I was sitting at the table, hunched over the endless documents—quill in my ink-stained hand, dipping the damn tip into the black inkpot every few frantic scribbles to sign decrees, scrawl approvals, and slam ornate stamps with a satisfying thunk.
Working with a quill is pure hell. Who the fuck wants to dip again and again when ballpoints exist?
Ink smudged my slender fingers like war paint, and my wrist cramped from the ornate flourishes Caspian's muscle memory demanded—looping imperial seals that looked elegant but felt like torture on this delicate frame.
Merol watched me with a critical eye, arms crossed over his ledger, his sharp features pinched in that familiar mix of loyalty and exasperation.
"Your Majesty, are you tired? You can't stop working—you're the emperor of this glorious empire! The nobles await your word on taxes, borders, alliances..." Is he seriously trying to motivate me?
I shot him a blank look, quill freezing mid-signature on a petition about grain tariffs, feathers ruffling slightly from my frustrated breath.
"This form of motivation isn't good for me. You know what? Give me some macaroons to eat. Now."
"Your Majesty, too much sweet isn't good for you," he chided, though his tone softened, eyes flicking to my pouty lips—still a bit swollen from earlier adventures. Did he know about my 'adventure' with Darius?
"Please~" I wheedled, batting my huge emerald lashes dramatically, channelling every ounce of Caspian's ethereal charm. A subtle illusion weave flickered from my fingertips, making my eyes sparkle like gems for extra effect.
"Your Majesty!" He flushed, adjusting his collar. "Why the hell are you using your illusion magic?"
"Just like that~"
"You are not a kid!"
"I want to!" I whined loudly, pouting like a spoiled kid, slumping back in my throne-chair with arms crossed over my crimson robes.
"Why are you so difficult? If people saw you like this—whining for pastries—they wouldn't call you a tyrant. They'd think you were a pampered princeling."
"I am a tyrant!" I huffed, cheeks puffing out, golden chignon bobbing as I stomped a foot under the desk.
He blushed deeper, crimson creeping up his neck, hesitating before reaching out to pat my head gently—his callused hand warm and surprisingly tender on my pinned hair, fingers brushing a loose strand. Bold secretary. Does he have a crush, or is this just Caspian-treatment?
"I will have you executed if you do this again!" I yelped, swatting half-heartedly at his wrist, though a giggle bubbled up.
"I'm your secretary—if you kill me, you wouldn't find anyone else to do your work. No one deciphers noble double-speak like I do." He sighed, exasperated but fond, and stepped out with a bow, returning moments later smelling faintly of the kitchens. "I told the maid about your craving. She'll bring them shortly."
"Craving?!" I echoed, mock-offended, just as—
"Meow~" A soft, melodic trill sliced through the tension like a sunbeam. I whipped around, heart skipping—a tabby cat perched on the open study window, silhouetted against the fiery sunset painting the sky in oranges and purples.
Sleek orange fur striped with bold black bands gleamed like burnished copper, white paws dainty as gloves, and emerald-green eyes—mirror to mine—gleamed with pure mischief, pupils dilating into slits at the sight of me.
A fluffy tail swished lazily back and forth, hypnotic, while her tiny pink nose twitched curiously at the mingled scents of ink, parchment, and my jasmine-oiled skin.
Tufted ears perked forward, whiskers quivering like radar—long, sensitive, fanning out in curiosity. Street cat? Palace stray? Those whiskers are too cute—tiny and quivering, begging for pets. Should I kidnap it?
I jumped up, chair scraping harshly against the marble floor, heart leaping with unexpected delight that chased away paperwork dread. "Where did you come from, kitty? Come here!"
I crept closer on tiptoe, hand outstretched palm-up, voice dropping to a soft coo.
Those emerald eyes are hypnotic—flecks of gold in the irises, wise beyond kitten-years. Look at that white fur on her chest, puffed out like a cravat.
"Your Majesty, don't touch wild things," Merol warned, half-rising from his stool, hand hovering protectively. "Fleas, claws, diseases—strays carry who-knows-what from the alleys."
Before I could scoop her up, the cat leapt—a graceful, balletic arc through the air, muscles rippling under that striped coat, landing square on my head with feather-light precision.
Her paws kneaded my chignon rhythmically, tiny claws pricking my scalp just enough to tingle through the hairpins without snagging, tail curling possessively around my forehead like a living crown, warm fur brushing my brow.
