Chapter 126

The trouble began with a game of dominoes.

“Oops. I knocked it.”

Clatter, clatter, clatter.

The youngest had accidentally bumped the dominoes, and in an instant, dozens of them toppled in a sweeping cascade. And so, as it happened nearly every day, the twins’ bickering began.

“Dummy.”

“I’m not a dummy!”

“Then I’ll call you a crybaby.”

“I’m not a crybaby either! Waaah!”

The youngest burst into tears. She opened her tiny, precious mouth as wide as it could go and wailed with her whole heart. She cried so pitifully that every member of the family gathered in the drawing room — every one of them except Kael — let their eyebrows droop in unison.

“Watching our twin granddaughters, I feel as though I’m seeing our son and our new daughter again. It’s rather like watching our boy torment her day after day.”

“Truly. How remarkable. Even the dynamic between them is identical.”

The family watched the twins with rapt attention, as though observing the most delightful puppet show imaginable.

Perhaps because the twins had been curled together inside me from the very beginning, they were always like this — always joined at the hip. And always fighting. Or rather, it was less a fight and more a matter of our youngest perpetually being on the receiving end.

“If you cry all day long, what else would you call yourself but a crybaby?”

Our second daughter, sharp as a tack for her age, was unmistakably her father’s child. Even in looks, she took after him entirely — seventy percent Kael, twenty percent his mother, and perhaps ten percent me. That ten percent consisted solely of my golden hair. In short, she was so dazzlingly beautiful it was almost painful to look at her directly.

“I’m not! I’m not a crybaby! Waaah! I hate you, Unnie!”

The youngest came toddling toward me on her chubby little legs, crying the whole way. She launched herself into my arms and buried her tiny face against my chest, sobbing in great, gulping waves.

“Sniff. Mama. Unnie keeps calling Chloe a dummy. Chloe’s not a dummy. Mama said Chloe is a cutie-pie… Waah.”

“Oh, dear. Did Bella call our baby a crybaby? That was naughty of Unnie, wasn’t it? Our baby is simply brimming with sensitivity, isn’t that right?”

“Mm… sniff.”

The youngest pressed her face into my chest and soaked my front with a thoroughly uninhibited stream of tears and sniffles. She really was mine, through and through. Her looks were a hundred percent me — she’d inherited my golden hair and pale green eyes without a trace of deviation. And even the way she cried, burying her runny nose in someone’s chest, was exactly the way I used to cry into my husband’s shirt.

Apparently, I was not alone in thinking so.

“Yes indeed. Our youngest princess is the very image of our daughter. Just look at that practiced use of the third person — not even a hint of awkwardness.”

“Well, she would be, wouldn’t she? In this household, the only one who can speak in third person without it sounding strange is our daughter-in-law. And now our youngest princess makes two.”

The youngest cried on in my arms for a good long while, and I kept patting her back, coaxing her along.

“Chloe. Come to Papa. Mama must be getting tired.”

When it became clear that the youngest showed no signs of stopping, my husband finally intervened. Kael, who had been seated beside me, patted his own thigh and coaxed her over.

Our youngest adored her father, and she crawled across to him on her plump, little legs, settling her round little bottom squarely onto his knee. Then she promptly transferred her runny nose to his stomach and resumed sobbing.

“Waaah. Papa… Chloe is so sad. Chloe really isn’t a crybaby…”

“I know. Our Chloe is very sad, isn’t she.”

One might well be surprised at this point — surprised to find that the man who was once so impossibly cold and harsh had transformed into someone else entirely. But I would say it was simply the result of intensive conditioning, and nothing more.

During the months I carried the twins, my husband, in his determination to atone for what he had done to me, had read every parenting book in circulation across the empire. He’d stayed up through the nights studying, and while I’d thought at the time that he was perhaps taking things a bit far, given the particular circumstances surrounding the twins’ conception, I supposed it made sense. And so I’d left him to it.

The result was that he had become quite capable of speaking in the warm, gentle tones of a devoted father.

“Chloe is a cutie-pie… Papa even said Chloe is the cutest because she looks like Mama… hic.”

“That’s right. Our Chloe is the world’s cutest little crybaby.”

His nature, however, remained entirely unchanged.

“I hate Papa too! Chloe is not a crybaby!”

“I’m sorry to say that crying three times a day, every single day, does rather make you a crybaby.”

Chloe hiccuped so hard she could barely catch her breath.

That was when it happened.

“Mother! My morning lessons are done! Can I play with my sisters now?”

