Chapter 74: The Hatchling Claiming Elyn Is More Scary Than Zorathys
Chapter 74: The Hatchling Claiming Elyn Is More Scary Than Zorathys
I honestly wasn’t sure if I should pat the boy on the head...
Or pick him up and gently fling him out the nearest window.
Because there he stood — tiny, pale, blue-black hair dragging on the floor, blue eyes slit like a serpent’s, and that small jewel glinting between his brows — staring up at me with the kind of seriousness only a very dramatic toddler could possess.
And he had just told me, with full confidence, that I was scary.
I am not scary. Even though all evidence from earlier today pointed to the fact that I could absolutely be scary... Ignivar and Naviel ignoring me like I was the plague, Morthen being rooted to the ground... okay, so maybe I was a little bit scary, but I was in no way more scary than Zorathys. I refused to believe that.
I put a hand on my hip and leaned forward slightly.
"I am not scary," I said firmly.
Azerion tilted his head. The movement was slow and very innocent.
Then he said, in that mushy baby voice of his:
"Yuh... yuh are. Vewy."
I didn’t understand why his speech was very babyish when he looked around five or so, but that wasn’t the case right now. Right now, I was defending my reputation before someone labeled me as a scary human when I knew deep down that I wasn’t scary.
I gave the boy a sharp glare.
"I am not scary," I told him, but he shook his head, disagreeing with me.
Rin tried — and failed — to stifle the chuckle that slipped out of her.
I shot her a sharp glare, and she flinched and arranged herself. That was enough to give the little demon-snake-turned-boy all the conviction he needed. He nodded vigorously and even smiled a bit, like he was happy to witness what just happened.
"S’ee?" Azerion added proudly. "Scawy."
Oh, for the love of—
Before I could defend myself, he shuffled closer, so close his little toes bumped against my legs. I blinked, unsure of what he planned to do — then his tiny hand came up and pressed against my cheek.
It was soft and gentle. It didn’t scream "I’m a dangerous snake" at all. His touch was warm also.
"It’s oh-kay," he told me with a sweet smile that almost made me go weak.
"Scawy is good. Vewy good. I like scawy."
Excuse me?
My brain left the building. Packed its bags. Caught a carriage out of the realm.
Behind me, Rin muffled another laugh.
I gave her another glare — stronger, sharper.
"Ah," Seraphielle said in a delighted sigh behind us, "yes, that look. Give me that look too, my lady. Aim it this way. Right here." She tapped her chest dramatically.
I ignored the succubus, because just her words made the hair on my skin stand alert once more.
Rin muttered something under her breath, but unlike before, I could not catch this one.
"Well," Seraphielle said to me, as if what she did a moment ago was now history, "if the boy thinks you’re scary, then you’re scary. Syrenthis always flock toward the scariest presence in the realm. That’s why they follow the king."
I stopped breathing for a second there.
Did she just— no, that’s not possible. But as if to assure me that it was possible, Azerion spoke up with a nod.
"Scawy."
Seraphielle pointed triumphantly.
"See? This hatchling chose you. Meaning you are — congratulations — officially more terrifying than the king."
That— that was extremely inaccurate.
I turned slowly and glared at her.
She clasped both hands under her chin and beamed.
"Oh yes. That one. Give me more. It suits you. I have plans for you with that look. You’ll tie me—"
"Shut up," I said darkly, and she shut up immediately.
Another point that stated that Azerion was right.
Azerion suddenly stepped in front of me, tiny arms spread, glaring up at Seraphielle as though he were a guard dog half a biscuit tall.
"She’s myne," he said, voice soft yet firm in the way only baby stubbornness can achieve. "No one can take her. Myne."
Seraphielle blinked, then scoffed lightly.
"You demon, she does not belong to you. She belongs to me."
You both are demons, I thought to myself with an eye roll.
Azerion gasped — an adorable, outraged, squeaky sound.
"No! Myne!"
"Mine," Seraphielle countered smugly.
"Myne!" the boy insisted louder.
"Mine," she said slowly, teasingly.
They went back and forth like two children fighting over a favorite toy — except one of them was supposedly the leader of an entire division of demons and the other was basically a newborn with legs.
My head began to ache.
I pinched between my brows.
"Why are you arguing with a five-year-old child?"
Seraphielle gasped like I had insulted her lineage. "Five? My lady, that boy isn’t five."
I looked down at Azerion.
He blinked up at me, still holding onto my dress with tiny fingers.
"I... not five," he said. "I fif-ty."
I stared, eyes wide from shock.
"Fifty? As in fifty years old?!"
He made a face — the offended kind toddlers make when you tell them they can’t lick a doorknob.
"Nooo. Not old like that. I fif-ty... days."
I stared.
He beamed.
"You are telling me," I said slowly, "that you are... fifty days old."
He nodded happily.
"Mmhm!"
"You look five," I said weakly, waving a hand at his height, his limbs, his very existence. "How do you look five if you’re fifty days old?"
"Because," Seraphielle answered before he could even open his little mouth, "he hatched fifty days ago. Syrenthis grow rapidly at first until they reach this stage. Then they stay like this for a few hundred years."
A few hundred years... I was caught between telling Seraphielle that that just made things more ridiculous, because she was arguing with a child. A fifty-days-old child.
I stared at the boy.
He blinked.
I blinked.
He smiled.
My brain quietly threw itself out a window.
Before I could ask anything else —
Before I could decide whether to scream, laugh, or finally sit on the floor and give up —
Azerion tugged my sleeves gently.
He tilted his head up at me... and asked with all the hope in the world:
"Can... can I eat the we-mainin’ sweets?"