Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 45

Chapter 45: A Parade of Poor Choices
If I had known this morning would involve being paraded through the city like a prized thoroughbred, I would have barricaded myself in my chambers. Permanently.

Instead, I stand before a mirror, scowling at my reflection as Mara and Elira gleefully lace me into the most absurd gown I have ever seen. The fabric—some shimmering concoction of crimson and black—cascades around me in layers that seem to multiply every time I blink. Embroidered dragons coil along the hem, their golden eyes glinting ominously. The bodice is adorned with gemstones that catch the light with every slight movement, and my shoulders are draped with an ornate black cape that flows dramatically behind me.

It’s all… a lot.

[You look like the final boss in a particularly pretentious opera.]

I groan. This is excessive.

[Which means it’s perfect.]

Mara, fastening the last of the golden clasps on my cape, steps back with a satisfied sigh. “Absolutely stunning, Your Highness.”

Elira, adjusting a jeweled pin in my hair, smirks. “The city won’t know what hit them.”

“I don’t want to hit them,” I mutter. “I want to avoid them.”

Mara grins. “Not today.”

[Definitely not today.]

Before I can protest, the doors swing open, and in walks my family—the culprits behind this whole ordeal. Verania’s eyes light up when she sees me, and she clasps her hands together with a delighted gasp. “Perfect!”

Sylvithra, ever the composed one, offers a small approving nod. “Magnificent.”

Saelira beams with pride. “You’ll have them trembling.”

Eryndor grins, clearly amused. “Or fainting.”

I glare at them. “I’m not going.”

“You are,” Verania says brightly.

“No.”

“Yes,” Sylvithra counters softly, but with a tone that brooks no argument.

[I’d say you have a choice, but we both know you don’t.]

I sigh, resigned. “Fine. But if anyone tries to hug me, I’m setting them on fire.”

“See?” Verania claps her hands. “She’s already in the spirit!”

Eryndor chuckles. “We raised her well.”

Before I can threaten them with bodily harm, I’m being ushered out of the room, down the grand staircase, and into the waiting carriage. It’s as ornate as my gown, of course polished black with golden trim, drawn by four midnight-black horses whose harnesses glitter with gemstones.

As I settle into the plush seat, I glance at my family, who have somehow managed to fit themselves into the carriage as well. “Do we really all need to go?”

“Yes,” Saelira says simply.

“Why?”

“To watch,” Verania grins.

[This is going to be fantastic.]

The carriage lurches forward, and I feel a growing sense of dread as we approach the city gates. I can already hear the distant murmur of a crowd. Wonderful.

The moment we pass through the gates, the murmur swells into a roar. People line the streets, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of me. Some hold banners, others clutch bouquets or boxes wrapped in delicate paper. And all of them all of them are waiting to offer gifts.

Or face execution.

[Ah, nothing says “happy birthday” like the threat of death.]

I shift uncomfortably as the carriage slows, giving the crowd an even better view. Whispers ripple through them, their eyes wide with awe, terror, or some mixture of both.

A young man steps forward first, bowing so deeply I’m surprised he doesn’t topple over. “H-Happy birthday, Your Highness!” He offers a gilded box with trembling hands.

I accept it with a nod, and he scurries away, clearly relieved to still have his head.

One by one, they approach, each offering some token of admiration or survival. Jewelry, rare artifacts, exotic fruits, meticulously crafted gowns… The pile grows steadily, threatening to engulf me entirely.

[I wonder how many of these are cursed.]

Hopefully all of them.

It’s not the gifts that bother me. It’s the… spectacle. Every pair of eyes locked on me, every whispered comment, every nervous smile. I can feel my patience thinning with each passing moment.

An elderly woman approaches next, clutching a small potted plant. She bows deeply, her hands shaking. “For you, Your Highness. M-May you conquer all you desire.”

I accept the plant, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Conquer all I desire? What, like the city florist?

Then it happens.

A man in the crowd, young and foolish, stands with his arms crossed and no gift in sight. No bow, no whispered greeting. Just… silence.

The crowd notices immediately. Gasps ripple through them. Mothers clutch their children. People edge away from him as if he’s suddenly contracted the plague.

I arch a brow, locking eyes with him. His face is defiant, though I can see the fear beneath it. Brave. Stupid, but brave.

Verania leans toward me, whispering loud enough for the entire street to hear, “Would you like me to handle that?”

The man visibly pales.

[Oh, this is delicious.]

I tilt my head, pretending to consider. “It is my birthday,” I muse aloud.

The crowd holds its collective breath.

“But,” I sigh dramatically, “it would be… messy.”

The man exhales, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Unless…” I add thoughtfully, “you really think we should.”

Eryndor grins. “We absolutely should.”

The man’s face drains of color entirely.

Sylvithra, ever calm, offers him a serene smile that somehow feels far more threatening than anything Verania or Eryndor could muster. “Perhaps,” she says gently, “he just forgot.”

The man nods so quickly I worry his head might detach. “Y-Yes! I—I forgot! I’ll—I’ll go get something right now!”

“Good,” Saelira says cheerfully. “Run along.”

He does. Faster than I thought humanly possible.

[I give him credit. He’s still alive. For now.]

The rest of the procession continues, each gift more extravagant than the last. A small dragon hatchling in a golden cage. A necklace rumored to be enchanted. A sword crafted from a metal so rare it’s almost mythical.

By the time we reach the city square, my head is pounding.

“I’m done,” I announce.

“Oh no, you’re not,” Verania smirks.

“I’m going home.”

“Not yet,” Sylvithra says smoothly.

I glare at them. “What more do you want from me?”

[Your soul.]

“Just a little longer,” Eryndor chuckles. “You’ve only traumatized half the city.”

“Let me guess,” I mutter. “There’s a speech.”

Saelira grins. “Of course.”

The carriage stops, and I’m ushered onto a grand platform in the center of the square. The crowd falls silent, waiting.

I stare at them, and they stare back.

[Say something inspiring.]

I take a deep breath.

“Thank you all for your… generous gifts,” I begin, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The crowd shifts nervously.

[Excellent start.]

“I’m… touched by your thoughtfulness.”

Verania snickers behind me.

“And rest assured,” I add, narrowing my eyes, “I will remember those who were… less thoughtful.”

Gasps. Perfect.

“Enjoy the festivities,” I finish. “Or don’t. I don’t particularly care.”

I turn on my heel and stride back to the carriage, my cape billowing behind me. My family follows, barely containing their laughter.

“Brilliant,” Eryndor grins.

“Magnificent,” Saelira agrees.

Verania squeezes my shoulder. “Proud of you, sweetheart.”

Sylvithra chuckles softly. “A birthday to remember.”

[It really was. I’m impressed.]

I sigh, sinking into my seat as the carriage starts moving again. “Next year, I’m disappearing.”

“Sure, dear,” Sylvithra says gently. “We’ll find you.”

[They definitely will.]

I’m doomed.