FROST
Chapter 113: Ink, Damnation, and Diapers

Chapter 113: Ink, Damnation, and Diapers

Caspian didn’t need to pass through the gates this time—no flames licking at his heels, no riddles from dead-eyed sentries, and no sweet moments with the gigantic status. He was lucky he got to pass through unscathed.

He remembered the way—vividly, in fact—to the wonderful, echoing cavern where he’d left Seravine. He could almost hear her voice echoing in his mind, complaining about long he took. That woman just couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

But as he tried to visualize the full layout of the cavern—the fireflies, the lake which is probably full of leeches, the stalactite that always dripped at exactly the wrong time—his mental image fizzled like a dying sparkler.

Instead of the place, he thought of Seravine. Her face. Her sarcasm. Her terrible flirting voice when she thought it adds to her non-questionable charisma. That seemed specific enough.

And so, with nothing but a flick of his wrist and a twitch of his eyebrow, Caspian teleported.

Unfortunately, he materialized directly in front of Seravine—nose to nose—like an awkward magician who’d just burst out of a fog machine yelling "TA-DA!"

"AAAAHHH—WHAT IN THE UNHOLY FUCK?!" Seravine shrieked, her entire body jerking backward like she’d seen the ghost of her tax collector she had been ditching since some realms began.

She tumbled off the smooth rock she had been lounging on with all the elegance of a cow falling out of a hammock, arms flailing dramatically before she crashed into the dirt.

She pushed herself up like a tragic heroine in an opera, one hand pressed to her chest, the other frantically checking the oversized cloak. "I nearly died, you blundering teleportation menace! I have fragile organs and dry skin!"

"Yeah sure," Caspian said, entirely too calm for a man who had just scared a woman out of her ribcage. "I couldn’t remember the cavern clearly, so I thought of your face instead. Naturally, I appeared directly in front of it."

"Naturally," she muttered, brushing dirt off her backside. "Gods forbid you warn people. I could’ve been naked."

"You are, Seravine," Caspian replied without missing a beat, gaze still fixed downward.

That was when Seravine noticed his attention wasn’t on her at all. He was staring at something—someone—in his arms.

She froze. Her eyes widened. Slowly, as if afraid she might see a severed head or an enchanted turnip, both she had experienced before, she stepped closer.

"W–What in the name of all that is magical and mildly concerning is that?" she asked, eyes fixed on the small figure swaddled in Caspian’s arms. "I-Is that... the baby?" Her jaw dropped. "That’s your baby?!"

Caspian simply nodded like this was a totally normal Tuesday for him.

Seravine blinked several times, her brain crashing like a cheap carriage on a rocky road. "That’s... That’s your son?" she whispered.

Then, without warning, she stood up straighter, cleared her throat, and declared in her most regal and unhinged voice:

"OH, YOUR HIGHNESS! I VOLUNTEER AS HIS WIFE!"

Caspian didn’t even glance at her. "Shut up, woman."

"Oh, come on!" Seravine threw up one arm, one hand clutching on the cloak securely, clearly not ready to abandon the argument just yet. "If you can’t give me a child, at least—"

"Shush, Seravine," Caspian interrupted with a look that screamed don’t finish that sentence. "My kingdom does not honor cougars."

Seravine recoiled as if physically slapped. "Ouch, Your Royal Arrogance," she said, placing a hand to her chest like a fainting duchess in a bad theater play. "You could’ve just told me I’m too old for him—I would’ve taken that non personally."

Caspian didn’t respond. He wasn’t ignoring her out of spite, for once. He was simply... lost. His gaze was tethered to the small, silent child in his arms, the one with impossibly pale skin and soft curls that shifted between obsidian and silver under the light.

Caspian’s expression was unreadable, but the way he held the child—with the same reverence someone might handle an ancient tome or a volatile spell—was enough to make Seravine pause.

Her teasing faded into a soft smile.

She sighed, folding her arms as her voice dropped from theatrical to sincerely curious. "Well? Have you given him a name, perhaps?"

"Ohh!" Caspian’s eyes lit up like a candle catching fire. He turned to her with something dangerously close to hope. "I wanted to ask you, actually. I don’t exactly have a book on ’Naming Demon Children for Dummies,’ so naturally, I thought of you."

"Me?" Seravine pointed at herself as if there was another centuries-old demon standing behind her in a matching stolen cloak. "You wanted me to name your son? Why? Because I’m your emotionally unstable, morally flexible demonic sexy, pen pal?"

"Yes," Caspian said plainly.

Seravine opened her mouth—then closed it. She waved a dismissive hand. "Okay, fair."

