Chapter 86: Paper Planes, and the Birth of Elysia
[Rynthall Estate—The Ceremonial Hall | Late Afternoon]
The great ceremonial hall had never looked more decadent—or more dangerously over-decorated.
There were floating crystal orbs, petal storms, and magic-dusted chandeliers that sparkled with every coo from a baby. The aisle was lined with live peacocks wearing golden sashes (one was already screaming). The harpist had fainted twice due to emotional overwhelm. And someone—Callen—had scattered scented glitter over the ceremonial rug and called it "holy dust."
In short: It was a lot.
At the center of it all, seated on a silver throne with embroidered cushions and exactly thirteen safety charms, Lucien held the star of the show—his daughter, draped in tiny royal robes, a flower crown sliding halfway down her head.
She was asleep.
Heaven.
Silas stood beside him, dressed like the god of overprepared fatherhood. His ceremonial sash had pockets. He had baby wipes. A backup pacifier. A vial of blessed milk. A knife.
You know, just in case.
Seraphina was seated nearby on a dramatic velvet chair she’d brought herself, fanning like a queen who absolutely could’ve won that duel if someone hadn’t intervened.
The Empress and Emperor of Aetheria sat on the imperial bench, watching with visible amusement. Prince Kael had fallen asleep with his hand still outstretched—clearly dreaming of rejection.
Countess Isodore was already holding a glass of wine and sighing, "I survived three wars, and yet this is the most dramatic event I’ve witnessed."