Chapter 9 - 009 ※ Beware the Benevolent Schemes of Idiot Kings

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

I haven't developed my telepathy yet. My body is still too young for that kind of power to manifest, and because of that, I can't communicate with him the way I desperately need to. This inability gnaws at me, making everything feel so much worse than it already is. Without telepathy, there's no way for me to explain myself, no way to make him see reason, no way to stop him from going through with this absurd, reckless plan. It's infuriating, and the frustration of being so utterly helpless is crawling under my skin like an itch I can't scratch.

So, he's going to tell them. He's going to tell everyone that I'm his child. His child. And when that happens, all of his kids will hate me. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Davey and the other five kids are already a year old. They've had a full year to bond with one another, to form their little group, their tight-knit family unit. Meanwhile, I've been on the outside, a complete stranger to them. I don't belong in that dynamic, not even remotely, and the last thing I need right now is to become the outcast among them. It's not like I don't already stand out enough as it is. And besides—let's be honest here—I don't even look like Eirwen. Not even a little bit. There isn't the faintest trace of resemblance between us.

But that's not the worst part. Not by a long shot. The real problem here—the actual catastrophe—is the male lead. The absolute last thing I want, the one thing I cannot afford, is for him to hate me. His hatred would complicate everything. Every. Single. Thing.

"Why are you looking at me as if you were annoyed by my suggestion?" he asks, his tone filled with curiosity, as if my irritation were some great mystery to him.

Because I am! I want to shout. But, of course, I can't. So instead, I just stare at him, silently fuming, hoping that my expression is enough to convey even a fraction of my frustration.

"Don't you like the option of being my illegitimate daughter?" he adds, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips, as if this is all some grand joke to him.

I shake my head vehemently, denying it with every ounce of energy I can muster.

He laughs, clearly amused by my reaction, and the sound grates on my already-frayed nerves. "Then we have to think about something else," he says, as if he's doing me some great favor by reconsidering his ridiculous idea.

I force a small smile onto my face—a smile that feels more like a grimace—trying to thank him for at least attempting to understand me, even if he's failing spectacularly.

He smiles back, and to my immense irritation, it's a warm, genuine smile. A smile that, despite myself, makes me feel a little less like strangling him.

"By the look on your face, I can see that you like this better," he says, his tone thoughtful now, as if he's genuinely trying to come up with a solution. "Then, what if I just adopt you and grant you the princess' title?"

Finally. Finally, he's starting to use his head for something other than coming up with absurd plans. Now we're getting somewhere. I nod, encouraging this rare moment of clarity with as much enthusiasm as I can manage.

"Yes, this looks better," he continues, almost as if he's talking to himself now. "At least, like this, Davey, my older son and heir, can be considered a worthy love interest to you."

What. The. Hell. Is. He. Saying?!

I can't be with the freaking male lead!

The thought is so loud in my head, so all-encompassing, that it almost feels as though I've shouted it out loud. But, of course, I haven't. I can't.

I'm supposed to change the story, not derail it to this degree. There's no universe, no timeline, no possible scenario where I can be with him. None. It's simply not an option. And honestly? It's laughable that he'd even think it is. Unfortunately for him, I'm way out of his league.

"Do you want me to let the people know about you?" he asks, his tone so casual that it's almost offensive. As if this is the kind of thing people discuss every day over tea.

Why on earth would I want that?

It would be better—no, infinitely better—if I could remain hidden, operating from the shadows. That would give me so much more freedom, so many more options, options I wouldn't have otherwise. I shake my head firmly, making my stance on the matter perfectly, unmistakably clear.

"No?" He tilts his head, considering my reaction. "Then you want me to only let the people in the castle know about you?"

I nod, relieved that he's finally starting to grasp the concept of subtlety. This compromise isn't perfect, not by a long shot, but it's something I can work with. Being a semi-hidden princess will still come with its fair share of restrictions—plenty of them—but at least it'll give me more leeway than being fully recognized as a royal. And if I play my cards right, if I can befriend the servants, then… Well, the possibilities are endless. With their help, I'll be able to do so much more.

"You like your freedom, right?" he asks, a knowing glint in his eye that makes me wonder just how much he really understands.

Of course, I do. Who doesn't? I nod again, my agreement firm and unwavering.

"I understand. Being an official royal is bothersome," he says, his voice softening in a way that almost makes him seem human. "Once you're in that position, you can't do much. You're constantly the target of everyone's judgment, and the pressure to act perfectly, to be an example, is relentless. There's no room for mistakes."

Little does he know, his son will suffer greatly under that very pressure. But if it depends on me, he won't have to bear it alone. Not entirely.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and Eirwen calls for the person to enter. The door creaks open slowly, revealing an elderly maid carrying a tray with practiced precision. She steps into the room with an air of calm authority, her movements deliberate and graceful.

The tray she's holding has a plate of hot soup, a cup of water, and—most intriguingly—a baby bottle filled with what appears to be warm milk.

"My name is Konan," the maid says, her voice kind and steady, like a warm blanket on a cold night. "I'm the inn owner. We saw that you had a baby with you, so we took the initiative to prepare warm milk for her. The baby bottle is clean, so you don't have to worry."

Her presence radiates kindness, her energy warm and comforting in a way that feels foreign but welcome.

"Thank you very much," Eirwen says, his voice carrying genuine gratitude. He hesitates for a moment before adding, "Can you…"

"Of course," she interrupts smoothly, already stepping closer. "I can give it to her."

She looks at me then, her eyes soft and full of warmth, and for a moment, I feel my heart melt just a little. Her smile is lovely, so lovely that it feels as though the entire room is bathed in her kindness.

I smile back at her, unable to help myself, and she carefully picks me up, holding me with a gentleness that feels foreign but comforting all the same.