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

There are days that arrive to settle in your head like leaves between the pages of a favorite book shining, fragile, lasting longer than they ought to. This, I thought, waking up the next day, could be one such day. Not because life was perfect fissures still existed in the palace walls, and out in the distance in the world, rebels were planning their next move. But for the first time in much too long, I felt I could hold onto hope.

Sunlight streamed through my curtains, creating a mottled glow on the bed. For a few blessed moments, I let myself remain silent, hearing the palace sounds distant: Mara's giggle, Elira's complaint at yet another practice session before dawn, the twins' shrill bickering over whose turn it was to name the day's "official palace mascot." In a previous life, this would have annoyed me. Now, it was the sound of home.

I stretched, slipped out from under the covers, and padded to the window. The gardens below were green and wild, half-tamed by royal decree, half-defended by gnomes and hedgehogs who had somehow been incorporated into the castle's defense strategies. Beyond the hedges, the city gleamed restless and wounded and beautiful, its rooftops clustered like geese against the dawn.

[You're not dreaming,] the system whispered, an odd gentleness in its tone.

"I know," I said aloud, shoving aside the tremble in my voice.

[Today's mission: 'Face what comes, and don't run.' Bonus goal: 'Eat breakfast.']

I smiled in spite of myself. The system's attempts at comfort were foreign, but they grounded me in the here and now. There was so much I still didn't understand about this world: its old scars, how magic knotted through all things, the politics of bread, and the unseen threats hiding in every shadow. But I was here Elyzara, daughter, friend, unwilling leader. Still alive.

I quickly got dressed (no easy feat when your own closet had been "helpfully" organized by Arion and Aeris: everything was labeled, and the shoes were sorted by their ability to withstand mud, gnome combat, or impromptu dancing). As I laced up my boots, Velka knocked and slipped in, being more and less than herself hair a bit mussed, cloak askew, eyes aglow.

"Ready for another day of beating impossible odds?" she asked, presenting me with a slightly flattened but still-warm pastry.

"Always," I replied, and I did.

We crept down the corridor, skulking past the great hall (where Mara, scepter in trusty frying pan, declared a "Breakfast Ceasefire" between porridge and pastry factions), and into the gardens. The dew was lovely in the air and the fading scent of flowers that bloomed at night. I let Velka pull me onto a bench, the wood still cool from morning.

We simply stood there for a moment, observing the sun's reduction of the mist off the river into nothing. Then she said softly, "You know, it won't get any easier from here."

"I know," I said. "But I think I'm ready to be done with easy."

She smiled, a soft and wicked smile all at once. "Good. Because I like a challenge. And I like you."

I chuckled, the last bit of my nervousness snapping and disintegrating. "That's mutual, you know."

We sat there, eating pastry and watching the palace come to life. There would be new obstacles to surmount: the city council had requested a hearing for reforms, the academy had requested me to be "honorary peacemaker" (Velka snorted at that), and the twins had started their own secret society, The Order of the Sparkling Socks. The day's agenda was a patchwork of desperation and optimism, tied together by people who despite it all would not give up on one another.

After breakfast, I strolled to the council room, Velka in tow. The room was full: my mothers, a few nervous advisors, Mara in official armor (I was fairly certain it was merely her standard armor, spit-polished to a mirror sheen), Elira standing guard with her characteristic air of irritation, Riven scribbling notes for his next satirical poem. Aeris and Arion had managed to slip in, disguised as official "Junior Scone Consultants."

My mothers greeted me with cautious tenderness. They seemed to have begun, I noticed, to speak to each other in the silent language only long-time friends knew small movements, glances, dangling phrases that somehow caused the world to seem safer.

Verania broke the silence first. "The Elyzara. Word from the north there is trouble, maybe another uprising. But the people seemed to want to hear it from you. You're. an emblem."

I almost choked on my pastry. "A symbol of what? Jam stains and broken treaties?"

Sylvithra's first smile in days. "Of hope, perhaps. Of change. The fact that you'll listen, and laugh, and apologize when you're wrong that's more than you know."

Mara smiled. "I nominate making that the new royal motto."

Elira rolled her eyes. "Let her eat her pastry first.".

We got to work. The north needed help aid, reassurance, and a promise that we would not leave them like the rulers before us had. The council was wary. Some were ready for open talk; others muttered at treason and tradition, their words as dry as dust and afraid.

I heard, really heard, the way I had been taught to by my family and my friends. When I did speak, it was not with the smooth assurance of a princess, but the tentative, hopeful truth of a girl still looking.

"Not all the answers," I said to her, "but we have each other. And we can sort it out, together, how to make something better whether we screw up or not, whether it takes us an eternity. If that makes me a symbol of something, then let it be a symbol of persistence. Of not giving up."

Velka squeezed my hand beneath the table. Aeris and Arion whooped encouragement. Mara threw a roll at Riven, who tried to catch it in a poem. Even my mothers, for all their royal reserve, were a little misty-eyed.

Once we were out of the conference room, Velka and I slipped back to the ancient library the place where everything had gone wrong, and all that had been corrected. We found an alcove tucked between shelves of musty maps and magical compacts. I let myself breathe.

"Do you think we can really do it?" I asked. "Change everything for real?"

Velka nodded. "With the right people? Absolutely.".

Velka and I occupied the library's golden silence, our voices bare whispers and conspiratorial. The ancient windows painted bands of honey-light across towers of promise and history, and the dust motes shimmered like spellcraft in the air between us. It felt, for an instant, like the world was in suspension trapped somewhere between "what was" and "what might be," the kind of temporary moment where you can actually hear your own heartbeat.

"Remember when we used to think the worst we'd have to put up with here was Professor Drell's pop quizzes?" Velka remarked, fingers tracing the spine of a book on rebellion through the centuries.

I snorted. "I still have nightmares about the time he had us recite the Treaty of Thorns backwards. Mara attempted to bribe the ghosts in the east wing for answers."

Velka's smile was genuine and pointed. "It nearly worked, too, until Riven mixed up the exorcism salt with the sugar."

We laughed, both of us. In the laughter, the burden that had followed me around all morning eased just a little. The thing was, I didn't always want to be brave. I didn't want every day to be an issue of grand speeches, new policies, and turmoil simmering at the edge of everything. Sometimes, I simply wished I were a child who could retreat to the library and scheme secret picnics, or sketch out new regulations for the Sparkling Socks Society.

"Do you think they'll give us a day off?" I asked hopefully, chin on my knees.

Velka pretended to think. "Depends. Will you bribe Mara with her weight in scones?"

I grinned. "And Riven with a new rhyming dictionary. Elira's a breeze promise her five minutes of uninterrupted silence."

Velka leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "You're more of a natural than you give yourself credit for, you know. At leading, at listening. At being… here."

I looked away, embarrassed and pleased. "I keep waiting for someone to realize I'm winging it."

"Guessing with heart counts for more than pretending with certainty," she said to me. "Besides, I'm the expert on pretending."

There was a moment of silence. Outside, the bells tolled the hour, the castle stirring for evening. I wondered what my parents were discussing behind closed doors. What the council worried over. How long we would have before the world demanded more of us than picnics and pastries and wild speculations.

But right now, hope did not seem foolish. It was obstinate, like spring burgeoning through frost. It was what made all of this the fighting, the forgiving, the learning to love and to lead worthwhile.

"I'm glad I have you," I whispered.

Velka did not respond with words, but she tightened her grip on my hand, and the message was clear enough.