Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 85

Chapter 85: A Schedule of Suffering
I stared at the crisp piece of parchment, my new schedule elegantly written in precise, cursive handwriting that screamed elitism. There was no doubt some poor, trembling scribe had spent hours perfecting each flowing letter, fully aware that even a minor ink smudge could cost them their head because that was just the kind of kingdom we were running here. The seal at the top glittered mockingly, a royal reminder that today officially marked the start of my formal education.

I wasn’t excited.

“You look positively delighted,” Mara said, peering over my shoulder. Her voice dripped with sarcasm so thick it nearly pooled on the floor.

“Oh yes, thrilled beyond words,” I replied dryly, tracing my finger down the list of classes. “Etiquette, Political Maneuvering, Combat Tactics, Diplomacy—”

I paused, blinking slowly.

“Wait,” I said, looking closer, dread creeping into my stomach, “why do I have dance lessons? What sort of twisted mind thinks I need to dance?”

Mara shrugged, lips twitching with poorly concealed amusement. “Maybe they’re worried your feet will become restless without an enemy to stomp.”

“Very funny,” I muttered, glancing around the courtyard. “Where’s Elira?”

Mara gestured behind us, where Elira was calmly reading through a copy of Imperial Conquest for Beginners a completely real and utterly horrifying textbook her expression placid as ever. “I’m studying,” she said evenly, flipping a page without looking up. “I suspect I’ll need to know the proper response when you inevitably cause diplomatic incidents in every class.”

“You’ve got no faith in me,” I grumbled.

“On the contrary,” Elira smiled sweetly, “I have all the faith in the world that you’ll cause chaos wherever you go. It’s practically your defining quality.”

[She’s not wrong.]

I scowled internally, but the system ignored my displeasure, humming a cheerful tune in my head. [Your schedule is rather impressive. But perhaps they should add ‘Advanced Tyrannical Management’ next semester.]

“Oh, joy,” I murmured under my breath, folding the parchment carefully and tucking it into my pocket. “At least the family isn’t here to embarrass me again.”

“Small mercies,” Mara agreed.

We turned toward the main building, the ornate halls filled with anxious students and staff who did their best to avoid direct eye contact with me. I wondered idly if my family had permanently traumatized the entire school. Probably. Knowing them, it was intentional.

Elira cleared her throat gently. “Your first class is Imperial Etiquette. Try not to traumatize your teacher too much. She looks particularly fragile.”

I glanced at the doorway ahead, where a small, nervous woman was pacing back and forth. Her face was pale, her delicate hands wringing together as she muttered something incomprehensible under her breath. Poor thing.

“It’s not my fault,” I said defensively. “Blame my parents.”

“Convenient,” Mara chuckled softly.

Before I could respond, I heard footsteps approaching swiftly down the marble corridor. Turning slowly, I met the slightly panicked gaze of a young woman wearing the official uniform of an academy messenger. She skidded to a halt, bowing hastily.

“Your Highness,” she gasped, thrusting another envelope toward me. “Urgent update to your schedule, from Her Majesty herself.”

I accepted the letter, barely hiding my dread as I broke the wax seal. “Please don’t be worse. Please don’t be worse.”

It was worse.

“Congratulations,” the letter read cheerfully, in Verania’s unmistakably flamboyant handwriting. “In honor of your education, we’ve arranged extra courses for you. After all, one can never be too prepared for world domination.”

The classes were listed beneath:

Advanced Intimidation Tactics Battlefield Negotiation (with practical scenarios) Tyrannical Public Speaking Courtly Poison Detection and Application (with practical demonstrations)

I closed my eyes briefly. Mara leaned closer, reading over my shoulder, and snorted loudly.

“Your mothers are so considerate,” she teased. “Though, I’m a little concerned they think you need more practice intimidating people.”

I glared at the paper. “I’m already intimidating enough, thank you.”

[Debatable.]

Mara grinned. “Prove it in class, then.”

My expression darkened further, but I had no time to argue. Elira gently pushed me forward, guiding me toward the classroom entrance. “Go on, Your Highness. The sooner you start, the sooner you can terrorize your peers.”

“I hate both of you,” I grumbled, reluctantly stepping inside.

The etiquette classroom was exactly what I expected a bright, well-lit space decorated with portraits of famously elegant monarchs, their eyes judging me with polished disdain. The other students already waited, perched nervously in their seats, bodies rigid and clearly afraid of breathing too loudly.

Then, my gaze landed on a familiar head of messy black hair.

Riven sat hunched over his desk, looking as though he was hoping the ground might open up and swallow him whole. He glanced up, eyes widening when he saw me. His already pale face turned whiter, as if recalling every single terrifying memory of our friendship in that instant.

I smiled slowly. Dangerously.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, looking around for an escape route that didn’t exist.

I sauntered over to the desk beside his, sinking gracefully into the chair. “Riven. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Please don’t kill me,” he whispered, eyes flicking nervously toward the watching crowd.

“No promises,” I replied airily, leaning back in my chair. “You weren’t here during the welcoming speech.”

He shuddered. “I heard it. Even from halfway across campus, it sounded horrifying.”

“It was,” I admitted. “But at least you didn’t have to witness it up close.”

He swallowed visibly. “Please tell your mothers I’m a loyal subject.”

I tilted my head, amused. “Are you?”

His eyes widened. “Absolutely.”

The instructor entered at that moment a stern woman who radiated authority and discipline. Her gaze swept over the class before landing on me. She immediately blanched.

“Ah,” she stammered, clearly struggling to remember her rehearsed greeting, “Your Imperial Highness. We’re honored—”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Carry on.”

She nodded quickly, turning to the board to write something in shaky handwriting. I glanced at Riven, who looked ready to melt beneath his desk.

“I think you might scare people more than my parents,” I murmured to him.

“That’s not comforting,” he replied weakly.

The lesson began, detailing intricate protocols of greeting other royals bows, curtsies, subtle signals of dominance or submission, and the exact angle of disdainful glares.

My classmates watched carefully, occasionally glancing in my direction as if expecting me to spontaneously execute someone.

Halfway through the lecture, I felt my system’s amusement spark.

[Mission unlocked: Survive Imperial Etiquette without emotionally scarring your classmates.]

“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath, irritation rising.

Riven glanced at me nervously. “Did you say something?”

“Just contemplating my impending doom,” I replied dryly.

He sighed. “At least you’re not alone.”

Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring.

I glanced back at the instructor, who was now nervously explaining the precise etiquette for accepting surrender terms from enemy kingdoms a practical and disturbingly necessary lesson in my family.

My family who, conveniently, were nowhere to be found, leaving me to navigate this new challenge alone. Again.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

This was going to be a very long year.

[Indeed. But at least you have friends.]

I glanced at Riven, who looked like he regretted every decision he’d ever made.

True friendship, indeed.