At Seraphina’s urgent outcry, Quillian’s eyes widened. Tears were welling up in his daughter’s big eyes.
Seraphina’s lips trembled as she tearfully began to speak.
“E-Emma didn’t do anything wrong… You mustn’t be mad at her…!”
Seraphina trembled like a frightened baby squirrel.
She tried hard to hold it in, clenching her lips, but the tears wouldn’t stop easily.
Seeing her on the verge of tears, Quillian froze on the spot. The murderous glint in his eyes softened instantly.
His mind was filled with thoughts of Seraphina alone. He nearly pleaded with her, desperate to ease her distress.
“All right, Serra. I’m sorry. I misunderstood. I won’t say a word to Emma, so don’t worry, okay?”
He fidgeted awkwardly, trying to soothe his daughter—more like an ordinary father than a king of a nation.
Only after Quillian repeatedly promised not to scold Emma did Seraphina finally stop crying.
Her nose was red, and her face was still streaked with tears.
“O-Okay. Promise. You really mustn’t scold Emma…”
She didn’t want Emma to suffer because of her, nor did she want her father to become a tyrant by indulging her whims.
Once Seraphina had calmed down, Quillian visibly sighed in relief.
He gave her a weary smile and pulled out a handkerchief.
“Alright, let’s wipe your face first. Blow—go on.”
“…”
As Quillian leaned in to help her blow her nose, Seraphina was struck with an intense internal dilemma.
Her current body was that of a ten-year-old, so of course Quillian was treating her like a child.
But before her regression, Seraphina had been in her mid-twenties. Her mental age was that of an adult—and yet, her father was helping her blow her nose…
“Serra, what’s wrong? Are you still upset? Should I…? Ah, I know! I’ll order that doll you wanted last time—right away—”
“Snf—!”
At the mention of the doll, Seraphina blew her nose loudly. Her pride and dignity were nothing compared to the urgency of the situation.
Quillian said “doll,” but it was hardly something one could casually call a toy.
It took several artisans months to craft one, and the cost—impossible to guess.
Using the finest porcelain, a renowned sculptor would mold the bisque doll. Then a master artisan, praised as a genius of the era, would handle the painting.
And even the tiny doll clothes cost an absurd amount of gold.
Though the fabric required was minimal, it was always the finest material—and even the smallest accessories were made of real jewels.
A single doll could cost more than a mid-tier noble household’s annual budget. It was luxury beyond luxury.
Just to buy that for his daughter… If Quillian poured money into that again, his reputation would—
‘Absolutely not! Father must be remembered as a wise and just king!’
Compared to that, letting her father help her blow her nose was nothing.
Only after the handkerchief was damp did Quillian lower his hand. His eyes still full of worry.
“Serra, are you alright? I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay, Father. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you…”
Seraphina looked up at him with remorseful eyes. She also felt guilty toward Emma.
Emma watched the scene unfold with astonishment. Seraphina climbed down from Quillian’s arms and bowed her head deeply.
“I’m sorry, Emma. I must’ve scared you.”
“…No, it’s alright.”
Emma quickly masked her surprise and replied gently. Quillian, too, rose from his seat and looked at her.
“My apologies, Madame Gray. It seems I was too quick to judge you.”
“It’s fine.”
Emma responded in a light tone, as if accustomed to such situations.
After all, conflicts over Seraphina’s discipline weren’t uncommon between them—today was hardly the first incident.
Seraphina let out a breath of relief now that the tension had lifted. For today, things seemed to have gone smoothly—but the real worries loomed ahead.
‘From now on, I’ll have to stop much bigger things. Can I really do it?’
As she grew older, more and more would unfold. It would be ideal if nothing happened as long as she lived virtuously—but…
‘It won’t be that easy. The Demon King’s seed is growing, after all.’
The seed had already begun to sprout. As long as she didn’t give in to its temptations, the growth would slow.
But resisting the seed wasn’t easy. She felt urges—relentless and insistent.
Like hunger, like thirst, they came in waves.
‘Honestly, just now, when Father mentioned the doll… I almost said I wanted it without thinking.’
Even after all the tragedies and disasters she had witnessed, she still wanted that doll.
Whenever she saw a beautiful dress, shimmering gold, or sweet desserts, she felt she’d go mad with desire.
She’d managed to resist this time—but who knew about next time?
‘As long as the seed exists, I’ll keep feeling those urges. But still…’
Could she endure it? She had to. Seraphina pressed a hand firmly against her chest, trying to fight the temptation.
