CHAPTER 89: ONE GIGGLE AT A TIME

[Rynthall Estate, Dining Room]

Lucien and Elysia continued to glare at Silas, probably stabbing with their eyes. Silas, however, was the only one visibly melting under pressure—sweating a full Niagara Falls down his back.

Lucien tapped his foot with the grace of a ticking time bomb. "Well?" he asked sweetly. "Are you planning to speak sometime before Elysia graduates?"

"I—I—" Silas stammered, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief now drenched. "I didn’t mean to hide it! It’s not like he was... around!"

Lucien’s eyes widened—slowly—like a villain in a soap opera. "Oh? Not around?" he echoed, leaning in with a hand dramatically over his heart. "So you thought, ’Ah yes, perfect chance to commit some light treason against my husband!’"

"NO! No treason! I swear!" Silas looked like he aged ten years on the spot. "He vanished! Years ago! Just one day, he got up, handed me the estate papers like I was a damn notary, shouted something about going on an adventure, and—poof! Gone! Gone, I tell you!"

Lucien narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And then?"

Silas gulped. "Then... we received a message. His carriage was found smashed under the snow in the northern ridge. No body, just... broken wheels, torn furs, and a very dramatic amount of blood."

Lucien’s lips thinned. "Mm-hmm. So convenient," he drawled. "The ’adventurer father’ vanishes, and you become a grand duke. Sounds familiar."

Silas protested. "I cried for a week!"

Lucien rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you’re not lying?"

Silas looked desperate. "I swear on my dau—"

"DON’T." Lucien’s voice dropped several octaves. "Don’t you dare bring Elysia into this mess, you imbecile. If you even whisper her name while lying, I swear I will personally stab you with a dessert fork. And not one of the big ones—the tiny fancy ones. Over and over. Until you sparkle."

Silas flinched like he’d been actually poked already. "I—I’m not lying! I swear! It’s the truth!"

Lucien stared at him long and hard. Elysia, perched calmly in her arms, blinked slowly—then yawned, as if used to these shenanigans.

Finally, Lucien straightened up. "Well then," he said with a soft, threatening smile. "I suppose we’ll find out... tomorrow."

Silas paled. "Wh-why tomorrow?"

Lucien spun on his heel like a diva. "Because your not-so-dead father is apparently coming back tomorrow. Alive. And probably wondering why you declared him legally deceased."

Silas looked ready to collapse. "Y-you’re joking."

"I never joke about family drama," Lucien tossed over his shoulder. "It’s practically my religion."

With Elysia nestled on one arm like a small gremlin queen, Lucien sauntered away, leaving Silas standing there as pale as milk.

The door shut behind him.

Silas exhaled like he had just escaped execution. "He’s so dangerous when he’s angry," he mumbled, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Like—deadly. Like—I think he actually sleeps with cutlery."

From the hallway, Lucien’s voice floated back: "I heard that, you inheritance-stealing weasel!"

Silas yelped like a stabbed pig and promptly threw himself back onto the chaise, flopping dramatically with one hand over his forehead like a dying heroine from a tragic opera.

Callen burst into the room, panting, "My lord—I just heard the news—Lord Theoran is—"

He paused mid-sentence when he caught sight of Silas sprawled out like a corpse.

"...Why do you look like you’ve already died twice and came back just to suffer?"

Silas slowly turned his head with the weariness of a man who had truly lived a thousand lifetimes.

"When you marry someone like that—" he pointed weakly in the direction Lucien had stormed off, "—every day feels like dying. But slower. And with more fork threats."

Callen blinked, trying to hide the smirk twitching on his lips. "He didn’t stab you... right?"

"Not yet," Silas groaned. "But he looked like he was considering it. Like, deeply contemplating the emotional and spiritual fulfillment of murdering me with a salad fork."

He rubbed his face with both hands and sat up, groaning. "Anyway, drama aside, I... I am glad that Father’s alive." His voice softened just a little. "But why didn’t he come home all these years? Why disappear like some mysterious old legend?"

Callen sighed, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Only Lord Theoran himself can answer that question. Though knowing him, it’ll either be a grand story or absolute nonsense."

Silas stood and brushed down his wrinkled coat. "Fine. Prepare his chamber—Father always liked everything neat. And tell the staff to polish everything. I want this place shining like a dragon’s hoard. And also—"

"Announce his return to the city?" Callen asked knowingly.

"Yes. Loudly. With trumpets. And banners. Maybe even confetti. Let the world know the ancient old man has returned from the dead

!"

Callen raised an eyebrow. "You do realize he’s not that old, right?"

Silas gave him a withering look. "He left me with an estate and taxes. That aged me fifty years. So yes—he’s ancient."

Callen chuckled as he bowed. "As you wish, my lord. Trumpets, banners, and confetti it is."