Our earnest, adorable firstborn came dashing into the drawing room. Just six years old this year, Kai had recently been identified as a prodigy, and was in the midst of a final intensive round of preparation for his upcoming enrollment in the Gifted Academy. Jacqueline’s long-held obsession with her nephew’s education was finally being realized.

“Waaah! Oppa! Unnie and Papa called Chloe a crybaby!”

The youngest flung herself out of my husband’s arms, great fat teardrops flying from her face as she sprinted toward her brother. She stretched her arms out toward him, flailing for a hug, and Kai scooped her up without a moment’s hesitation.

At only six years old, holding a two-year-old must have been no easy feat — yet Kai managed it with surprising ease.

“Oh dear. Our Chloe must have been so sad.”

“Mm-mm. Chloe was really, really sad. Only Mama took Chloe’s side.”

“That’s all right. Oppa is on Chloe’s side too.”

Kai’s face was entirely Kael’s, but his empathy and emotional depth were unmistakably mine. For that, I was profoundly grateful.

Kai gently patted the back of the little one sobbing against his shoulder, and in a soft, soothing voice, he said:

“Chloe. But it might be good not to cry too much today.”

“Mm-hmm. Why?”

Chloe, her face smeared with sniffles, lifted her head. Kai met her eyes gently and said:

“Because today is Bella and Chloe’s birthday. There’s going to be a very grand and wonderful party in the garden soon.”

“Oh! Does that mean Chloe gets to wear a princess dress today? And eat a really, really big cake?”

“Of course. It’ll probably be the biggest and most magnificent cake in the whole world — the Emperor and Empress are coming, after all. But if Chloe cries like this, her eyes might be all puffy by the time the party starts.”

The youngest hurriedly scrubbed at her own tears with her small hands.

“Chloe won’t cry anymore! Chloe’s tears are all gone!”

“Good girl. Then let’s pick out your dress together later. What do you say?”

“Yes, yes! Chloe loves Mama and Oppa the most in the whole world!”

Chloe beamed and burrowed happily into her brother’s arms.

I watched them, murmuring almost to myself:

“Somehow it seems like a six-year-old brother is doing rather better than his father.”

I felt a burning gaze from the seat beside me, and made a dedicated effort to ignore it entirely.

A moment later, Bella came pattering over to me.

“Mama. I finished the dominoes.”

“Oh my goodness, our second princess! Already?”

“Mm. It was easy to build without the crybaby in the way.”

Bella pointed to the domino arrangement she had completed.

Chaos erupted immediately. My mother- and father-in-law nearly climbed over the back of the sofa in their excitement.

“Oh, darling! Would you look at that! Bella must absolutely be a genius — she’s finished a ten-year-old level domino set in a mere ten minutes!”

“We must find her a talented tutor at once! To achieve such delicate expression with nothing but little wooden blocks — this is truly insane talent!”

I stared at the completed design and felt my own breath catch.

“My goodness. She finished all of this on her own? That’s extraordinary.”

“Mm. Bella did well, so give me a hug.”

Bella reached her arms out toward me.

I immediately slipped my hands under her arms and lifted her.

“Up we go!”

I settled her onto my lap and leaned in to admire the finished domino design. The arrangement had taken the shape of a woman’s face — even the delicate strands of hair rendered with perfect precision.

“Wait — is this Mama’s face? It looks exactly like Mama!”

“Mm. It is. It’s Mama’s face. Because Mama is the prettiest person in the world.”

“Oh, you wonderful child! I’m so proud of you!”

“Mm. Bella did well, so kiss me now.”

“Of course, of course. Our precious girl deserves as many kisses as she likes!”

I bent down and covered her small face in a flurry of smacking kisses, lingering over her soft, squishy cheeks with obvious delight.

“Mmph.”

Bella let out a tiny sound of protest, as though the assault were becoming slightly overwhelming. But even so, our second daughter bore my kisses with perfect composure.

Her ears and cheeks began to flush a vivid, burning red. Bella appeared unfazed by almost everything, but she secretly craved affection more than anyone — and she was bashful beyond measure about it, turning this brilliantly crimson every time she received a kiss. I suspected that was the Kael in her genes making itself known.

With half her face still squashed against my lips, she announced in her precise, no-nonsense way:

“Mm. I’ll make Papa’s face next time. Papa is the second prettiest.”

“I am honored, Your Highness.”

One side of Bella’s cheek was now thoroughly drenched.