Jazl's room was a curious blend of organized chaos - meticulously folded maid uniforms hung alongside an assortment of magical trinkets, with a bed that seemed to shimmer slightly at the edges, hinting at concealed enchantments. Standing with arms crossed, Jazl surveyed something on the bed with an expression of pure, unbridled pride.
"What a beauty," he murmured, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face. "I'm such a genius."
A sharp knock interrupted his moment of self-congratulation.
Jazl's head whipped toward the door. 'Hm? Blaizy?' In a fluid motion, he waved a hand, causing the bed's contents to vanish completely. Another gesture transformed him from his male form to the giddy female, Jaslin. "Honey," she chirped, opening the door with an exaggerated sweetness that made her voice sound like spun sugar, "what are you doing here?"
Blaize stood there, her face a perfect canvas of professional irritation. She winced visibly at the word "honey", her eye twitching slightly, as if the term caused her physical pain.
"Can you not—" she started, then stopped herself. "Nevermind."
Her posture was tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I came to ask you for a..." She trailed off, her gaze darting everywhere except directly at Jaslin.
Jaslin leaned against the doorframe, head tilted. "Hm? Ask what?"
Blaize took a deep breath, clearly mustering her courage. The words tumbled out in one rushed exhale: "Can you ask her highness to take care of herself for tomorrow's ball? What if she hurts herself in the kitchen? Tomorrow is the day, we can't risk—"
Jaslin blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Woah, dear, calm down. Why is she in the—" She paused mid-sentence, her gaze unfocusing as she seemed to tune into some distant noise, her expression shifting from playful to suddenly serious.
"Hey...?" Blaize's irritation momentarily gave way to confusion.
Jaslin's eyes widened, and she mumbled under her breath, "She's here."
"What... Who?"
She grabbed Blaize's shoulder, gently but firmly moving her aside. "Honey, I gotta go." And dashed past her, leaving Blaize standing in the doorway, bewildered.
"Wait..." Blaize muttered to the empty room, then let out a frustrated sigh. "Ha, why did I go to her in the first place?"
Daphne strode through the corridors of the castle, a tray of freshly baked tarts balanced expertly in her hands. The delightful aroma of buttery pastry and sweet fruit filled the air, a scent that would make any chef weep with envy. After all, she was a princess, and no chef could convince her to leave the kitchen when her skills far surpassed theirs.
When they dared to ask her what her secret was, she would respond with a straight face, "Just starve for a couple of days... I would recommend maybe three." The kitchen staff would go silent, their faces pale, thinking she was calling them incompetent, when in fact she was being genuine.
After all, hunger had a way of sharpening one's culinary instincts.
As she walked, her face remained as expressionless as ever, yet a small flicker of satisfaction sparkled in her dark eyes. The tarts were perfect, light golden crusts with glistening fruit, and she was proud of her work.
Lost in her thoughts, Daphne nearly collided with Jaslin, who was barreling down the corridor like a whirlwind of energy.
"Jazl?" Daphne exclaimed, grabbing her arm to halt her frenetic pace.
"Daphne!" Jaslin squealed, her eyes wide with excitement. "She's here! Mom's here!"
Daphne blinked, her mind momentarily short-circuiting at the unexpected news. An unfamiliar pang of emotion tugged at her heart, causing her to furrow her brow in confusion. 'What was that?' She shook her head, trying to clear the sudden fog enveloping her thoughts.
"Daphne?" Jaslin's voice cut through her reverie, concern etched on her features.
Daphne shook her head, forcing herself to focus. "Ah... Aunt Hale?" she replied, the words tumbling out before she could think better of it.
"I don't know why, but she's here! I know it!" Jaslin bounced on her heels, practically vibrating with joy.
Daphne's gaze drifted, momentarily distracted by the thought of Hale's sudden appearance. "Oh, she…" She regained herself for a moment, turning toward the guest room just a few feet behind them. "She must be in the guest room." Her eyes motioned for Jaslin to go ahead.
"Really?!" Jaslin squeaked, her excitement bubbling over as she dashed toward the guest room, leaving Daphne standing there, dazed, staring at Jaslin's retreating figure.
Inside the guest room, the air crackled with tension. Alastor sat with his arms crossed, his midnight-blue eyes narrowed into slits of irritation.
"Daphne is not your child," he declared, his voice dripping with the kind of authoritative finality that only a king could muster.
Hale, perched elegantly on a plush sofa, merely raised an eyebrow. "Dear, it's common sense. My child is your child, so your child is my child."
"That makes no sense!" Alastor shot back, exasperation etched into every line of his face. "Jazl is my child because he has my blood. Daphne is not your child because she does not."
Rowan, standing to the side, decided it was safer to focus on the ornate ceiling rather than risk laughing at the absurdity of the exchange.
Hale, undeterred, rolled her eyes dramatically. "Tch, always a grumpy kitten," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Alastor to catch a hint of it.
"What?" Alastor asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.
"Nothing, darling," she replied with a saccharine smile that could have melted the hardest of hearts.
Except for Alastor's of course.