Chapter 370: Papa Azra?
"I will miss you, Big Brother Azra!"
A soft, tearful voice echoed through the main courtyard of the Valcieri estate, carrying a desperation that made even the servants pause in their work.
A large, polished wooden carriage bearing the Valcieri family crest—a silver compass rose over green field—stood waiting by the open iron gates.
Horses stamping impatiently, eager to be moving.
Inside, Callista was already sitting patiently.
She was wearing the official Royal Academy uniform: a deep burgundy jacket with gold trim and brass buttons, a crisp white button-up shirt beneath, and a pleated skirt that fell to mid-calf.
A silver badge shaped like a sword and shield was proudly pinned over her heart.
Black boots polished to mirror shine. And most distinctively, a silver badge pinned over the heart, marking her as second-year student.
She watched the scene outside through the window with barely concealed amusement.
Anya had attached herself to Alaric’s leg like a barnacle. Small arms wrapped around his shin. Face pressed against his knee. Refusing to let go with the single-minded determination only eight-year-olds could muster.
Alaric stood there awkwardly. Trying to maintain dignity while a child clung to him like her life depended on it.
"Anya," he said with forced patience. "I’m just going to the academy. I’ll be back. It’s not forever."
"Don’t care!" Her voice was muffled against his leg. "Don’t wanna let go!"
She then held on tighter, refusing to listen.
"It’s only for the—"
"NO!"
Vanessia stood a few steps away, giggling softly behind her hand. A sound that made Alaric’s jaw clench because he knew EXACTLY what she found so amusing about this situation.
Finally, she stepped forward and gently began pulling Anya’s hands away from Alaric’s leg.
"Sweetheart," she cooed. "You have to let him go, or he’ll be late. You know how hard he’s been preparing for this day? All that training with Master Zak? The studying with Callista? It would all be wasted if he missed the opening ceremony because a certain little girl wouldn’t let him leave."
Anya’s grip loosened fractionally.
Her lower lip trembled. "But... but..."
"He’ll come back." Vanessia pulled her daughter into a hug. "I promise. Big Brother Azra will visit."
Anya sniffled. Slowly, but reluctantly, she released Alaric’s leg completely.
Let her mother pull her back.
Alaric straightened. Adjusted his own academy uniform, the male version, which he’d received yesterday.
Similar burgundy jacket but cut differently. More conservative. Pants instead of skirt. The same silver badge, though his marked him as exchange student rather than regular enrollee.
He was acutely aware of how the fabric felt against his skin. How his body still carried residual heat from last night. How Vanessia’s essence lingered in ways that made his teeth grind.
Vanessia stood. Walked toward him with that same graceful stride. Her copper eyes gleaming with satisfaction that had nothing to do with sending a student off to academy.
She stopped directly in front of him. Close enough that he caught her scent—something floral and expensive.
"You know what to do, right?" Her voice was pleasant. Professional. But her eyes held different message entirely.
Alaric nodded stiffly.
"Yes."
Vanessia leaned forward. Her lips brushed his cheek, brief kiss that appeared maternal but carried entirely different weight.
Alaric’s body stiffened. Every muscle locking. Because the touch brought back everything from last night.
Her lips moved to his ear. Whispered so quietly only he could hear: "That was just the down payment, remember? Get me what I want, and the real reward will be much, much better."
Alaric’s fists clenched. Hard enough his nails cut into his palms. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to fight back the sudden urge to grab her and pin her down right then and there.
To show her exactly what happened when you drugged and manipulated someone—
No. Control. She WANTS a reaction. Don’t give it to her.
Not wanting to indulge her games any further, he quickly turned away. "Alright. See you soon."
And began walking toward the waiting carriage.
Behind him, Anya let out another soft sob.
Vanessia patted the little girl’s head. "Why are you crying, sweetheart? It’s not like he was your real brother anyway."
Anya stopped crying. Her lower lip trembled as she looked up with her blue, tear-filled eyes.
"He’s not big brother?"
Vanessia smirked, her copper eyes flashing with mischief.
"Well, you can call him whatever you want." She paused deliberately. "Even Papa."
Alaric choked on his own breath. He stumbled mid-step, turning around to glare at them in pure disbelief.
Anya tilted her head, clearly confused. She looked up at her mother. "But... don’t I already have a papa?"
Vanessia patted her hair gently.
"You do. But if you don’t want—"
"NO!" Anya shook her head frantically. Tears forgotten in sudden excitement. "I like Big—Papa Azra! I want Papa Azra!"
Vanessia grinned and gave Alaric a playful wink.
Alaric’s face went completely blank. He turned around, practically fleeing into the carriage, and slammed the door shut behind him.
Anya turned immediately.
Her face lighting up like sunrise. Waving both hands frantically.
"Bye bye, Papa Azra! Bye bye!"
She clapped her hands together. Looked up at Vanessia with pure delight. "Mama! Now I have two papas! Just like Lily!"
Vanessia laughed with genuine amusement.
"Yes, sweetheart. Just like Lily."
---
[Inside the Carriage!]
Alaric sat heavily on the bench. Pressed his fingers against his temples. Tried to will away the headache building behind his eyes.
Callista sat across from him. Her expression carefully neutral. But her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed laughter.
"So," she said conversationally. "Papa Azra."
"Don’t." His voice was flat. "Don’t."
"I’m just saying... that’s quite the title. Very... domestic."
"Callista."
"Yes, Papa Azra?"
He glared at her. She smiled innocently.
The carriage lurched into motion. Wheels rolling over cobblestones. Pulling away from the Valcieri manor toward Greyford’s Royal Academy.
Alaric leaned back against the cushioned seat.
Closed his eyes.
First drugged by a merchant. Then called ’Papa’ by an eight-year-old.
Wonderful.
Callista pulled out a book and began reading. Occasionally glancing at him with that same barely-suppressed amusement.
The city rolled past outside the window.
And Alaric tried very hard not to think about last night.
Or about what Vanessia had promised as real reward.
Or about the fact that he was now apparently "Papa Azra" to an eight-year-old who’d just discovered the concept of having multiple fathers.
I hate this kingdom. I hate it so much.