The summons to the formal parlor happened exactly at noon.
Grim collected me from the nursery floor.
He did not speak.
He carried me through the eastern corridors with a stiffness I had never seen from the skeletal retainer. Usually his movements possessed the fluid grace of an apex predator on the prowl.
Today he walked like a man approaching a public execution block.
We entered the parlor.
The atmosphere inside the room felt immediately wrong.
The ambient hum of Castle Overtura normally resonated with low frequency aggression. The stones vibrated with the stored acoustic power of the Uno lineage.
Today the masonry held its breath.
The heavy velvet curtains remained perfectly still.
The fires in the hearth burned without making a single crackling sound.
Benedict Uno stood by the massive marble fireplace.
He wore his absolute best formal black coat.
He did not project his usual crushing gravity.
He stood perfectly rigid.
His boots pressed firmly together on the rug.
His massive hands clasped tightly behind his back.
The SS rank warlord stared straight ahead at the blank wooden panels of the heavy double doors.
Nicole sat on the extreme edge of the velvet sofa.
She smoothed her emerald skirt over and over again.
Her knuckles looked completely white.
She pulled her atmospheric presence so tightly inward that the temperature in the parlor actually dropped by ten degrees.
My parents were bracing for impact.
I analyzed the room from Grim’s arms.
An SS rank warlord and an S rank atmospheric anomaly were waiting for a performance review.
Who reviews the board of directors?
Grim placed me gently on the woven rug.
The skeleton butler took exactly three steps backward and faded into the darkest corner shadows.
He folded his scythe entirely behind his long coattails.
He wanted zero part of whatever was about to walk through those heavy doors.
The brass handle turned.
The hinges made absolutely no noise.
Ms. Keane stepped into the parlor.
She wore the identical severe gray dress from the courtyard incident.
Her shoes clicked against the stone floor in a measured, steady rhythm.
She carried a thick leather bound ledger under one arm.
She did not channel a single ounce of resonance.
The kingdom registry measured her at the F tier.
She occupied the absolute bottom of the power hierarchy.
The textbooks defined an awakened civilian as someone who could barely crack a wooden crate lid if provoked.
She possessed zero magic.
She commanded absolute authority anyway.
Benedict snapped his chin upward.
He pulled his broad shoulders back another full inch.
I heard his spinal column pop in the quiet room.
The man who deleted mountains for administrative convenience stood at strict attention.
Nicole lowered her eyes to the floorboards.
The white light that sometimes burned in her pupils vanished completely.
She shrank backward into the velvet cushions and made herself as small as physically possible.
Ms. Keane stopped in the center of the rug.
"Your Grace."
Benedict cleared his throat.
"Ms. Keane."
His voice was tight.
"We appreciate your prompt arrival."
Ms. Keane looked at him.
"I arrived at the agreed time."
"Yes."
"That is the standard."
"Of course."
She opened her ledger.
The pages sounded deafening in the silence.
"You requested a governor for the heir."
"Yes."
"You remember my terms?"
Benedict hesitated.
"Yes."
"Say them."
My father’s jaw tightened.
"No magical outbursts in place of discipline."
"Good."
"Your schedule is not subject to negotiation."
"Correct."
"Manners precede magic."
Ms. Keane nodded.
"And?"
Benedict’s shoulders somehow became even straighter.
"Emotional regulation."
"Better."
She turned another page.
"I don’t care how powerful the child becomes. If he cannot control himself, he will be treated as undisciplined."
Benedict nodded.
"Understood."
Nicole shifted slightly on the sofa.
Ms. Keane’s eyes moved toward her.
"And you."
Nicole immediately stopped moving.
"You will not interfere with corrections."
Nicole swallowed.
"I understand."
"If Nigel cries?"
"I won’t interfere."
"If he complains?"
"I won’t interfere."
"If you disagree with my methods?"
Nicole paused.
"I’ll keep it to myself."
Ms. Keane closed the ledger.
"Excellent."
I sat on the rug and watched the hostile takeover happen live.
