The King wasn't ready for this.
Whenever he thought he had me tight in his grasp—his little "problem child" of a daughter—I escaped right out of his fingers. No longer the cute baby who moved at her own sweet pace to become; I was an enigma, a puzzle wrapped in the warmest, most innocent-appearance bundle of royal fur.
But here's the thing: the way to subvert a powerful individual is to convince them that they're still in charge. That's right, I was going to make King feel like he was making all the decisions, when in fact, I was manipulating him from my wee crib.
Step 1: The Art of Appearing Helpless
First, I had to keep up the act. I couldn't actually start being a perfect baby again. No. I needed to lull him into a false sense of security, making him think he was still in control.
So, I remained the helpless little princess for a little while longer. Whenever he came to see me, I'd give him that wide-eyed, innocent look. When he attempted to make me eat or drink, I would merely turn my head away haughtily, like a diva at a banquet.
But I wasn't just refusing his food—I was refusing his authority. Each time I refused him, it wasn't a tantrum. It was a quiet protest.
I ensured that I displayed just enough improvement to keep him interested—rolling over, babbling a bit more—enough to remind him that I could improve when I pleased. But the true trick was in how I slowed down. It was the art of looking helpless while really collecting all my thoughts, learning the inner workings of the palace, and learning to play the long game.
Step 2: Planting Seeds of Doubt
Now, the next step was to chip away at the King's confidence in his own strategies.
I'd sneakily gather pieces of information whenever the court wasn't paying attention—small tidbits here and there that would make the King second-guess his decisions. Who was plotting against him? Which noble was underperforming? What deals were going south?
I didn't have to do much. A timely babble here, a discreet little look there, and the right bits of information would always find their way to the right people. The King's advisors were beginning to fret. If I was building a reputation as the unpredictable child, they didn't know if they should be plotting against me—or for me.
I toyed with their nerves. I ensured each of the King's advisors was confused and doubtful, wondering whether they were on the right side of the throne. It did not matter that I was still a baby—they were already plotting against me behind doors.
And that was half the plan: Get the King to doubt the security of his own court, his own people.
If there's anything a paranoid king dreads, it's that he might not be as safe as he imagines.
Step 3: Operation Subtle Rebellion
I had discovered a long time ago that the best way to discredit a strong man was not to confront him directly. No. That was the path to being locked in the dungeon.
Instead, I attacked his pride. His idea of what a king was supposed to be.
Whenever he visited me—always playing the concerned father, but beneath, he was studying me like a specimen in an experiment—I gave him a little something. A gift. A present.
I would vomit on his royal robes. Not once, but twice. After all, I was still a baby, and babies do that. But it was more than that. I made it just enough to annoy him—just enough to remind him of his powerlessness before his own royal duties.
And the second time, when he shouted in anger, I wept. Loudly. Loud enough to echo through the halls.
Not in terror. No. In raw, unadulterated defiance. The King, who believed that he could dominate me through coldness and remoteness, was being openly humiliated by an infant.
Step 4: The "Perfect" Ally
Now, while the King's mind was occupied with me being a temperamental, difficult child, there was someone who was more than ready to be the perfect, well-behaved princess.
My mother—the baddie of the story—was more than eager to take her place.
See, the King might have believed he could disregard her, but I was employing my emerging social skills (a.k.a. babbling) to my benefit. Whenever he believed I was too much of a pest, I would unwittingly spill the beans on some of the King's more intimate issues in front of my mother. She would sit quietly, and then take matters into her own hands.
When the King believed he had me trapped, I ensured he would also consider my mother as an easy tool—someone who could be portrayed as the ideal, demure lady. A gentle, gentle mother who could not possibly be held responsible for the mayhem I created.
But there was the catch: I had her in my pocket. She was in love with me, and her revenge against the King was a tasty little extra. It wasn't about the power—it was about playing him for a fool, making him believe that by coddling my mother, he was coming out on top.
He had no idea, by the way, that I was the actual mastermind behind all this.
Step 5: The Final Blow
And then there was the day that put it all in motion.
One night, after the King called a grand council to the throne room, I made my play.
I had been misbehaving all day—screaming and crying until the King's temper was thin. He called for my mother, thinking she would calm me down. He was right, as ever. She was sweetness and smile personified, cooing over me like I was the very image of the perfect princess.
But while the King was preoccupied, I seized my opportunity.
I threw a tantrum. A tantrum unlike any other. Not a typical baby tantrum. Oh no. This one had an agenda.
I screamed and kicked, and in my anger, I knocked over the royal vase—shattering it into a million pieces. The King's face reddened as the court gasped.
And then, when all eyes were on him, I gave him the ideal out.
I turned to my mother, wrapped my arms around her neck, and buried my face in her shoulder—giving the impression that I only wanted her love, her attention, and not his.
The King stood transfixed, his worst nightmares before his eyes. I was no longer the defiant daughter; I was the ideal tool to subvert him.
In an instant, he had lost both his authority over me and his authority over his court.