Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 48

Chapter 48: A Gathering of Power
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

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

The grand doors loom ahead, towering slabs of obsidian carved with intricate depictions of battles, victories, and the unmistakable silhouette of my mothers, their figures immortalized in gilded inlays. Beyond them, the murmur of hundreds of voices fills the air, a low, anxious hum of anticipation.

[I can feel the fear from here. It’s delicious.]

It is.

Two guards, clad in ceremonial armor, push the doors open with synchronized precision. The moment they do, the hall erupts into applause though I can tell half the nobles are just clapping because not clapping might be considered treason.

I step forward, my boots clicking against the polished marble floor. My cape sweeps behind me, the crimson lining catching the flickering chandelier light. Every eye is on me, darting nervously between my parents, my grandparents, and me the supposed future ruler of this empire.

The room is vast, the ceiling impossibly high, adorned with cascading banners in black and silver, marked with our sigil. A grand chandelier, fashioned from enchanted crystals, bathes the hall in cold, flickering light. Tables are set with the finest gold-trimmed china, goblets brimming with deep red wine, platters of exotic delicacies arranged in elaborate displays.

At the far end of the hall, the thrones await.

Two towering, opulent seats, reserved for my mothers, stand elevated on a dais carved from black stone, edged with veins of silver that pulse faintly with embedded magic. Between them, a smaller throne sits, draped in dark silk, its base adorned with curling dragon motifs. Mine.

I bite back a sigh. They really are committed to the whole “terrifying child-empress” aesthetic.

[As they should be.]

I make my way toward the dais, flanked by my family. The crowd parts effortlessly, nobles bowing, their expressions carefully schooled into something resembling reverence though I catch more than a few terrified glances. Good.

By the time I take my seat, the tension is so thick it could be bottled and sold as a weapon. I settle in, crossing one leg over the other, drumming my fingers against the armrest as I glance at my mothers.

Verania, lounging in her throne like she owns the world (which, technically, she does), smirks. Sylvithra, ever composed, simply nods at me in approval.

From the other side of the hall, the announcer clears his throat, voice steady but cautious as he steps forward with a long scroll in hand.

“It is my great honor to introduce the esteemed rulers and their heirs, who have gathered tonight in celebration of Her Highness, Princess Elyzara.”

[Showtime.]

The first to be introduced are the human monarchs, the lesser rulers scattered throughout our lands. They step forward one by one, their ceremonial attire a poor attempt at grandeur, their bows a little too deep, their smiles a little too forced. They know their place.

Each of them presents their offspring future kings, queens, or whatever pathetic titles they cling to. I glance at them, unimpressed. Some look at me with admiration. Some with envy. Most with fear.

[How adorable. They think they matter.]

Once the humans finish groveling, the air shifts. A new presence ripples through the hall, thick with power. The murmurs die instantly.

The Demons have arrived.

The doors open again, and in strides the Demon Lord of the southern dominions, his very presence exuding danger. Tall, broad-shouldered, his crimson skin marked with ancient runes, his obsidian horns curved wickedly. He carries himself with the confidence of a ruler who fears nothing.

He bows not deeply, not fearfully, but with the careful measure of one acknowledging power.

“Your Majesties,” he rumbles, his voice like crushed stone. “It is an honor to stand before you on this day of celebration.”

His son stands beside him a young demon, around my age, with violet-tinged black hair and slit-pupiled gold eyes. He meets my gaze, assessing.

[Oh, this one has a spine. Interesting.]

The Demon Lord gestures toward his heir. “My son, Zareth. He will one day rule the southern dominion.”

Zareth inclines his head, offering a respectful, if not slightly smug, nod.

I arch a brow. He doesn’t look afraid.

[Finally, someone with potential.]

Before I can respond, the air shifts again lighter this time, but no less powerful.

The Celestials.

The grand windows lining the hall burst open, and in a dramatic display of arrogance, the Celestial Empress descends because, of course, walking through the door like a normal person would be beneath her.

Clad in flowing robes of pure white, her six golden wings unfurl behind her like a halo, her platinum hair cascading down her back in shining waves. A divine glow clings to her skin, faintly illuminating her sharp, perfect features.

She lands gracefully, feet barely touching the floor, and offers a nod so slight it barely qualifies as acknowledgment.

“Empress Verania. Empress Sylvithra,” she greets, her voice like chimes in the wind. Her eyes land on me. “And the young Princess Elyzara.”

The nobles stare in hushed awe. The Celestials rarely lower themselves to interact with those beneath them. That she’s here at all is a statement.

She gestures behind her, and her heir steps forward.

A girl, tall and elegant, her own wings tucked neatly behind her back, her sharp silver eyes appraising me with cool calculation.

“This is my daughter, Seraphina,” the Celestial Empress says smoothly. “She will one day rule the Sky Dominion.”

Seraphina inclines her head, but unlike Zareth, there is no smugness only a quiet, analytical sharpness. She studies me as one might a puzzle to be solved.

[She’s trying to gauge your worth.]

Let her.

The hall remains deathly silent as the three heirs stand before me, each representing the strongest factions of the known world.

Zareth, the demon prince, watching with barely contained amusement.

Seraphina, the celestial princess, unreadable, but clearly calculating.

And then there’s me.

I lean back in my throne, steepling my fingers, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make them wonder what I’ll say.

The tension crackles.

[Oh, this is going to be fun.]