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“Aisha, come sit on Papa’s knee.”
And that is how things currently stood.
“Your Grace—the desserts you requested have arrived. A three-tiered tower of macarons and fresh strawberry cream cake.”
“Put the strawberry cake in front of Dandelion.”
“For Lucas, sir? The cake was prepared for the young—”
What exactly is happening here?
“What does it matter right now—!”
Bang!
“!”
Lucas slammed his fist on the table, and the startled servants scattered like birds.
The result: I was now seated on Calypse’s knee in front of the portrait, mechanically eating pieces of cake that Lucas was feeding me.
What did I do wrong? What exactly is happening?
Tense. My twin-tails stood straight up. This was a crisis.
I turned the situation over in my mind as quickly as I could, and a few hypotheses surfaced.
First: Calypse was sensitive about matters of family.
So me saying something about blood ties upset Father, and—
Second: Lucas had shouted for backup.
Which also, presumably, had something to do with my comment about blood ties—which upset Lucas too.
Conclusion: I had made an offhand comment about being adopted and not of the same blood, and both Father and Lucas were upset about it.
“…….”
So I was the one who said the wrong thing?
I was still puzzling through my confusion when—
“Aisha. You did your hair differently today, and your dress is lovely. You look like the woman in that portrait—doesn’t she?”
In the middle of my thoughts, the quiet, deep voice addressed me.
This is a test!
He’s testing me—drawing a line between me, the adopted child, and the true blood of the family!
That had to be it. The interrogation had begun.
…A beloved adopted daughter who knows her place. That is what I am.
A spark lit behind my eyes.
Very well, Father. My heart may quietly ache—but I am grateful for you taking me in, and I will answer with all appropriate humility.
I took a breath and answered with full conviction—
“Not at all! I could not be said to resemble the Duchess in the slightest degree—”
“Tch.”
Wrong answer?
“The Duchess and I are of entirely different lineage—”
“Tch.”
Also wrong?
I looked around frantically, recalibrated—and answered more emphatically—
“The Duchess, born of noble blood from the very first moment, raised on balanced nutrition and aristocratic education, grew into a woman of great intelligence and wisdom—whereas I entered this world in a nameless, half-underground place, not knowing the names of my own parents, and by the age of three was already holding a short blade—”
“Lucas. Cake. Her mouth.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mmff!”
At Father’s command, Lucas launched an overwhelming cake assault—and I, unable to mount any kind of counterattack, crumbled under the barrage.
Ah. Sweet, merciless sugar.
I chewed the cake in defeat—but still felt indignant.
Om nom nom.
“…What did I do wrong…?”
I had only been telling them what they wanted to hear. I had been the gracious, clear-eyed adopted daughter—articulating my position plainly.
“I was just being honest—!”
“Finish chewing first.”
My muffled words came out all wrong through the cake. Calypse glanced down at me and wiped the cream from the corner of my mouth.
Then he spoke, in a measured, quiet voice.
“Tell me. Who am I to you?”
That’s quite a philosophical question. I puckered my lips and answered.
“You’re Papa.”
His long, upright finger pointed toward the portrait.
“And if I’m your papa—then who is that?”
I swallowed the last of the cake.
Then answered cleanly—
“Duchess Ariana Krost.”
“And your mother.”
“What? No—that can’t be right. I know my own place—”
“…What?”
Calypse and Lucas, who had been watching me from above and beside, both went very slightly still.
“……?”
The atmosphere had shifted into something I couldn’t read.
And even Mai, who had been watching quietly from a distance, had drifted close—and was looking at me with worried eyes.
Did I really say something wrong?
I had never been a planned adoption. I had simply turned up, uninvited, and been accepted. A spirited, cheerful child who nonetheless knew where the lines were.
That was my role. Wasn’t it?
That was what I had always believed.
And then—
“No.”
A firm, quiet voice—and a large hand dropped gently onto the top of my head.
“I know exactly what’s going on in that tiny head of yours right now. And whatever it is—it’s wrong.”
Wrong? Then what?
