgent council meeting. The nobles are gathering.”

  The royal mood vanished like free snacks at a party.

  Queen Elenwynn kissed my forehead. “We’ll be back soon, darling.”

  King Vaelric gave me a wink. “Don’t summon another god while we’re gone.”

  "No promises, Dad."

  They left. The door clicked shut. The light dimmed.

  I was alone.

  Well… not quite alone.

  I turned slowly to the side.

  Iserra, my maid, was standing in the corner. Pale. Wide-eyed. Shaking like a leaf in a windstorm powered by caffeine and existential dread.

  Uh-oh.

  “D-d-don’t kill me, Your Baby-ness,” she stammered. “I’ve been loyal! I watered the cabbage garden! I—I didn’t mean to look into your crib that one time!”

  “What the—”

  “I—I heard rumors! That you made the statue bleed! That you spat fire! That you turned holy water into wine!”

  Okay, that one sounds kind of cool.

  “I’ll be good! I swear! I’ll even marry Larry if I have to!”

  That’s... just tragic.

  She was seconds from self-yeeting out the window.

  I did what any reincarnated soul in a toddler body would do.

  I made a noise.

  “Gwehh…”

  Iserra froze mid-step like I’d just barked in Latin.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “…You okay, little guy?”

  I pointed a chubby finger toward the wall. Specifically, at the massive portrait of King Vaelric and Queen Elenwynn—looking far more majestic than they had ten minutes ago while cooing over my cheeks.

  “The King and Queen? What about them?”

  I paused. Then waddled—not walked, waddled—across the carpet like a determined jellybean on a mission. I reached the corner bookshelf, grunted like a gym bro, and tugged free a large, overly colorful storybook.

  She blinked. “Okay… story time?”

  I jabbed a finger at the King and Queen’s portrait again.

  Then the book.

  Then back again.

  Then I clapped like I’d just invented math.

  “…Wait. Are you… are you trying to connect them?”

  I nodded so hard I almost toppled over.

  “Are you saying you want to… learn about them? Through the book?”

  I face-planted onto the floor in pure, dramatic relief.

  “Okay, okay! No need to die about it!” she said, half-laughing. “You’re not possessed. You’re just… brainy.”

  She stared at me, unsure, then bolted out of the room.

  Wait. WHAT. WHERE ARE YOU GOING—

  A few moments passed. Then the door slammed open again.

  Iserra returned, arms overloaded with books.

  “Alright, Your Baby-ness. Let’s find out what you’re trying to learn.”

  She opened one of the storybooks.

  I crawled over, eyes bright, pointing at illustrations—castles, flags, swords, and oddly buff angels.

  She flipped through pages, narrating slowly.

  “That’s the Empire of Ardendale. That’s where we live. The capital is the Royal Island. That’s King Vaelric. You know, your dad. And—oh! That’s Queen Elenwynn, your mum. You know. The terrifyingly pretty one.”

  I poked the map section. Then pointed at her. Then at my head.

  “Wait a second… are you… linking them?”

  I nodded like my life depended on it. Because it sort of did.

  “YOU’RE TRYING TO LEARN.”

  I flopped onto the floor in glorious relief.

  Mission accomplished.

  Step one to world domination: Understand your zip code.

  She bolted out again.

  ...Then returned five minutes later with an armful of storybooks, maps, and one puppet for some reason.

  “Okay, okay—don’t freak out. I brought all the children’s books about the world I could find.”

  We’re gonna do this Sesame Street-style.

  She opened a map and started pointing dramatically, like a tiny, broken tour guide.

  “Right—so, we live in the Twaggel Empire. That’s us. Human-led. Surrounded by drama and taxes. Our royal family is famous for two things: weird children and dying young.”

  I’m feeling very on-brand.

  “Vuldar Dominion. Dwarves. Underground. Famous for gems, explosives, and passive-aggressive tourism.”

  “Elsethyr. Elves. Forest people. Pretty. Rude. Went to war once because someone stepped on a sandal.”

  “Mirelia. Merfolk. Live underwater. Currently suing the land for ‘stealing all the oxygen.’ Don’t ask.”

  “Darneth—the Crime City. Legally speaking, it shouldn’t exist, but it does. All crime is legal. Somehow it works. Their economy is better than ours. I’m upset about it.”

  I tilted my head.

  “Oh right. We got those too.”

  She flipped through another book and opened a spaghetti-stained foldout map.

  “The Loranic Republic – humans who believe in voting and yelling. Mostly yelling. Currently in their eighth civil war, but they say democracy is beautiful.”

  “Kingdom of Theralis – knights, honor, and incredibly dramatic duels over who gets the last scone. Their king once challenged a tree to a sword fight. Lost.”

  “Empire of Caldros – desert humans. Hot, stylish, terrifying. Obsessed with honor duels, politics, and eyeliner. Very stabby.”

  “Theocratic State of Halveth – theocracy. Very into rules, rituals, and judging you. If you breathe wrong, they’ll hold a prayer circle and exile you.”

  “Free State of Zagg – No king. No rules. Just vibes. And pirates. So many pirates.”

  I stared, overwhelmed but weirdly excited.

  She smiled. “And that, little prince, is the world. Full of backstabbers, gods, pirates, mermaids, fashion disasters, and very confused toddlers.”

  I squealed.

  Because honestly?

  This place sounded amazing.

  Council Room – Present Time

  The royal meeting chamber was built to impress: vaulted ceilings, banners from wars no one remembered, and a throne that looked like it could transform into a robot.

  King Vaelric sat upon said throne. Bored. Irritated. Also hungry.

  Around him stood nobles. And boy, were they nobling hard today.

  Lord Ganthrell, leader of the Aristocratic Faction, slammed his fist on the table. “The child is cursed! We must banish him immediately!”

  Lady Merentia, head of the Royal Loyalists, narrowed her eyes. “You would exile a child because of rumors?”

  “He turned holy water into death juice!”

  “Your nephew turned a cow into pudding and no one said anything!”

  “That was experimental agriculture!”

  The room exploded into chaos.

  Shouting. Pointing. Someone threw a powdered wig. Another clutched pearls they weren’t even wearing.

  To King Vaelric, it looked less like a council meeting and more like a drunken tavern brawl where everyone wore silk and emotional trauma.

  Then came Mr. Bolgwin.

  A fat merchant with a triple chin and zero tact.

  He waddled forward.

  “Your Majesty…” he drawled, “might I suggest… we kill the child?”

  Silence.

  Pure. Instant. Terrifying.

  Even the room itself seemed to pause. The torches flickered. The statues looked away. A rat under the table fainted.

  King Vaelric’s eye twitched.

  “You want me to kill… my son?”

  Bolgwin nodded. “I mean, it’s just a baby. You can always make another.”

  The King stood.

  Lightning crackled in his gaze.

  “GET. OUT.”

  Bolgwin turned white. “But I—”

  “ALL OF YOU. OUT. NOW.”

  The nobles scattered like rats from a sinking yacht. Screaming. Shouting. Tripping on rugs. Accusing each other of plotting.

  Only Lady Merentia paused at the door.

  “Your Majesty,” she said gently, “thank you.”

  And then she was gone.

  Back in the nursery, I sneezed.

  Iserra panicked. “Are you summoning something again!?”

  "Woman, I sneezed."

  Little did I know, the sneeze was the least chaotic thing I’d do that week.

  To be continued…