So.
Apparently, creeping off like a gremlin on a spy mission to see your humiliated villainess mother is a bad thing.
Who would have thought?
Following my theatrical nap outside the Cold Palace and the nationwide-sized freakout I inadvertently caused, I was bracing for all sorts of things: increased security, more hovering maids, and perhaps a new batch of stuffed animals as bribery.
What I didn't anticipate?
The King himself.
Cue thunder. Cue foreboding music. Cue all the maids in the nursery falling silent like they'd just witnessed a ghost enter wearing a crown.
There he was—my dad. His Royal Grumpiness. Glowering, tall, and radiating "who allowed this baby to shame the royal family today."
The air cooled by about ten degrees. His cape flailed dramatically, likely just for effect.
He said nothing initially.
Just walked in. Looked at me. Looked at the maids. Looked back at me.
I glared at him from my crib with a face that expressed, "hello, good-looking stranger who I conveniently forget is my father."
And then, in the coldest, iciest voice I'd heard since I reincarnated, he finally opened his mouth.
"You vanished."
Technically true, I suppose.
"You crawled all the way to the Cold Palace."
True, as well. Kind of impressive, really.
"Do you realize just how irresponsible that was?"
Sir, I'm still in diapers.
I blinked. Gurgled half-heartedly. Dropped a strand of drool for dramatic effect.
He glared.
I glared back, going over the "baby reaction options" stored in my mind:
Cry (done too much)
Giggle (too precious)
Sneeze (a high-risk option, could get snot everywhere)
Pretend I'm asleep (favorite move)
Of course, then, I selected Option E: Reach out and pat his face.
The expression he gave me could've liquefied steel. Not because it was affectionate—because it was that icy.
But still, he didn't go away. Simply stood there while my little hand slapped his royal face like I was checking the feel of a loaf of bread.
Then, to everyone's terror (and by everyone, I mean all twelve shaking maids), I yawned. Out loud.
The king's eyes narrowed. I could well imagine his internal dialogue:
"Is she taunting me? Is this some kind of calculated baby maneuver? What is this child even doing?"
Then he leaned forward a bit and growled, voice low:
"Don't do that again."
I retorted with a raspberry blow.
Seriously? Couldn't help it. My mouth has a tendency to do that sometimes.
He glared at me for a very, very long moment.
Then, with the grace of a man who was full of regret for his life choices, he turned to the maids.
"Double the guards. If she escapes again... send word at once. And burn that tapestry she chewed on."
And with that, he stormed off. Cloak flowing. Dignity wounded. Sanity? Likely clinging by a thread.
Me?
I burritoed myself in my blanket and slept with a small smirk on my face.
Because for a man who said he didn't care...
He certainly appeared worried.