Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 47

Chapter 47: Dressed for Domination
The first thing I hear as I drift back to consciousness is the faint murmur of voices, distant but distinct. There’s a quiet rustling, the sound of fabric being handled with far too much care, and the unmistakable clink of jewelry being sorted. My brain, still foggy from sleep, pieces together the clues with mounting dread.

No. No, no, no.

[Oh yes.]

I open one eye. The sky outside my window is no longer golden with the hues of late afternoon but a deep shade of indigo. Night is settling in. And if night is settling in, that means—

[It’s time.]

I groan, flipping onto my stomach and burying my face in my pillow. Maybe if I stay still, they’ll forget I exist.

[Your family? Forget you? You’re adorable.]

Before I can argue with the system, my door creaks open. I don’t need to look to know who it is.

“Your Highness,” Elira’s calm, measured voice cuts through the room like a blade. “It’s time to get ready.”

“Go away,” I mumble into my pillow.

“We can’t,” Mara chirps, far too cheerful for what’s about to happen. “The banquet is tonight!”

“I know,” I grumble. “That’s the problem.”

[You can’t hide. You know that, right?]

I lift my head just enough to glare at Mara and Elira, who stand at the foot of my bed, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. “What did they do?”

Mara beams. “Who, us?”

Elira, the traitor, smiles gently. “Your parents and grandparents have prepared everything.”

“Everything?”

Mara nods enthusiastically. “Everything.”

I sit up, running a hand through my long silver hair, which is currently a tangled mess from my nap. My heterochromatic eyes one icy blue, the other molten gold stare back at them, daring them to say what I already know is true.

“They picked my outfit, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Elira confirms.

“Did they pick my soul as well? Or just my dignity?”

Mara snorts, unable to contain her laughter. “Just the outfit. This time.”

[They’re going to have so much fun with you.]

“Wonderful,” I mutter.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cool marble floor. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mara claps her hands, and the two of them spring into action, pulling me towards the vanity where an unsettling amount of beauty products and accessories have been laid out. My eyes flick to the mirror, and I stare at my reflection with a resigned sigh.

“Do we really need to do all this?”

“Yes,” Elira says firmly.

“Absolutely,” Mara adds.

[You’re doomed. Accept it.]

I do not accept it.

They start with my hair. Elira, precise and meticulous, begins combing through the silver strands, smoothing out the tangles with a gentleness that almost lulls me back to sleep. Mara, less patient but equally skilled, separates sections of my hair, her fingers weaving through with practiced ease.

“What are you doing to me?” I ask warily.

“Trust us,” Mara grins.

“Never.”

[This is already entertaining.]

Slowly, the image in the mirror begins to shift. Elira braids one side of my hair tightly against my scalp, the intricate plaits forming a pattern reminiscent of the sigils carved into the palace walls. The other side is left loose, the silver strands cascading down my shoulder in soft waves, giving an almost rebellious contrast to the structured braid.

Mara ties the braid off with a thin black leather cord, accented with a small silver charm shaped like a dragon’s claw.

[That’s… actually impressive.]

I blink, surprised. I don’t hate it.

“Good,” Elira says softly, as if reading my mind. “Now for the outfit.”

I brace myself as they guide me to the center of the room, where the chosen ensemble is displayed on a mannequin. My breath catches despite myself.

It’s… magnificent.

The tailored black jacket, sharp and structured, exudes authority. Silver embroidery coils along the edges like restless dragons, and the high collar adds a regal air that’s impossible to ignore. Beneath it, a midnight-black shirt shimmers faintly under the light, its fabric smooth as silk. The fitted trousers taper elegantly, and the knee-high leather boots with silver buckles gleam ominously.

But it’s the details that truly strike me. The black cape, lined with deep crimson, fastens at the shoulders with dragon-wing clasps. The silver pauldron, engraved with ancient sigils, rests on one shoulder, adding a weight that feels less ornamental and more symbolic.

[They really went all out.]

Mara grins as she helps me into the trousers and shirt, fastening each button with exaggerated care. “You’re going to look terrifying.”

“Good,” I reply dryly. “I aim to traumatize.”

Elira adjusts the jacket, smoothing the shoulders. “You’ll succeed.”

[You always do.]

They buckle the belt around my waist, the dragon-head buckle catching the light, and slide the boots on with practiced efficiency. The final touch is the cape, draped over my shoulders and fastened securely.

I turn to the mirror, taking in the full image. My silver hair, styled to perfection, frames my face in a way that feels both regal and defiant. My blue and gold eyes gleam with a sharpness that promises nothing good. The outfit masculine, commanding, and undeniably imposing fits me like a second skin.

[If looks could kill, you’d already have conquered the world.]

I smirk. Soon.

There’s a knock at the door. Mara opens it, revealing my family. They step inside, and I immediately notice that their outfits match mine perfectly. Verania’s sharp black gown is accented with silver embroidery, and her dark hair is braided in a style similar to mine. Sylvithra’s tailored black suit is sleek and understated, with crimson lining that matches my cape. Saelira’s flowing robes shimmer with silver threads, and Eryndor’s military-style jacket mirrors mine almost exactly.

I raise a brow. “Matching outfits? Really?”

Verania grins. “We’re making a statement.”

“And what statement is that?”

Sylvithra’s lips curl into a faint smile. “That you’re not to be trifled with.”

[She’s not wrong.]

Saelira steps forward, adjusting the collar of my jacket with a proud smile. “You look perfect.”

Eryndor chuckles. “Terrifying, really.”

“Good,” I reply. “That was the goal.”

Verania clasps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Are you ready?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Do I have a choice?”

Sylvithra tilts her head. “No.”

[Nope.]

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

As we head towards the banquet hall, I can’t help but smirk. If nothing else, tonight will be… interesting.