The palace where the princess resided was filled with tension from early morning. It wasn’t just today—it was always this way.
The maids and attendants who served the princess felt like they were walking on thin ice from dawn till dusk.
And understandably so—attending to the princess was no easy task.
From the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep, her fussiness knew no end.
If they didn’t wake her carefully in the morning, she would burst into tears—and if the king heard her crying, the problem would only escalate.
She constantly changed her mind when choosing clothes, and if anything displeased her, she would shriek at the top of her lungs.
But the time that made the maids the most anxious was mealtime. Flying plates and shattered cups were a daily occurrence.
Things were a bit better when Quillian joined her, but today she was dining alone due to his schedule.
At the long table, the princess sat alone. Her soft pink hair, tied up on both sides, resembled the ears of a puppy or kitten.
The maid didn’t sigh—instead, she tightly shut her eyes. Even a sigh could earn her a scolding.
‘How badly will she act out today…?’
A quiet meal was almost unheard of. Complaints about the taste—too bitter, too bland, too salty—were routine.
If that was all, it would be considered a lucky day.
Just a few days ago, hadn’t there been a major incident between Emma and the princess?
[Princess, that’s enough dessert for today. You’ve already had three bowls of sherbet—you’ll get a stomachache.]
The princess loved sweets and was incredibly greedy for them.
Whenever Emma tried to stop her from overeating, a commotion would inevitably erupt.
“I won’t get a stomachache! I want more! Give it to me!”
“I’m sorry, Princess. I can’t give you any more.”
Though Emma remained firm, the princess wouldn’t back down. Eventually, she burst into tears and rolled on the floor.
It was a scene hard to believe of a princess of a nation.
‘Waaaah—It’s mine—Serra’s!’
Even as she cried and screamed, Emma resolutely ended the meal. She had even received a scolding from Quillian over it.
Though it was for the princess’s own good, he told her to be gentler in her delivery.
Expecting a similar situation today, the maid was bracing herself—when suddenly:
“I’m done.”
Clack. The sound of a spoon being set down echoed.
The maid, along with the other servants, stared at the princess in stunned silence.
Seraphina had finished her meal without throwing a single tantrum. An unprecedented event.
Even Emma, who stood nearby, looked slightly shocked.
“You’re not having dessert today?”
Seraphina could sense the nuance behind the question. She replied, putting on a prim face.
“I told you—I’ll listen to Emma and behave from now on… ma’am.”
“You certainly did.”
Emma looked surprised for a moment, then smiled softly. Seraphina hopped lightly down and turned around.
“What’s next on my schedule?”
“This afternoon, you have theology and etiquette lessons.”
“Understood… ma’am.”
With that brief reply, Seraphina made her way outside. The maids remained frozen in place, watching her go.
What just happened? Was this a dream?
Once they snapped out of their daze, they began quietly collecting the dishes and whispering among themselves.
“What’s going on with the princess today? Did something happen?”
“Is she in a good mood…?”
On rare days when the princess was in a good mood, things would go smoothly. But such days were exceedingly rare—and never this calm.
Maybe she just liked the food today. Maybe it was a lucky accident. That was the speculation going around among the servants.
Meanwhile, the official in charge of the princess’s theology lessons was letting out a deep sigh in his private quarters.
“Haaah…”
Deep wrinkles creased his forehead.
Despite his white hair and long beard, fatigue seemed to radiate from him.
‘What am I going to do about today’s lesson…?’
He had worked as a royal official for a long time, but becoming the princess’s tutor had been pure hell.
The princess hated studying. On days when she even sat in her seat, it was a small miracle.
She ran away from lessons constantly, and even when she did attend, she did everything but pay attention.
She had broken and hidden his glasses multiple times just to avoid lessons.
His beard still ached from where she had once pulled out strands in defiance.
‘I should just retire…’
He had submitted several requests to be dismissed, claiming he wasn’t suited for teaching. All were denied.
It was a royal command—he couldn’t disobey. And he certainly couldn’t skip lessons. With his weary body, he trudged toward the study room.
He half-hoped she had run off again—but when he opened the door…
‘…She’s already here?’
The princess, regrettably, was sitting in her seat.
He would’ve preferred a chase.
With that thought, he stepped up to the lectern. But something felt off.
‘…Why is the princess sitting so properly?’
Her posture was straight. Normally, she’d be slouched or sitting with her legs crossed.
Today, she looked like a model student.
No way. That couldn’t be.