***

[Silas and Lucien’s Chamber, Later]

Silas quietly opened the chamber door and peeked inside like a criminal sneaking back into his own house. The warm golden light of the fireplace flickered against the walls, casting long shadows—and in the middle of that glowing, regal chaos lay his doom.

Lucein.

Perched like a betrayed monarch, Lucein reclined against a pile of embroidered pillows with a massive book in his hand, its title gleaming in gold: "101 Legendary Betrayals: From Julius Caesar to Arranged Marriage."

He flipped a page with the elegance of a judge passing a death sentence.

"Chapter 7: The Case of the Missing Left Sock—A Marital Conspiracy."He squinted. "Hmph. Just like how my blue silk robe went missing last week. Coincidence? I think not."

Right beside him, nestled in his arm like a tiny sleepy kitten, was their little girl — Elysia. Her wide red eyes blinked up as Silas tiptoed in.

Silas cleared his throat and tried to be smooth. "Ah... my beautiful family. My heart. My soul. My—"

Lucein didn’t even look up. He simply turned a page dramatically and said in a voice colder than winter, "Sleep. On. The. Couch."

Silas froze mid-step. "...Huh?"

Elysia blinked. Once. Twice.

"But my love—" Silas tried again, clasping his hands as if pleading for mercy in front of a royal court.

Lucein’s eyes slowly lifted from the book, radiating fire, daggers, and invisible thunderbolts. "Just be grateful I didn’t have you thrown out the window, Silas. So. Again. For the people in the back— SLEEP. ON. THE. COUCH."

Silas visibly deflated like a balloon. He sighed, his dignity crumbling to dust. "Yes, my love. Right away, my love. Long live my terrifying, glorious, vengeful love..."

He shuffled to the couch like a defeated soldier dragging his broken sword, muttering under his breath, "My own daughter is witnessing my downfall... This is how legends die."

Elysia suddenly giggled.

Silas whipped his head toward her. "You’re laughing? You’re laughing at your father’s suffering? Et tu, Elysia?"

Her giggles got louder, muffled behind her tiny hands as she squirmed happily against Lucein’s chest.

Lucein smirked like a satisfied villain, closed the betrayal book with a soft thud, and leaned down to kiss Elysia’s forehead. "Are you enjoying watching your daddy being scolded by mommy, hmm? My little angel of justice..."

Elysia giggled more, her legs kicking the air as if the scene were better than a puppet show.

Silas, now plopped on the couch with a blanket of shame, turned his face to the wall and groaned. "Even the baby’s on your side... Why did I even come home?"

Lucein yawned gracefully. "To suffer, clearly."

Silas sighed again. "Marriage is a battlefield... and I am losing."

And with that, he accepted his fate—cuddling a throw pillow shaped like a unicorn and listening to the sound of his own family betraying him... one adorable giggle at a time.

This family didn’t need bedtime stories.

They were the bedtime story.

It was nearly midnight when Lucien finally managed to tuck their little hurricane of a daughter back into her crib. With a sigh, he pulled the blanket up over Silas, who was pretending to sleep far too peacefully for someone who had been part of the giggling rebellion just hours ago.

Lucien hovered for a moment, brushing his fingers through Silas’s hair and muttering to himself, "I shouldn’t have been so angry the moment he walked in... Gods, I’m such an idiot."

He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, a strong hand caught his wrist and tugged him down—right on top of a very awake Silas.

"So..." Silas murmured, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "You’re not mad anymore, my love?"

Lucien’s breath hitched. "You... you were awake?"

"Couldn’t sleep without you," Silas whispered, pulling him closer until their noses nearly touched. "You know that."

Lucien’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t resist as Silas cupped his face.

"May I steal a kiss?" Silas asked, soft and sincere.

Lucien flinched with a little whimper. "No! Elysia is right there!"

Silas smirked. "Oh, come on. Our daughter would be delighted to witness a moment of pure, wholesome parental affection."

"I know what kind of ’affection’ you mean," Lucien grumbled, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I was talking about a kiss," Silas said innocently. "Not se—"

Lucien slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "Don’t say it! She might hear!"

With his lips squished under Lucien’s palm, Silas looked up with the most offended pout. "She’s sleeping."

"She could wake up."

Silas laughed, low and warm. "You are so cute when you’re paranoid. Now, how about that kiss?"

Lucien hesitated... then leaned in slowly, just enough for their lips to meet in a soft, lingering kiss.

But the softness didn’t last long. Silas’s hands—traitorous and bold—slid down to Lucien’s hips, and then... his butt.

Lucien jerked back with a gasp, face flushed. "You can sleep on the bed," he muttered, standing up quickly and adjusting his robe.

Silas lay back, smirking with unrepentant satisfaction. "Only if you’re in it."

Lucien rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he switched off the lamp.

He crawled into bed without another word.