Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 51

Chapter 51: A Very Unfortunate Guest
They don’t answer.

Because they already know.

Seraphina’s silver eyes flicker with suspicion. Zareth watches me like I’ve just given him a particularly interesting puzzle to solve—one that involves explosives.

And then, before either of them can question me further, the grand doors swing open.

A suffocating wave of authority washes over the room. The kind that makes lesser beings lower their heads and question every life decision that led them to this moment.

My parents have arrived.

Verania and Sylvithra enter first, their presence alone enough to silence the lingering conversations. They move with the kind of grace that implies they could either give a formal diplomatic speech or start a war, depending on their mood.

My grandparents follow close behind, their expressions ranging from amused (Saelira) to absolutely unimpressed (Eryndor). Ilythia and Veylen remain silent, the type of silent that means they’re very much enjoying whatever is about to happen.

And behind them—

Oh.

Oh, no.

Trailing behind them like a lamb being led to the slaughter is Riven.

He looks like he’s trying very hard not to collapse.

His black hair is slightly ruffled, his blue eyes darting around the room like he’s calculating the fastest escape route. He’s been dressed formally against his will, judging by the stiffness of his movements and despite his best efforts to appear composed, I can practically feel the sheer level of panic radiating off him.

I press my fingers to my temple.

[Oh, this is beautiful.]

Riven catches sight of me and visibly brightens until he notices my parents watching him. His expression immediately shifts into something that can only be described as I am already dead, but I am too young to be a ghost.

I lean slightly toward Zareth and Seraphina. “This is Riven. He’s my friend.”

Zareth snorts. “You have friends?”

Seraphina just blinks, as if the concept of me having any social connection is too foreign for her to process.

I shoot them both a glare before turning my attention back to the unfolding disaster.

Verania takes her seat with the air of a queen settling onto her throne after a successful conquest. Sylvithra follows, but her sharp gaze remains locked onto Riven, who is still standing awkwardly, as if waiting for someone to announce his immediate execution.

“Sit,” Verania commands.

Riven sits. Immediately.

I can feel his panic from across the table.

Sylvithra delicately sips her wine before speaking in a tone so calm it’s terrifying. “You are awfully close to our daughter.”

Riven makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “Uh—”

“We did not approve of this,” Verania continues, watching him over the rim of her goblet.

Riven swallows audibly. “I—”

Eryndor, who has been silent up until now, casually leans forward. “Do you have a death wish, boy?”

Riven looks like he wants to sink into the floor and never be perceived again.

[He might actually faint.]

I sigh, resting my chin in my hand. “Leave him alone.”

Verania raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because he’s mine.”

The table falls silent.

Riven chokes.

Zareth blinks. “Oh, that’s evil.”

Seraphina exhales through her nose.

Verania tilts her head. “Yours?”

I smirk. “Yes. My friend.”

Riven looks like he’s really rethinking all his life choices.

Sylvithra finally sets her glass down. “Hmm.”

She doesn’t sound convinced.

The tension is impossibly thick. The nobles at the other tables are very obviously pretending not to listen, despite the way their ears are practically straining to catch every word.

Before my parents can resume interrogating my only friend, the food arrives.

And, as expected, it is ridiculous.

Massive silver platters are carried out by an entire battalion of servants. The scent of spices, roasted meats, and freshly baked bread fills the air, so rich and overwhelming that even the tension at the table momentarily takes a backseat.

A grand centerpiece of golden-roasted game birds, glistening under the soft glow of enchanted chandeliers.

Bowls of saffron-infused rice, speckled with pomegranate seeds and crushed pistachios.

Thinly sliced meats, each resting on small squares of enchanted ice to preserve their freshness, paired with sauces of deep crimson and amber gold.

Pastries so delicate they look more like art than food, topped with spun sugar in the shape of phoenix wings.

A massive black dragonfruit, carved into an intricate spiral, with glimmering berries spilling from its core like tiny gemstones.

And, sitting ominously at the farthest end of the table, a single dish that looks too normal.

Riven, who has been too busy fearing for his life, doesn’t notice the way my parents’ expressions shift ever so slightly when he reaches for a piece of bread.

I do.

I immediately set my goblet down. “Did you poison something?”

Verania takes a slow sip of wine. “Perhaps.”

Sylvithra elegantly slices into her pheasant. “Consider it a test.”

Riven’s entire soul leaves his body.

[Oh, this is going to be amazing.]

He slowly, slowly, retracts his hand from the bread.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “This is why I have no other friends.”

Eryndor looks entirely unbothered. “You don’t need them.”

Sylvithra nods. “You only need us.”

Riven looks like he wants to protest but values his life too much.

Zareth, watching all of this unfold, finally loses it. He slaps a hand on the table, laughing so hard that a noble at a nearby table nearly drops his fork.

“Oh, I like him,” he says, pointing at Riven. “He’s like a little rabbit surrounded by wolves.”

Seraphina, looking vaguely exhausted, mutters, “More like a rabbit that wandered into a den of wolves and is just now realizing it.”

Riven, still very pale, attempts to speak. “I—”

Verania leans forward, her smile full of dangerous amusement. “Eat, dear guest. You wouldn’t want to offend us, would you?”

Riven freezes.

He looks at me.

I look at my plate.

And I don’t help him.

[This is the best dinner I’ve ever attended.]

Slowly, with the kind of caution one usually reserves for dealing with active traps, Riven reaches for a piece of meat. He takes the tiniest bite.

We all wait.

A long silence.

Riven swallows.

He doesn’t die.

Yet.