She stepped closer, prepared to unleash a parade of sarcastic name suggestions until her gaze truly landed on the child.

And then she froze.

Her posture shifted. Her smirk melted.

She took another cautious step forward and squinted as if something about the child wasn’t... computing.

"Wait..." Her eyes widened. "Wait—wait a damn minute! What demon?" She gasped again when she looked at the child carefully and dramatically enough for someone to fetch a fan and salts., "He’s actually... truly a demon."

Caspian looked at her like she was just now catching up. "Yes. You just noticed that?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean he’s your son so how come he’s a demon and—" She looked at the baby, then back at Caspian, then back at the baby. "This child—he didn’t have a demonic aura when you arrived... At all. Until now."

"Right?!" Caspian exclaimed, almost excited that someone else noticed. "You noticed that too?"

"Of course I did!" Seravine huffed. "Demons sense other demons the way cats sense human disdain. Even cambions have traces of mana threads. But this child—" She leaned in, nearly touching foreheads with the infant. "—has the presence of a cloud. He’s silent. Still. Unaffected. This is not normal demon behavior."

Caspian blinked at her. "Do you—do you not have any idea how that even happened?"

Seravine, still squinting suspiciously at the baby and his horns like it had just whispered a riddle in an ancient dialect, slowly shook her head. "I-I don’t... Not exactly..."

Then she paused. A twitch flickered across her jaw. She swallowed visibly.

"But," she added reluctantly, "I think I know someone who might."

Caspian narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

Seravine’s usual snark vanished. Her eyes wobbled. Her shoulders drew in like a child about to confess to breaking the royal biscuit jar.

"He’s... someone you already know."

Her gaze dropped to the ground. The sudden shame hanging around her like an invisible fog made Caspian’s stomach sink. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Asmaros," he muttered.

Seravine gave a weak, apologetic nod. That name alone made her gut twist.

Caspian groaned like a man who had just been told his taxes were due in blood and tears, and the tax collector was now camping on his front porch singing sea shanties off-key.

"Of course. Of course it’s Asmaros. Why not? He ruined my coronation, blackmailed the High Priests, cursed my family sword so it yells obscenities every full moon, self-proclaimed to be my eternal rival—which, by the way, no one asked for—and now, clearly, he’s the person I’m supposed to ask for help with my son’s magical thread."

Seravine snorted but quickly morphed it into a cough when she saw the look he gave her. "He kinda ruined your life too, ah?" she offered with a fake little laugh, the kind that usually preceded someone throwing a dagger or jumping out a window.

"Kinda~" Caspian said with the forced cheer of a man choosing between poison and public embarrassment. He shrugged. "Just a little! You know, no big deal. Just every major milestone of my existence tarnished by one walking thesaurus with a flair for drama and an unhealthy relationship with velvet robes."

"I heard he bathes in wine now."

"Of course he does."

"And he has a goat named Philosophy."

"Good for him."

"And a sentient tapestry that recites breakup poetry."

"I will stab that tapestry."

Seravine folded her arms, squinting slightly. "So... do you want me to track him down, or shall we wait until the tapestry drops its next album?"

Caspian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you know where to find him?"

Seravine lingered a moment. Her smile twitched at the corners. "Of course," she said with all the innocent confidence of someone about to ruin your entire weekend. "I’ve always known where to find him. He never exactly hides—he curates his disappearance like an art exhibit."

"I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?"

"Without a doubt." She beamed.

Caspian closed his eyes. "Alright. Let’s just get it over with. Where is he? Some demonic fortress? A pocket dimension filled with riddles and misplaced metaphors? That one floating tavern full of cursed playwrights?"

"Just in his kingdom, probably," Seravine said, casually inspecting her nails like she wasn’t about to drop a financial apocalypse into Caspian’s lap. "We’ll need Estes again."

Caspian groaned. Loudly. Like a man who’d just realized the kingdom’s budget had been replaced with Monopoly money. "Of course we do. Because nothing screams ’simple errand’ like involving the most dramatic elf alive."

Seravine grinned. "Mm-hmm. You know how he is."

Caspian sighed . "Unfortunately, that sly elf will never accept filthy blade. What could be the price this time?"

Seravine shrugged. "I dunno. Probably a kidney. Or your ability to taste salt. Whatever’s inconvenient."

Caspian stared into the distance like a man calculating how many body parts were strictly optional. "I can handle that. How many kidneys do I really need?"

Seravine tilted her head. "One. Unless you’re planning to fight Asmaros while dehydrated and full of regret."

"Perfect," Caspian muttered. "I’m already full of both."