Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 56

Chapter 56: After the Chaos
The last remnants of the flaming disaster were still being put out as the guests started filtering out of the banquet hall, some looking relieved, others looking like they had just survived a warzone.

I stood near the entrance, watching them flee.

Because, really, that’s what it was. A tactical retreat.

Nobles murmured quick, breathless farewells. Servants hurried to clean up the aftermath of the party. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled shouting of the castle’s fire mages could still be heard as they desperately tried to extinguish what was left of the eastern wing.

And through it all, my parents and grandparents remained completely unbothered.

“Ah,” Verania exhaled, stretching her arms, “that went well.”

I stared.

“…The palace is still burning.”

Sylvithra shrugged. “We’ve had worse.”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it.

Because, unfortunately, I had no doubt that was true.

Riven, standing beside me, looked like he was reconsidering his entire existence. He shot a glance toward the flames. Then back at me.

“I’m going home.”

I smirked. “Smart.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “See you next week?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

He hesitated, then glanced very, very cautiously toward my parents.

Both of them were smiling at him.

It was not a comforting sight.

“…Right,” he muttered. “Assuming I survive.”

With that, he turned and walked off at a very normal, very casual, definitely-not-panicked pace.

I waved.

Then, finally, I turned toward my own escape.

“Alright,” I yawned, stretching, “I’m going to bed before something else explodes.”

Verania smirked. “A wise decision.”

Sylvithra nodded approvingly. “We raised you well.”

I chose not to comment.

Instead, I headed toward my chambers, passing through the halls as the last embers of the fire were being dealt with.

By the time I reached my room, my body ached with exhaustion.

I had survived.

Somehow.

I peeled off my ridiculous birthday outfit and headed to my bathroom.

A warm bath was already drawn, courtesy of my servants.

I stepped in, sighing as the water relaxed my muscles.

[ Well, that was eventful. ]

I snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling, letting the heat soak away the ridiculous tension of the night.

Once I was done, I dried off, slipped into something far more comfortable, and made my way to my bed.

Except.

There were five people in it.

I blinked.

“…Why.”

Saelira, my grandmother, gestured elegantly. “It is only proper that we ensure you are safe as you sleep.”

Grand Warlord Eryndor nodded solemnly. “A moment of vulnerability is when an enemy would strike.”

Sylvithra, already reclining, smirked. “And besides, it’s tradition.”

Verania, sprawled across half the bed, yawned. “Yes. Tradition.”

I stared.

“This is ridiculous.”

Saelira arched a perfect brow. “And?”

I groaned.

There was no winning this.

So, begrudgingly, I crawled into the only available space left.

It was… surprisingly warm.

Comfortable.

Safe.

And before I could complain again…

I fell asleep.

—

Meanwhile, Elsewhere in the Palace

Verania and Sylvithra stood in the royal study, their usual amusement gone.

Across from them, the royal advisors trembled.

The banquet had ended. The fire had been put out.

But now?

Now came the real work.

Sylvithra tapped a gloved finger against the wooden desk, her expression unreadable. “The incident with the orphanage funds.”

One of the nobles flinched. “W-we are still investigating—”

“Wrong answer,” Verania interrupted smoothly.

The noble choked.

Sylvithra leaned forward, her violet eyes gleaming with something cold. “We are not asking for an investigation. We are asking for the names.”

The room went silent.

The advisors, fully aware that their lives depended on this moment, frantically scrambled through documents.

Papers rustled. Voices stuttered.

Finally, one of them nervously held out a list.

Verania took it, glancing down.

She hummed. “Fascinating.”

Sylvithra scanned the names.

Then, without hesitation, she passed the list to the royal executioner.

“Prepare the public announcements,” she said. “These traitors will be dealt with at dawn.”

The executioner bowed. “Of course, your Majesties.”

The advisors visibly relaxed.

Too soon.

Because Verania smiled.

And it was not a kind smile.

“Now,” she said, “about the fireworks budget…”

The advisors paled.

The night was far from over.

And, unfortunately for them, Verania and Sylvithra were in one of those moods.

The kind where their amusement couldn’t quite hide the promise of immediate violence.

The kind where their smiles were just sharp enough to cut through bone.

The kind where someone was definitely about to die.

Sylvithra tapped a perfectly-manicured finger against the armrest of her chair, watching the advisors squirm. “Now then,” she mused, “where were we?”