The Watterson lineage apparently carried severe volatility.
Nicole was being informed that her maternal instincts had no voting rights.
This F certified civilian had somehow walked into the home of an SS ranked warlord and an S ranked monster and installed herself as chairman of the board.
My corporate sensibilities were both impressed and deeply concerned.
Ms. Keane looked down.
Her eyes settled on me.
My internal organs tried to shrink directly into my spine.
She did not see a toddler.
She saw a raw audit pending strict completion.
"Nigel Uno."
I locked my knees and stood.
I wobbled slightly on my stubby legs.
I refused to break eye contact.
Surviving executive leadership required holding the gaze during performance evaluations.
Ms. Keane studied me.
"Your posture is terrible."
I almost fell over.
She continued.
"Left shoulder forward."
I straightened it.
"Too far."
I corrected it.
"Better."
I blinked.
That was praise.
Apparently.
She reached into a hidden pocket in her gray skirt and produced a silver pocket watch.
She flipped the casing open.
The ticking immediately filled the room.
I stared at the watch.
Then at her.
She checked the time.
"Two o’clock."
She snapped the watch shut.
"Naptime."
I blinked.
What?
I had just woken up from a three hour sleep cycle.
My stamina gauge was completely full.
I had zero intention of sleeping.
I opened my mouth.
Ms. Keane tilted her head one millimeter to the right.
I closed it.
No.
Absolutely not.
I was not going to lose this easily.
I drew upon my inner Chorus.
A low frequency hum began forming in my chest.
Ms. Keane watched me.
I pushed harder.
The hum died.
I tried again.
Nothing.
She hadn’t moved.
She hadn’t raised her voice.
She hadn’t even looked particularly threatening.
She simply continued watching me.
My eyelids became heavy.
I fought it.
My knees trembled.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Pain.
Good.
Pain meant consciousness.
I focused on it.
My eyelids became heavier.
This was ridiculous.
I tried to generate another hum.
My throat refused.
My knees buckled.
Grim caught me before I hit the floor.
Ms. Keane nodded.
"That’s enough."
Grim bowed his pale skull.
"I will transfer the young master to his quarters."
"Please do."
He adjusted his grip around me.
"Room temperature?"
"Sixty eight degrees."
"Understood."
"He runs hot."
"Yes, Ms. Keane."
"Overheating makes him restless."
"I’ll see to it."
"Thank you."
Grim turned toward the doors.
I looked over his shoulder.
Benedict was still standing at attention.
Nicole was still staring at the floor.
Neither had moved.
Neither dared to.
Ms. Keane picked up her ledger.
"Your Grace."
Benedict straightened.
"Yes?"
"You may sit."
His shoulders dropped immediately.
Nicole exhaled at the same time.
I nearly laughed.
The two most powerful people on the continent had just been granted permission to use chairs.
Grim carried me out of the parlor.
"You fought bravely, young master."
His dry voice carried a note of genuine pity.
"The Duke himself lasted four seconds during his first naptime protocol."
My eyes struggled to remain open.
"Seven."
Grim paused.
"You lasted seven?"
I gave the smallest possible nod.
There was silence.
Then Grim’s skull tilted.
"I am impressed."
Seven seconds.
I lasted seven seconds against a look.
My corporate strategies were entirely useless here.
You cannot outmaneuver an entity that dictates the physical terms of reality through sheer manners.
We passed through the eastern corridor.
The stones felt infinitely colder away from the parlor hearth.
My vision blurred at the edges.
"Rest now," Grim murmured.
I wanted to protest.
My body disagreed.
The forced sleep cycle dragged me under like a heavy riptide.
F certified.
My brain narrated the absolute absurdity of the situation as my consciousness faded.
F certified and scarier than gravity itself.
These people built a ladder to heaven.
She does compliance.
Tomorrow the posture corrections would begin.
The loud dynasty required unbending spines.
Ms. Keane would mold my spine out of pure terror and punctuality.
I drifted into sleep praying my bones would survive the curriculum.