CHAPTER 108: WHEN SHE FINALLY SAID PAPA

[Rynthall Estate—Night]

The night had finally settled over the mansion, its grand halls hushed and dimly lit by the soft golden glow of lanterns. The world outside was quiet and peaceful. But inside the master bedroom?

Peace? What peace?

There, in the center of the large bed, lay the ultimate scene of father-daughter war.

Lucien lay on the mattress, his black hair slightly mussed, his usually composed face soft but visibly nervous. Why? Because his daughter—tiny, adorable, but clearly forged in dragon fire—was clinging to him like an immovable barnacle. Her small frame was wrapped tightly around him, one chubby leg draped possessively across her mama’s waist, and her head tucked under his chin like a fiercely loyal guard dog.

But the real kicker? Her eyes.

Those fiery little eyes were locked on the intruder standing at the edge of the bed—Silas. And if looks could kill, the great Grand Duke Silas Rynthall would’ve been reduced to ashes right then and there.

"I..." Silas muttered, dumbfounded, his voice low and tragic. "Why do I feel like my own daughter looks like a walking fireball right now?"

Lucien’s lips twitched, a nervous smile slipping out as he whispered, "Because she is. And if you move any closer, she might actually combust."

Silas pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing like a man facing his greatest battle yet. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he marched toward the bed.

"Alright," he said under his breath. "I fought armies, I slew beasts, I conquered nations... but tonight, I face the true enemy."

Before Lucien could warn him, Silas reached forward and—

PLUCK.

Just like that, he grabbed Elysia by the collar of her tiny shirt and lifted her into the air.

Instant. Chaos.

"AAAAAGHHHHHHHHH! MAMA! MAAAAAMAAAAAAAAA! THIS WEIRD MISTER IS STEALING ME!" Elysia screeched, her tiny fists flailing like windmills. "MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Lucien covered his face with both hands. Silas, completely unfazed, held her at arm’s length, watching her squirm like an angry, wriggling worm. He scooped her closer into his arms, but that only made things worse.

"LEAVE ME!!!!!!!!"

Oh no, it had only just begun.

Elysia wriggled like a rebellious worm in a frying pan. Right side. Left side. Right again. LEFT AGAIN. Her little feet kicked, her voice going full banshee mode.

"MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Somewhere in the distance, angels dropped their harps. Dogs three villages away began howling in sympathy. The chandelier trembled.

Silas winced, holding his ears. "My love, do something! She’s going to summon demons at this rate!" He looked at the tiny chaos goblin in his arms.

"How... HOW can someone this small have a voice louder than a cathedral bell?! She’s the size of a peanut but sounds worse than a dragon!"

Dead silence.

The moment those cursed words left his lips, Elysia froze. Slowly—slowly—her fiery red eyes turned to him, glinting like molten lava. And then, with the swiftness of a ninja and the fury of a goddess, her tiny hand shot out and—

YANK!

She grabbed a fistful of Silas’s long silver hair and pulled with the strength of ten toddlers on a sugar high.

"I. AM. NOT. A. PEANUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!"

Elysia screeched, her tiny fists latching onto Silas’s long silver hair like an angry octopus at that exact moment, every eardrum in the room seemed to quit on the spot—grabbing tiny backpacks, slamming the door behind them, and yelling, "Nope! We’re done! Goodbye, cruel world! Tata, bye-bye, you’re on your own!"

"By the saints—my ears!" Silas hissed, stumbling as he tried to free his hair from her tiny but merciless grip.

Elysia only pulled harder, glaring at him with righteous fury. "I AM A PRINCESS! NOT A PEANUT!!!"

"Alright, alright! Princess!" Silas was nearly begging now. "Just—let go of my hair before I go bald!"

Lucien was already doubled over, tears of laughter streaking down his cheeks as he crawled toward the battlefield that was now his bed. "Elysia! Sweetheart! Baby! Stop scalping your papa before he goes bald!" he wheezed, clutching his stomach.

"STAY. AWAY. FROM. MY. MAMA!!!" Elysia roared like a tiny general, every word punctuated with a vicious tug of Silas’s silver locks.

"Ghhhhh—Elysia!" Silas tried to keep his dignity intact, but his face was twisted in pain. He pried at her little fingers. "Your mama is my wife! Mine! I have every right—no, every duty—to be beside him!"

"And..." But then Silas paused, eyes narrowing with a glint of mischief even as he winced. He leaned closer, lips curling in a slow smirk. "let’s get one thing very clear, little star. I. Was. Here. FIRST. I was the first man in his life, the first kiss, the first everything. So..." He tapped her forehead with one finger for emphasis, each word sharper than a sword. "I. Am. Your. Mama’s. FIRST. PRIORITY."