One of the nobles—a balding, particularly sweaty man—tried to steady his voice. “Y-your Majesties, I assure you, the f-fireworks budget was within the—”

“Was it?” Verania interrupted, tilting her head. “Because, as I recall, the entire eastern wing was set on fire.”

The noble’s face drained of color. “That… that was not intentional—”

“I should hope not,” Sylvithra murmured.

“But!” The noble rushed forward, his desperation evident. “B-but! The displays were spectacular! Surely, Your Majesties—”

Verania sighed.

Then she picked up a dagger from the desk and threw it.

The blade whistled through the air, piercing the man’s sleeve and pinning him to the wooden door behind him.

He let out a very undignified yelp.

Verania smiled. “Oh, dear. My hand slipped.”

Sylvithra smirked. “How tragic.”

The advisors frozen in place looked between each other, debating whether they should flee or pray.

Grand Empress Saelira, meanwhile, observed the situation with quiet amusement. She hadn’t spoken much—yet—but the way she stirred her tea indicated that she was, at the very least, mildly entertained.

Grand Warlord Eryndor, however, was not in the mood for amusement.

He stood, his towering presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. “We have tolerated incompetence long enough.”

The noble—still pinned to the door—let out a strangled whimper.

Sylvithra leaned back in her chair, regarding him with bored interest. “Explain yourself,” she ordered.

The noble gulped. “I-it was a simple miscalculation! Surely, there is no need for—”

Verania tilted her head. “No need for what?”

He swallowed hard.

Sylvithra smirked. “An execution?”

His breathing hitched. “T-that seems… excessive.”

Verania turned to Eryndor. “Father-in-law. Would you say an execution is excessive?”

Eryndor stroked his beard thoughtfully. “No,” he said finally. “If anything, it’s overdue.”

The noble made a very weak attempt at laughing. “H-ha, Your Majesty jests—”

“No,” Sylvithra said flatly. “I don’t.”

The noble squeaked.

Meanwhile, another advisor a woman with slightly more sense than the rest quickly stepped forward. “Your Majesties, if I may,” she began, carefully keeping her voice level, “the fireworks budget may have been miscalculated, but perhaps the funds were… misplaced?”

Saelira’s brows lifted.

Eryndor’s expression darkened.

Verania leaned forward, her amusement growing. “Misplaced?”

The advisor now realizing she had thrown several of her colleagues directly under the metaphorical guillotine nodded quickly. “Yes. A-a discrepancy in the records, perhaps?”

Sylvithra’s gaze sharpened. “Elaborate.”

The advisor looked like she was deeply regretting speaking at all. “W-well, if Your Majesties recall, a portion of the treasury was allocated to the firework display, but it’s possible that certain individuals may have taken advantage of the confusion to… reallocate funds elsewhere.”

A slow smile spread across Verania’s lips. “Fascinating.”

Eryndor, who had remained relatively quiet up until now, let out a low, menacing chuckle.

And that’s when the advisors truly began to panic.

“Shall I investigate?” he rumbled.

Which, in Eryndor’s case, did not mean paperwork.

It meant going to their homes and personally ensuring that no one ever tried to steal from the empire again.

Sylvithra and Verania exchanged glances.

Then, as one, they nodded.

Eryndor cracked his knuckles.

The advisors looked ready to faint.

Saelira, watching the entire thing, simply sighed and placed her teacup down. “Honestly, these things always end the same way.”

She glanced toward the most intelligent advisor in the room the woman who had spoken up. “You,” she said, tapping a finger against the table, “what’s your name?”

The advisor snapped to attention. “L-Lady Alistra, Your Majesty.”

Saelira hummed. “Competent. A rare quality these days.”

Alistra didn’t dare move. “I-I only wish to serve, Your Majesty.”

Verania, amused, waved a hand. “Then do so. Find the missing funds and bring me the names of every fool involved.”

Alistra nodded rapidly. “Y-yes, Your Majesty! A-at once!”

She turned on her heel and fled, leaving the other advisors behind.

Sylvithra stretched. “Well. That was productive.”

Verania sighed. “A shame, though.”

Sylvithra quirked a brow. “Oh?”

Verania smirked. “I was in the mood for a public execution.”

Eryndor chuckled. “You’re always in the mood for a public execution.”

Saelira exhaled. “You’ll have other opportunities, dear.”

Verania grinned. “Oh, I know.”

The advisors, now realizing they were not quite in the clear yet, looked like they wanted to die before Verania decided to kill them herself.

Unfortunately for them?

She was feeling merciful.

For now.