Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 62

Chapter 62: Morning with a dragon
I was keeping the dragon.

Whether it liked it or not.

That singular thought settled into my mind as I leaned back against the soft cushions of the picnic blanket, feeling the weight of Smaug’s very disgruntled but also very exhausted body curled up on my lap. Its tiny, shrunken form barely took up any space, but its presence was undeniably loud. Even in sleep, its small tail flicked in irritation, its little wings twitching as if still furious about the events of the past hour.

I carefully glanced at my family.

They were all far too pleased with themselves.

Verania and Sylvithra were sharing a bottle of wine, smugly clinking their glasses together like conspirators who had just orchestrated the downfall of a small nation. Eryndor and Saelira, sitting nearby, had that infuriatingly serene expression that powerful people wore when they knew they had just made an irreversible decision. Ilythia and Veylen were sipping their tea as if this was just another casual afternoon, despite the fact that a dragon was now a permanent resident of our empire.

Mara and Elira were less composed.

Mara, eyes wide with something between horror and amusement, looked between me and Smaug with visible distress. “This is going to end in fire.”

Elira, looking utterly resigned, simply sighed. “I give it a week before something combusts.”

[ I give it three days. ]

That was not comforting.

I took a slow, deep breath. “So… What now?”

Verania, ever the picture of a gleeful tyrant, smiled. “Now, dear, you take responsibility for your actions.”

“…By ‘actions,’ do you mean the crime you all committed by reducing a dragon to the size of a housecat?”

Sylvithra, sipping her wine, waved a hand elegantly. “Details.”

Smaug, half-asleep, let out a grumbling growl from my lap. “You are all villains.”

Verania smirked. “Yes, darling. Keep up.”

Saelira patted my head like I was some kind of particularly well-behaved child. “You will find that royal responsibilities come in many unexpected forms.”

“…This is not a responsibility I wanted.”

[ Too bad. You have a dragon now. ]

I did not dignify that with a response.

By the time we returned to the castle, night had fallen, and I had officially accepted my fate.

Smaug, grumpy but too tired to fight, had grudgingly accepted its place on my shoulder as I was carried back inside by Verania. Apparently, despite being so eager to throw me into battle training, my mother had decided that after a long day of being worshipped and fighting a dragon, I deserved a break.

I did not argue.

As we entered my room, Smaug, finally regaining some energy, flapped onto the bed and immediately claimed one of my pillows.

“I require compensation for my suffering,” it announced, stretching across the silk like it owned the place.

I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

Smaug turned its head toward me, clearly unfazed. “I demand tribute.”

I pointed at the door. “You can leave.”

It curled its tail around itself smugly. “No.”

I turned to my mother, fully expecting her to throw the menace out.

Verania, however, just looked pleased. “Oh, it has personality. I like it.”

Sylvithra hummed. “Perhaps it will be a good influence on you.”

Smaug preened. “I am an excellent influence.”

I stared. “You tried to kill us all less than six hours ago.”

The dragon yawned, its tiny fangs glinting. “And now I am a beloved member of the family.”

I turned to Mara and Elira, looking for support.

Mara looked entertained. “It is quite charming.”

Elira simply sighed. “I hate how well it fits in.”

I groaned.

Verania leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Sweet dreams, my little tyrant.”

Sylvithra smiled. “We will discuss your new royal companion in the morning.”

Before I could protest further, my parents turned and left, their laughter fading into the halls.

The door shut.

Silence settled over my room.

Smaug, now nestled comfortably in my bed, blinked at me.

“…So,” it said. “I assume I am now royalty by association?”

I picked up my pillow.

And threw it at its smug, lizard face.

The next morning, I woke up to a very rude awakening.

Smaug was standing on my chest.

“WAKE UP, MORTAL.”

I slapped it off me instinctively.

It landed on the floor with a squawk.

[ That was satisfying. ]

Smaug, offended, scrambled back onto the bed. “HOW DARE YOU.”

I sat up, rubbing my face. “Why are you like this?”

“I AM A DRAGON.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

Smaug flicked its tail. “Same thing.”

Before I could respond with actual violence, the door opened, and Mara entered with breakfast.

She took one look at the chaos unfolding and sighed. “I see the morning is already going well.”

Elira followed behind her, shaking her head. “At least the castle hasn’t burned down yet.”

Smaug perked up at that. “That can be arranged.”

I grabbed a nearby fruit and stuffed it into its mouth before it could say anything else.

“Shut up and eat.”

The dragon glared at me, chewing aggressively.

Mara set the breakfast tray down on the table. “Your parents will expect you for a morning meeting after you eat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are we discussing Smaug?”