Elysia went silent. The room froze. Even the air froze. Lucien’s smile faltered just a little.

Then—her bottom lip wobbled. Her small hands trembled. And with all the force of a betrayed goddess, she screamed, "MY MAMA IS ONLY MIIIIINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She didn’t just yank his hair—she wrenched it. Silas’s entire upper body jerked forward, and his head bowed like a man at an execution.

Lucien nearly choked, half horrified, half hysterical. "Elysia! Oh my god—Silas, she’s going to rip your scalp clean off!"

"TOO—LATE—!" Silas croaked, twisting like a caught fish. "Luci, get her off! She’s a wild creature—no, a demon—my hair—Luci!"

But Elysia was beyond reason. The bed shook as she clung like a furious koala, hair flying, tiny legs kicking. "NOOOOOO! PAPA IS BAD! BAD PAPA! YOU CAN’T TAKE MAMA FROM ME! HE IS MINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

And somewhere between the wails, the sharp yanks, and Silas’s dying dignity, the peaceful night of the mansion dissolved into utter pandemonium.

***

[Later that night—post-battlefield]

Silas sat slumped on the edge of the bed, his once-sleek silver hair now resembling a tragic bird’s nest that had survived a hurricane. A few lonely strands still dangled from his shoulders like war trophies. Across from him, Elysia was curled up on Lucien’s lap, hiccupping softly, her tiny fist still clutching a few glittering strands of her father’s hair like priceless treasure.

"There, there, little star," Lucien cooed, gently patting her back. "Everything’s fine now. No more fighting."

Silas groaned, rubbing his aching scalp. "Everything’s fine? I was one hair pull away from joining the bald council. If anyone deserves pampering right now, it’s me!"

Lucien shot him an amused look. "Silas, you’re nearly twice her size and she is still a toddler with five fingers."

"She’s not a toddler," Silas grumbled, pointing dramatically at their daughter. "She’s a tiny, unlicensed assassin. Look at her! Still glaring at me like I stole her kingdom."

Indeed, Elysia’s red, watery eyes were locked on Silas like twin embers. Even half-asleep, she clung to Lucien’s shirt with the desperation of a queen defending her throne.

"Alright, little star," Lucien said softly, lowering her onto the bed. "How about we go to sleep now, hmm? No more battles tonight."

Elysia sniffled but gave the tiniest nod. Still, when Lucien tucked her in and patted her small chest, her gaze flicked instantly to Silas—sharp, untrusting, and possessive.

"Be a good girl and sleep, my love," Lucien whispered.

Elysia didn’t speak, but her tiny hand shot out, gripping Lucien’s sleeve as though to anchor him. Silas could swear he saw her silently mouthing, Mine.

Silas leaned closer, whispering to Lucien with a wounded expression, "This is ridiculous. I feel like an intruder in my own marriage."

"Shhh," Lucien murmured, amusement softening his voice as he smoothed Elysia’s fine hair. Finally, the storm had passed.

Carefully, he untangled himself from her small grasp and rose to his feet. "Come," he said quietly to Silas. "Let me fix that disaster you call hair."

Silas arched a brow, but the corners of his mouth curved up. "Disaster? It was sabotage," he muttered, following Lucien to the couch.

Lucien fetched a comb and stood behind him, fingers brushing through the tangled silver strands with a gentleness that betrayed habit. "Any pain?" he asked as the comb slid through.

"Nope," Silas said, leaning back slightly, closing his eyes. "A little scalp trauma, but nothing permanent." His lips quirked into a fond smile as his gaze shifted to the small figure curled under the blankets. "You know..."

Lucien hummed in question, focused on smoothing another stubborn knot.

"She called me papa tonight," Silas said quietly, his voice suddenly softer, almost reverent.

Lucien’s hand paused mid-motion. "She did?"

Silas nodded, a faint laugh in his breath. "Yeah. Right in the middle of trying to rip my hair out. Who knew my first ’papa’ moment would come during combat?" His smile gentled, eyes glinting with something unspoken. "But... it felt like a blessing. Like she finally saw me."

Lucien’s expression warmed; the faintest smile curved his lips as he set the comb aside and slipped his arms around Silas’s shoulders, resting his chin lightly on top of his head.

"Congratulations, Silas," he murmured.

Silas chuckled, low and content, leaning into the embrace. For a moment, the room felt whole. But then, Lucien’s voice dropped, soft but edged. "But... there’s something else, you still didn’t tell me."

Silas furrowed, "What?"

Lucien stepped back slightly, eyes searching his face. "You never told me where you were," he said quietly, the warmth in his tone cooling into something sharper. "Six months after the war ended—Did you went missing silas?"

Silas froze, the air between them tightening.