"Meow~"
Her weight settled comfortably—surprisingly heavy for her size, purring rumbling deep and steady like a tiny engine vibrating against my skull, hot breath puffing on my temple, long whiskers tickling my cheek and ear in twitchy sweeps.
The scent of her—clean straw, faint milk, wild outdoors—filled my nose.
"What the heck!" I flailed wildly, jumping in place like a fool—crimson robes swishing dramatically, diamond crown wobbling precariously on its pins, sceptre clattering to the floor. "Get down, you fuzzy menace! This is an emperor's head, not a cat tree!"
She clung tighter, balancing with acrobatic ease, one paw batting playfully at a loose golden strand dangling free—pounce, retreat, repeat—like it was the best toy ever.
"Your Majesty, should I pull it down?" Merol asked, stifling a chuckle that shook his shoulders, hand hovering uncertainly, eyes dancing with rare amusement.
"Kitty, come down please," I cooed desperately, tiptoeing in frantic circles around the desk, arms windmilling like a deranged bird, crown slipping sideways.
She's so warm—purrs massaging my brain, tail fluff tickling my nose now.
"Meow~" She tilted her head upside-down, green eyes locking onto mine with utter unconcern, upside-down whiskers fanning like a moustache, as if I were the ridiculous one.
"Kitty!"
"Meow?" A questioning chirp, high and curious, ears flicking back then forward, one white paw dangling lazily.
"Kitty?!"
"Meow..." With a final, bone-deep vibrating purr that buzzed through my skull like a lullaby, she launched off—twisting mid-air with feline grace to land soft as a feather in my waiting arms.
Her fur was velvet-soft under my fingers, warmer than sun-heated silk, body curling instantly into a trusting loaf against my chest, paws tucked neatly, chin resting on my arm.
Rough tongue rasped my thumb in a grateful lick—sandpaper-rough but loving—as I rubbed her head—scratching behind velvety ears that flicked happily under my nails, tracing the satin curve of her skull, down to her arched back where stripes rippled like waves.
Her tail tip flicked in bliss against my elbow, purring escalating to a full-throated rumble, a tiny motorbike revving from her chest cavity—chest rising-falling in time.
She nuzzled my wrist insistently, headbutting for more pets, those perfect mitten-paws kneading my brocade robe like dough, claws sheathed.
God, those paws—immaculate, pink pads peeking like jellybeans. Street-smart survivor or pampered palace pet? Doesn't matter; she's mine now.
The maid slipped in then, bowing low with flushed cheeks, tray balanced expertly on one palm despite the absurdity before her.
She set it on the table—silver dome lifting with a flourish to reveal a pastel paradise of macaroons—raspberry pink shells blushing with tangy filling, pistachio green dusted in nutty crumbs, vanilla cream clouds smooth as fresh snow, chocolate ganache dark and sinful, all stacked like jewelled treasures on lace doilies, powdered sugar dusting the edges like fresh snow.
I plopped back into the throne-chair with a triumphant flop; cat cradled in one arm like a fluffy living scarf—her purrs vibrating against my side—and snatched a raspberry macaroon.
Crisp shell cracked sweetly under my teeth, gooey strawberry-rhubarb filling bursting tart and lush on my tongue, melting into sugary bliss. "
Here, kitty—open wide." I broke off a tiny piece, holding it near her tiny pink mouth, careful not to overwhelm.
The tabby sniffed daintily first—whiskers trembling forward like feelers, nose wrinkling at the fruity scent—then nibbled delicately: tiny white teeth crunching the shell with precise crunches, eyes half-closing in feline ecstasy, a crumb clinging to her chin.
She licked it clean with enthusiastic laps of her rough tongue, cleaning my fingers too—pink tongue darting out for seconds—purring all the while as I alternated bites—one gooey raspberry crunch for me, one pistachio nibble for her, vanilla cream smear on my lips chased by her crumb-lick.
Powdered sugar dusted my robes and her whiskers alike, turning us into a sugary mess.
Merol sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, but his eyes twinkled with barely-suppressed mirth. "Your Majesty, the reports—border tensions with the underworld faction, church petitions, Duke Redrowe's troop funding request. They won't sign themselves."
"Later," I declared around a mouthful of chocolate ganache, feeding kitty a vanilla speck that had her kneading my arm harder. "Kitty's first advisor now. She approves—right, girl?" A double purr-meow confirmed it.
"Your Majesty!"
"Later~"