I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 316: Side - : the babysitting king part 2

Thalor had thought, naively, that the approach of lunch might calm things down. Food, he reasoned, was a universal pacifier.

He’d seen Elysia negotiate peace treaties on an empty stomach and knew firsthand that even Malvoria became more agreeable after bread and a bit of honey.

Surely, with enough soup, some sliced fruit, and a few soft rolls, Kaelith would if not settle—at least be contained.

He was, of course, spectacularly wrong.

It began with a parade. Or rather, with Thalor attempting to carry Kaelith toward the dining room and her deciding she preferred to walk herself.

He set her down, expecting the usual toddler wobble. Instead, Kaelith shot down the hall at a speed that would have made a seasoned palace runner jealous, giggling as she careened off the corridor walls.

"Slow down, Kaelith!" Thalor called, jogging behind her, his dignity left somewhere around the third doorframe she bumped.

She didn’t slow down. Instead, she let out a delighted shriek and veered left, barreling straight into the path of Veylira and Raveth, who were emerging from the conservatory.

Veylira caught Kaelith by the armpits in a motion so smooth it suggested she’d been intercepting fleeing grandchildren for centuries.

"Well, if it isn’t the tornado herself," Veylira announced, lifting Kaelith up to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Her usually flawless gown was already dusted with flour—a sign she’d been up to her own mischief in the kitchens.

Kaelith beamed, showing off a jam-smeared chin. "Yah!" she crowed, as if this explained everything.

Raveth grinned and ruffled Kaelith’s wild hair. "What’s the password, small one?"

Kaelith looked solemn, thinking hard. Then, with utter seriousness: "Cake."

Veylira threw back her head and laughed, a deep, booming sound that vibrated the tapestries. "A child after my own heart."

Thalor finally caught up, out of breath. "I see you two picked the wrong day to visit."

"Nonsense," Raveth replied, arms crossed. "We live for this."

Together, they made their way to the family dining room—a cozy space by the garden, more sunlight and friendly clutter than royal formality.

The round table was already set with a riot of color: bowls of soup, platters of roasted vegetables, bread stacked high, slices of fruit arranged into a surprisingly accurate rendering of a dragon.

Thalor placed Kaelith in her high chair, and she immediately set about trying to scale the side.

Veylira, without missing a beat, secured her with a deft flick of magic, conjuring a gentle shimmer around the base of the chair.

Raveth poured juice into a cup decorated with bouncing foxes. "I see Kaelith’s been keeping you busy."

"Busy is one word for it," Thalor muttered, eyeing his soot-streaked sleeve.

The meal began in reasonable calm.

Kaelith pounded the table, demanding "soup!" until Thalor blew on a spoonful and delivered it to her waiting mouth.

She slurped, beamed, and promptly spit half of it out—onto Thalor’s shirt.

Veylira handed him a napkin, face deadpan. "I remember when Malvoria did that. Except she had better aim."

Raveth, trying to carve a piece of roasted squash, was interrupted by Kaelith making an attempt at the word "please."

It came out more like "peas," which she immediately seized on as a demand for the green peas scattered in a nearby bowl.

Thalor passed the bowl. Kaelith, delighted, scooped peas by the handful into her mouth, missing at least half. The peas rolled everywhere—across the table, onto Raveth’s lap, and even, somehow, into the cuff of Veylira’s sleeve.

"Resourceful," Raveth observed, shaking peas onto her own plate. "You’ve got the makings of a siege engineer."

Kaelith grinned, then slammed both fists down. "More!"

Thalor delivered a small slice of bread, which Kaelith instantly began hollowing out, creating a miniature cave.

She shoved peas and bits of squash inside, then offered the creation to Raveth with a solemn, "Eat."

Raveth, who had been a commander in seven wars and once negotiated with a harpy queen, accepted the bread-cave, took a dignified bite, and declared, "Delicious."

Veylira, watching all this, propped her chin on one hand and grinned. "I never thought I’d see the day you surrendered to a child’s culinary experiments."

"Better than being hexed," Raveth replied, winking at Kaelith.

Kaelith, encouraged, began to hum—a song with no discernible tune but an impressive range of volume.

Thalor attempted to redirect her attention to the fruit dragon, breaking off a tail made of plum slices and offering it with a flourish.

"Dragon!" Kaelith exclaimed, eyes wide. She took the plum, examined it, then hurled it across the table with such force that it stuck, quivering, to the windowpane.

All three adults burst out laughing.

As the meal wore on, chaos only grew. Kaelith insisted on drinking from Thalor’s cup, managing to soak herself, Thalor, and a nearby chair in apple juice.

She chewed on the handle of a wooden spoon, leaving bite marks deep enough to alarm any steward.

At one point, Veylira demonstrated a simple spark spell, sending a shimmer of harmless golden light spinning above the table.

Kaelith squealed in delight and tried to imitate her, summoning a small flicker of purple flame. It danced across her fingers, harmless but surprising.

Raveth nearly fell out of her chair, laughing. "We should bottle that and sell it to the Celestians as an anti-boredom potion."

Veylira, ever the proud grandmother, leaned in. "A prodigy already."

Thalor, meanwhile, was discovering new depths of humility as Kaelith smeared mashed carrot into his hair. "You know," he said, deadpan, "I was once considered the most dignified monarch in the Western Realms."

Veylira patted his shoulder. "You’ll always be dignified in the history books. Now open wide—here comes the carrot dragon."

Raveth caught Thalor’s eye, her smile equal parts mischief and sympathy. "Grandparenthood suits you."

By the time the main courses were finished, the table resembled a battleground: fruit rinds, bits of bread, streaks of color from Kaelith’s attempts at "painting" with beetroot.

Veylira magicked the worst of it away, muttering under her breath about "little beasts and their creative streaks."

As the adults sipped their tea—Veylira with her signature blend, Raveth with something dark and smoky, Thalor with a half-cup of juice—Kaelith discovered the true highlight of lunch: dessert.

It was a simple honey cake, dense and golden, baked that morning by the palace cook. Veylira cut a small wedge for Kaelith, who immediately mashed half of it between her fingers, the rest going directly into her mouth.

"Mama," Kaelith announced between sticky bites. "Cake!"

Thalor, heart full, smiled. "Yes, you’ll see your mamas soon."

Kaelith nodded wisely, as if confirming an important political agreement.

Dessert only increased the level of chaos. Kaelith, determined to share, attempted to hand bits of sticky cake to everyone.

Raveth, grinning, accepted her piece and made a show of savoring it. Veylira took hers with a bow. Thalor tried to eat his before Kaelith could smush more into his beard.

Finally, with bellies full and table destroyed, they leaned back, exhausted and happy. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Raveth reached over and lifted Kaelith from her high chair. "What do you think, little storm? Nap time?"

Kaelith considered, then yawned, burrowing against Raveth’s chest.

Thalor, feeling every year of his age and every ounce of gratitude, looked at Veylira. "She’s a force, isn’t she?"

Veylira’s eyes softened. "All the best ones are."