Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 44

Chapter 44: The Morning of Madness
I wake to the unmistakable sound of chaos. It isn’t subtle. It isn’t quiet. It is, in fact, loud enough to make me briefly consider whether I’ve been abducted by some particularly enthusiastic cult that worships noise itself. My eyes remain closed as I process the sheer volume of whatever is happening outside my chambers.

[Good morning, birthday tyrant.]

My eyelid twitches. No.

[Yes.]

I crack one eye open, greeted by the soft glow of morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. Everything seems… suspiciously normal in my room. Too normal. Which means everything outside of it is probably a disaster.

A sudden blast of trumpets confirms my suspicion.

I groan into my pillow. “What… is that?”

[The sound of your impending doom. Or your birthday celebration. Same difference.]

“It’s too early for this.”

[It’s never too early for forced merriment.]

There’s a knock at my door, far too chipper for this hour. Before I can respond, Mara’s head peeks in, her grin wide enough to be unsettling.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” she chirps, as if the entire palace isn’t currently being terrorized by trumpet-wielding maniacs. “Happy birthday!”

I squint at her. “Why do you look… thrilled?”

“Because,” Elira adds from behind her, voice deceptively calm, “we’ve been instructed to make sure this is the most memorable morning of your life.”

“That sounds ominous,” I mutter, sitting up.

Mara nods enthusiastically. “It is.”

[Oh, this is going to be spectacular.]

Before I can demand an explanation, Mara throws open the curtains with a flourish. Sunlight floods the room, but that’s not what catches my attention. Outside, in the courtyard below, is… carnage.

Not literal carnage, unfortunately. But it might as well be. There are banners in every possible shade of red, draped over every conceivable surface. Red flowers, red ribbons, red streamers. It’s as if someone challenged the palace decorators to create the gaudiest display imaginable, and they gleefully accepted.

A massive banner stretches across the courtyard with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR FUTURE TYRANT! written in bold, glittering letters. Glitter. As if that weren’t bad enough, a troupe of minstrels is playing some horribly upbeat tune on an array of instruments that have no business being played this early in the day.

I stare in horror. “What… is that?”

Mara beams. “A birthday surprise!”

“Who…?”

“Your parents,” Elira supplies helpfully. “And your grandparents.”

Of course.

[They’ve outdone themselves. I’m impressed.]

“Make it stop,” I plead.

Mara shrugs. “We can’t. They paid them for the entire morning.”

“I’ll pay them to leave.”

“Too late,” Elira deadpans.

Before I can begin plotting my family’s demise, there’s another knock. This time, it’s louder. More demanding. The door swings open, revealing all four of my grandparents, followed closely by my mothers, Verania and Sylvithra. They sweep into the room with the kind of coordinated grace that suggests they’ve been rehearsing this entrance for days.

“Happy birthday, my little conqueror!” Verania declares, pulling me into an uncomfortably tight hug.

“Can’t breathe,” I wheeze.

“Oh, you’re fine,” she waves off my protest, releasing me only to be immediately replaced by Saelira, who cups my face in both hands as if inspecting me for signs of aging.

“Five years old,” she sighs dramatically. “So grown up.”

“Please don’t.”

“Look at you,” Eryndor adds, crossing his arms with a proud grin. “Ready to take over the world.”

“I’m literally still in bed.”

“That’s the best place to plot world domination,” Ilythia quips.

Sylvithra, ever the calm in this storm, sits elegantly on the edge of my bed, offering me a small, fond smile. “Did you sleep well, dear?”

“No,” I say flatly. “Because someone thought trumpets at dawn was a good idea.”

Verania claps her hands. “We wanted to start the day off right!”

“By deafening me?”

“Precisely.”

[Honestly, I admire their commitment.]

I bury my face in my hands. “Why?”

“Because,” Saelira says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “it’s your birthday! It has to be memorable.”

“This is memorable.”

Eryndor chuckles. “Good.”

I peek at them through my fingers. “So, what’s the plan? You’ve already blinded me with decorations and assaulted me with music. What’s next? A parade?”

The room goes silent.

I freeze. “No.”

“Maybe,” Verania grins.

“Absolutely not.”

“Just a small one,” Saelira assures me. “Very tasteful.”

[Lies.]

“A parade is not tasteful.”

“It will be!” Eryndor promises, far too cheerfully.

I groan. “I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sylvithra says softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Now, get up. There’s breakfast waiting.”

I open my mouth to argue but stop when Mara and Elira pull back the curtains on the other side of the room, revealing the balcony and the ridiculously lavish breakfast spread laid out there. Pastries, fruits, roasted meats, cheeses, cakes… cakes. Plural.

“Did you prepare breakfast for an army?” I ask incredulously.

“No,” Verania replies. “Just for you.”

[This is obscene. I love it.]

I stare at the mountain of food. “This is… too much.”

“Nothing’s too much for our Elyzara,” Saelira says proudly.

I sigh, knowing resistance is futile. “Fine.”

I drag myself out of bed, throwing on a silk robe, and step onto the balcony. The scent of freshly baked goods is almost enough to make me forget the headache-inducing festivities below. Almost.

As I sit down, Sylvithra pours me tea with the precision of someone who has done it a thousand times. Eryndor immediately starts piling food onto my plate despite my protests.

“Eat,” he orders. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” I ask warily.

“Surprises,” Verania winks.

“Terrifying.”

[Agreed.]

As I take a bite of something sweet and buttery, I glance at them. “This is a lot of effort for a birthday.”

“Of course,” Saelira says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the future tyrant of this realm.”

“Nothing less than perfection,” Ilythia adds.

Sylvithra nods. “And besides, birthdays should be celebrated.”

“With subtlety,” I argue.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Verania counters.

[She has a point.]

I roll my eyes. “What else did you plan?”

They exchange glances. That’s never a good sign.

“Just… a few things,” Eryndor says vaguely.

“Be specific.”

“No.”

“Perfect.”

I focus on my tea, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. My family’s version of “a few things” usually involves fire, explosions, or declarations of war. Sometimes all three.

Mara and Elira hover nearby, clearly amused by my predicament.

“Enjoying yourselves?” I ask dryly.

“Immensely,” Mara grins.

Elira smirks. “It’s not every day we see you flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

[You are.]

“Shut up.”

Verania beams at me. “You’ll love it.”

“I doubt that.”

As breakfast continues, I can’t help but wonder if this is just the beginning. Knowing them, it is.

[Oh, it definitely is.]