I wanted to ask—but didn’t dare, for fear of provoking him further. I only tilted my head.
Calypse continued.
“I was twenty-two years old. I was in the Kingdom of Doctia—and that was where I met your mother.”
His hand moved gently, tracing the curve of my cheek.
His voice—warm and unhurried, like someone reading from a storybook—settled over me.
I found myself going very still, listening.
“It was an engagement I would rather have skipped—but had no choice but to attend. A diplomatic banquet between Doctia and Frozen. High-ranking nobles were required to be present.”
“Is this the story of how you and Mother first met?”
Lucas asked, leaning forward. He had clearly never heard this before.
A brief, quiet smile crossed Calypse’s lips as he nodded. He looked off into some middle distance—reaching back into a past that lived behind his eyes.
“The banquet was stiff, and I was surrounded by foreign strangers. I wanted to go home. So I decided to sneak out.”
Sneak out? Father?
Looking at Calypse now, it was almost impossible to imagine.
“How were you planning to sneak out?”
“From a Doctian banquet?”
The two of us lit up—eyes wide and leaning in. This was going to be a very good story.
Calypse looked at us and laughed, just quietly.
“I was a rebel in those days.”
Lucas snorted.
“Dandelion, he sounds like you.”
“Ha—do you think? Are you sure it’s not more like you, Hyung?”
I laughed and fired back—Lucas gave a dignified sniff and crossed his arms.
The story continued.
“So I got out into the city—and walked straight into the wrong alley.”
“The wrong alley?”
“One full of dangerous people.”
We went wide-eyed.
“And I hadn’t brought any weapons—it was a formal banquet. Someone came up from behind and hit me over the head. When I came around, I was in an auction house.”
“Oh no—”
Our Father? Caught by something so obvious?!
“They were auctioning me. Billing me as an exceptionally handsome and powerful specimen of a man—”
“Papa—your Ice Affinity—”
“I was about to use it. I was furious and I was about to bring the whole building down with ice—”
“And then?”
“And then—?”
“And then your mother walked in—and bought me.”
I blinked.
Wait. Is this age-appropriate?
I covered Father’s mouth with my small palm.
“Excuse me—is this still within the bounds of a family story?”
“It isn’t what it sounds like. I was furious enough to blow up the entire auction house. But your mother was so astonishingly beautiful that I hesitated—and as it turned out, she had gone in deliberately to dismantle the illegal operation from the inside.”
“That’s incredible.”
“Incredible.”
Lucas and I both went soft, our mouths falling slightly open.
Then Lucas looked up suddenly, as if remembering something.
“Right—Mother was such a fierce sense of justice. She dismantled illegal slave traders, donated to orphanages all the time—”
“When she dismantled something, I followed along cleaning up the aftermath.”
“But you liked it.”
“I did. And then—”
The hand that had been gently ruffling Lucas’s hair came to rest—and Calypse looked down at me.
“We had two boys. But your mother always wanted a daughter.”
A daughter.
Something in my chest went warm—and then embarrassingly pink.
“If she could see you now, Aisha—she would have been overjoyed. She’d have told you to come with her—to help her take apart the next illegal auction house side by side.”
Would she have? If Duchess Ariana had seen me—would she have truly been glad?
“…….”
I turned in silence and looked up at the portrait again.
The golden eyes of the woman seated in that painting—they seemed, somehow, to be holding a smile.
* * *
Ten minutes before the banquet.
“That child—”
“…Even our last attempt has failed, Your Grace.”
The central hall of the royal palace was already thick with nobles arriving from every direction.
Duke Foss stood on the second-floor balcony terrace—a secluded stretch far from the crowd—and watched the glittering scene below with cold eyes.
“Even the last contingency plan we had in reserve—a failure. Then there’s no helping it. Make the preparations.”
“Preparations for…?”
“Our darling little pretend-daughter refuses to come of her own accord—so we’ll simply have to set something off.”
He shaped a hand into the silhouette of an explosion.
“Boom.”
The smile that spread across Duke Foss’s face was slow, and thin at the edges, and went nowhere near his eyes.
The banquet had begun.
