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

A good date, when you're ten, is not candlelit dinners or concerts except maybe the buzz of the bees in clover or the argument at the back of the kitchen over whose turn it is to get to save the last jar of raspberry jam. It's with whom you are that matters, and the odd bravery of saying, "This is for us," in a world that has not treated either of you all that well.

Velka and I stood shoulder to shoulder along the rim of the garden, my mothers' eyes a unspoken thread of caution and desire, suspended down from the upper balcony. Velka wrinkled her nose and sent a wicked wave. I waved my fingers, trying to hold the flush at bay.

"Always like that?" Velka breathed, eyes glinting with devilish laughter.

"They created the concept," I said. "I often wonder whether the royal guard was a rehearsal for motherhood."

We grinned at each other and darted through a gap in the rose hedge, escaping into the part-wild orchard. Far out over the city, its wounds healed nearly soundlessly in sunlight, and close at hand, the orchard buzzed with bees, birds, and the unspoken threat of stolen hours.

I had mapped out each step each one as carefully as if I were hosting a diplomatic conference, but the stakes here appeared larger. The blanket was already spread out under the pear tree with the finest view of the palace and the river, scones heaped in a pyramid (lopsided, but rebellious), two glasses of bubbling elderflower cordial, and a tiny card Mara had coerced out of me ("Rules for First Dates: 1. Don't set anything on fire. 2. Laugh at her jokes. 3. Remember to breathe.").

Velka inspected the spread in fake gravity. "Did you make those yourself? Or bribe Riven?"

"Bribery is the foundation of all lasting romance," I said, offering her a scone.

She broke it open, inspected the crumb, and said, "Acceptable. Passable even. You may proceed."

We collapsed onto the blanket, knees knocking, crumbs already fallen to our clothes. The orchard was serenely empty, only one snoopily squirrel and the scent of bruised mint between us. My heart was pounding harder than it had on last night's rescue mission; this was riskier, somehow—less a matter of life and death, more a matter of letting someone see you, anxiety and all.

Velka stretched out, eyes on the quilted expanse of sky between the leaves. "It's peaceful. Nice. Nobody trying to kidnap us. No spells or. system malfunctions?"

"Don't jinx it," I said quickly. "Last time you said 'peace,' the gnomes raised martial law in the cabbage patches."

She snorted. "Next time I'll whisper.".

We munched and watched clouds move along, inventing stories for them. Velka's were all secret castles, dragons and daring escapes. Mine were usually unhappy princesses who flew away or at one point a cake that got away from being eaten. She called that "a realistic fantasy."

Conversationaly, talk came and went, sometimes very subdued, sometimes ridiculous.

Velka toyed with the string at her sleeve, then sidelong looked at me. "I've never… I mean, I don't usually This is new."

My own admission tumbled out. "Me too. I keep waiting for someone to leap out of a bush and yell, 'You're doing it wrong!'"

"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened this week." She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. "I'm glad it's you."

A long pause. Sunlight poured through the branches, dust motes sparkling.

It wasn't a grand declaration. But it felt heavier, and more lasting, than any oath sworn in the council chambers.

I offered her my hand awkward, sudden, but honest. She took it, her grip cool and strong.

"Did you ever dream," I asked, "that we'd end up here? With all the chaos, the lies, the… kitchen disasters?"

Velka smiled. "No. But I never lost hope. Even when hope was the most treasonous thing to have."

Her honesty constricted my throat. "I'm scared sometimes," I whispered. "Not of you. Scared of losing it all. Scared of not being worthy enough my family, the kingdom, even for you.".

She sat up, faced me completely, and for once there was no wall of humor in her eyes. "Elyzara, if anyone ever deserved good things to happen to them, it's you. And besides, you're already better at this than you know."

"Am I?" My voice was small.

"Without a doubt," she squeezed my hand, then with grand formality bowed over it and kissed the ends of my knuckles hastily. "And on a different note, you're a good scone.".

