Chapter 8 - The Princess Returns 8
741 Words
Elise’s face had been pale as a porcelain mask, but the moment she saw Lily bounding toward her, the color returned—just slightly.
She quietly set the crumpled rules on the countertop and turned with open arms, her voice gentle and motherly.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Lily’s giggles echoed down the staircase as she dashed forward in her puffy sky-blue princess dress, her crystal sandals glittering with every step. Her dimples bloomed like twin stars on her cheeks, and she dove into Elise’s embrace with all the energy of a joyous little bunny.
The mother-daughter tableau was enough to make anyone smile.
Anyone but Seraphina.
Her face was frozen in a porcelain-perfect pout, but her icy blue eyes were clouded with something darker—something sharp and poisonous. Her stare bore into Lily like she were a spot of filth on pristine marble. A mistake. An intrusion.
Reginald noticed. His stomach tightened.
“Seraphina—” he started forward, alarm dawning in his chest.
Too late.
Seraphina darted like a shadow across the marble floor, her movements small but shockingly quick. Before Elise could react, the little princess lunged forward and grabbed Lily’s shoulder.
Lily froze.
She didn’t even flinch—just stared, wide-eyed, as Seraphina’s fingers curled around the delicate fabric.
Then came the unmistakable sound:
Riiip.
The soft tear of cloth sliced through the silence like a scream.
Lily blinked. Once. Twice.
Then it hit her.
She let out a wail—loud and breathless and raw—as she clutched her torn dress and crumpled into Elise’s arms.
Reginald was on them in seconds. He stepped between his daughter and the crying pair, shielding them with his body as he turned on Seraphina, his expression thunderous.
“Seraphina! What do you think you’re doing?”
The little girl dusted her hands, lifted her chin, and said coolly,
“Father, have you forgotten? I loathe anything blue. Dresses. Jewelry. Curtains. Bed linens. If I don’t like it, I destroy it. That’s the rule.”
Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her words were edged with ice.
She added with a smirk, “And that little piglet was wearing my least favorite color.”
Reginald’s jaw clenched. He was visibly trembling with frustration, fists balling at his sides.
“Even if you don’t like it,” he snapped, “that’s no excuse to destroy your sister’s dress. You owe her an apology.”
Seraphina arched an eyebrow, eyes glittering with amused disdain. She glanced past her father to the sobbing Lily and sniffed,
“Are you ordering me, Father?”
Reginald flinched slightly. “I’m asking you,” he said, softening his tone. “You’re a princess. You should be graceful—not cruel.”
“Graceful?” Seraphina tilted her head, mock-innocent. “I’m only graceful to people I like. And frankly, Father, not spitting on her was already a show of immense restraint.”
Reginald’s lips twitched. He didn’t know how to respond. Nothing worked—not logic, not anger, not guilt. He couldn’t punish her. He couldn’t even raise his voice without worrying he might break her in some irreversible way.
So instead, he tried to bargain.
“Seraphina…” he knelt slightly, placing both hands gently on her shoulders, “Tell me what you want. What would make you stop treating your sister like this?”
Seraphina’s black-ice eyes sparkled.
“Anything I want?”
“Yes. Anything,” he said too quickly.
Her lashes fluttered.
“Then I want to see her room.”
Reginald blinked. “What?”
She smiled sweetly, voice light as frosting, “I want to see her room, Daddy. That’s all. You did say anything, didn’t you?”
“That’s not your sister’s name,” Reginald growled. “And you’re not to call her a pig again.”
“Answer the question,” Seraphina said, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “Can I see it, or not?”
Reginald sighed. What harm could there be in looking? If this kept the peace—even briefly—it would be worth it.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Her room is on the third floor. I’ll take you.”
He didn’t meet Elise’s eyes as he spoke.
But Seraphina did.
And the grin she gave Elise, full of quiet triumph and twisted glee, was the most terrifying thing Elise had ever seen on a child’s face.
- Writer