Elira sighed. “Oh, no. Something much worse.”

I paused.

“…How worse?”

Mara gave me a look.

“The nobles have requested an audience.”

Silence.

I stared at her.

Smaug finished chewing.

Then, very helpfully, muttered:

“Kill them.”

I sighed. “Not today.”

Smaug huffed. “Coward.”

I dropped my head onto the table.

This day was already going to be awful.

I knew it the moment I stepped into the meeting hall.

The nobles were already gathered, lined up like overdressed vultures, their expressions ranging from obsequious smiles to barely concealed panic. At least they had the good sense to be nervous. After all, standing at the front of the room, watching them like predators deciding who to devour first, were my parents and grandparents.

And then there was me.

Five years old.

Half-asleep.

Carrying a very small, very pissed-off dragon in my arms like it was a luxury handbag.

[ Reminder: You have a mission. ]

Right.

The nobles were trying to push policies that benefited them while bleeding the common folk dry.

Typical.

I resisted the urge to groan. Instead, I straightened my shoulders, tilted my head just enough to look mildly unimpressed, and waited.

They bowed.

Deeply.

Too deeply.

Suspicious.

Verania sighed loudly, swirling her wine. “Get on with it. We don’t have all day.”

One of the nobles, a balding man in excessive silks, stepped forward. “Your Majesties, Your Highness—”

Sylvithra raised a hand, cutting him off. “Skip the formalities.”

The noble paled but obeyed. “We have come to discuss the increased taxation plan—”

Oh, here we go.

[ Mission: Prevent these parasites from draining the kingdom’s resources for their own benefit. ]

[ Reward: +5 Intelligence, Skill: Political Manipulation (Beginner) ]

Great.

I shifted Smaug in my arms. The dragon blinked up at me, sensing my growing irritation.

“Burn them?” it whispered, far too excited.

I sighed. “Not yet.”

Smaug huffed.

The noble, oblivious to my very valid internal debate, continued speaking.

“We believe that raising the grain tax in the southern regions will help—”

I cut him off immediately.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, voice deliberately slow and unimpressed. “You want to raise taxes… on the region that already struggles with food shortages?”

The noble hesitated. “Well, when you say it like that—”

“That’s how it is,” I said flatly.

Verania leaned forward, smirking. “Interesting. Continue.”

The noble faltered. “I—I assure you, the intention is to strengthen the kingdom—”

I smiled.

It was not a nice smile.

“So,” I said sweetly, “you’re suggesting we take from those who are barely surviving… while you continue to enjoy your estates, your lavish banquets, your imported silks?”

The room went silent.

[ Good. ]

The noble swallowed hard. “It—it would not be that drastic, of course—”

“Oh?” I cocked my head. “So you don’t intend to take an extra twenty percent of their harvest?”

His face turned white. “I—I—”

Saelira smiled. “My granddaughter does raise a valid concern.”

Veylen, ever the strategist, tapped his fingers against the table. “Tell me, Lord Gavriel, how do you plan to enforce these taxes?”

Lord Gavriel looked trapped. “We… we would send collectors.”

“Ah.” I nodded, feigning understanding. “And if they cannot pay?”

He hesitated.

Smaug perked up. “Execution?”

Lord Gavriel nearly choked. “N-No, of course not—”

Verania frowned. “A shame.”

Sylvithra hummed. “It would have been entertaining.”

I pressed my advantage. “So. If they can’t pay, what happens?”

“…Confiscation,” he admitted weakly.

Ah.

So he would let families starve just so he could line his pockets.

How predictable.

I turned to my parents and grandparents. “I see no benefit in this proposal.”

Sylvithra nodded. “Agreed.”

Verania swirled her wine. “Ridiculous.”

Ilythia raised a brow. “A waste of time.”

Eryndor smiled pleasantly. “Lord Gavriel.”

The noble flinched. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Your tax proposal is denied.”

Lord Gavriel opened his mouth then promptly shut it.

He knew better.

Sylvithra, looking bored, waved a hand. “Dismissed.”

The nobles bowed quickly, hurrying out like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

[ Mission Complete. ]

[ Reward Obtained: +5 Intelligence, Skill: Political Manipulation (Beginner) ]

I let out a slow breath.

Smaug grinned. “That was fun.”

I rolled my eyes. “For you.”

Verania chuckled. “You handled that well.”

Sylvithra smirked. “You learn quickly.”

Saelira nodded. “A true heir.”

Veylen sipped his tea. “We should train her further.”

I stiffened. “Further?”

My parents grinned.

Oh no.

This would not end well.