I smiled, tearfully. "I had help. And a whole lot of supervision."

Velka smiled as well. "That's the secret to life, really. Help, supervision, and the ability to apologize when things go boom."

We leaned against the tree, our shoulders touching, letting silence fall. A bird started a wild, swirling tune up in the air. I imagined it as marking the start of something new.

Later, Velka produced a dog-eared pack of cards from the pocket of her jacket—her notion of romance, it seemed, was teaching me the subtle art of cheating at solitaire. She teased me as hopeless, then softened and taught my fingers the steps, teasing and patient.

After several rounds of unsuccessful attempts, we dropped cards for daisy chains, then for simply lying side by side and watching light dance through the leaves. I found myself talking about things I'd never said aloud: my fears, my dreams, the strangeness of feeling like a stranger in my own life. Velka listened not to fix things, but to sit with me. And that, I realized, was the greatest comfort of all.

No fireworks, no spells of revelation. Nothing but the slow, secret alchemy of trust: a laugh, a touch, a moment when the world was safe enough to hope again.

And when the palace bells rang noon, I stood up and smoothed my skirts. "Shall we go back, Lady Nightthorn?"

She held out her arm, smiling. "Your turn, Your Highness. And not next time. Somewhere like a bakery. Or a dungeon. Without gnomes."

I smiled, and we walked through the garden, side by side, overhead my mothers looking on with gentle smiles hopeful, perhaps a little wary, but willing to let us discover our own way.

And for the first time in a very long time, I didn't want to be princess for real. I just felt myself. Bruised and hopeful and, for the moment, happy.

Perhaps that was the strongest magic of all.

Velka and I remained in the garden, long after the last fragment of scone was gone and the shadows of the orchard had spread into warm, leafy tents. One of us would sigh every few minutes, "We should go back," but neither would stir. It was an odd, golden moment: no whizzing bells, no sirens, just two unlikely friends hovering between childhood and something just a little braver.

She let the silence drag out before nudging me gently with her shoulder. "So. If it is a date, do we require some kind of. formal documentation? A statement to the council? Do I receive a certificate of survival?"

"You're already on the Roll of Honor of Surviving Elyzara's Tests," I said, plucking a dandelion and scattering its seeds toward the palace. "That's just as prestigious as the 'Order of the Wrangler of Gnomes.'"

She snorted. "I only got that after the siege of cabbages."

"You deserved it. Not everyone can negotiate with vegetables."

Velka extended her legs out and let out a sigh, eyelashes dancing in the sunlight. "Promise me, if the world breaks apart once more, you'll try this first picnic, daisy chains, cards before trying another coup."

"I'll issue a royal decree," I said solemnly, and she smiled.

The wind burst through the orchard, rattling the branches above. I shivered, and Velka inched closer, half-offering her cloak before recalling we didn't even have space enough on the blanket to begin with. Our legs entwined. I glanced at her and, for one brief instant, forgot to worry about what was to come or what my mothers thought, or how many secrets still lingered over the palace.

"I wish we could stay here," I breathed, "where life is simple. Just us."

Velka was quiet for a moment. "Me too. But I like that it is real, even when life is not simple."

I nodded, recognizing exactly what she was saying. Even here where peace had seemed as fleeting as spun sugar there was some unconquerable in the way we always, again and again, kept showing up for each other. Even when the future of the kingdom itself appeared as tenuous as my attempts at making scones.

"Elyzara?" she said, voice now shy.

"Yes?"

"If the next date ends without quite so many magical malfunctions… would you go with me again?"

I smiled, lighter than I'd been in days. "Only if you promise the gnomes won't crash it."

She grinned, and for a moment the world narrowed to sunlight, laughter, and the feeling of her hand reaching across to mine under the shadow of the pear tree.

For the first time in weeks, the future released its grip on my nerves. There would be risk, revolution, impossible decisions but now, there was just Velka, her battle-worn smile, and the bright, defiant hope of one perfect morning.