Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby!
Chapter 199 199: Vampires, Letters, and Other Dangerous Games

If you've never tried writing a letter to the reigning monarchs of the human realm, let me give you a piece of advice: don't. Especially if your only qualification is "vaguely promising not to corrupt their daughter, who is, for the record, already better at corrupting me." No, really. She once convinced me to try carrot cake.

So it was with a healthy sense of doom that I handed the letter to the Nightthorn family butler (who, in my humble opinion, was both too discreet and too interested in my romantic life), and tried to focus on my homework: "Advanced Shadows: Five Ways to Weaponize a Hallway."

But even the most nefarious spell diagrams could not distract me from the low-level panic thrumming under my skin. I paced my dorm room, knocking into piles of books and scattering three different magical deterrent charms. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of anxiety (which in the Nightthorn household was said to attract bats, and occasionally second cousins). On my desk, the phoenix feather charm Elyzara had given me gleamed in the moonlight, a reminder of the kind of hope that could get a girl in very serious trouble.

Trouble, as it turned out, was waiting in the corridor outside my door.

It came in the form of Mara, arms crossed, boots muddy, and wearing the expression of someone who'd rather be fighting off a dragon than delivering whatever message she bore.

"You've got royal mail," she said, tossing a small sealed envelope onto my pillow with the practiced disdain of a girl who'd once delivered a flaming howler to the principal's office.

I stared at it. "Is it ticking?"

"No. But it smells like overprotective mothers and doom." Mara glanced at me, softer. "You okay?"

"Would you be?" I picked up the envelope, turning it over. The wax was a perfect blend of Verania's crimson and Sylvithra's moon-silver equal parts regal warning and high-class intimidation.

Mara smirked. "Just don't get yourself banished, okay? It's hard to find decent vampires around here."

I snorted, though my hands trembled a little. "Noted."

She squeezed my shoulder a rare gesture and left me to my fate.

I sat on the edge of my bed, broke the seal, and unfolded the letter. It was shorter than expected, and far more polite:

Lady Velka Nightthorn,

We appreciate your candor. We expect nothing less than the utmost respect for our daughter.We are watching.

Yours,

Their Majesties Verania & Sylvithra

There was a postscript, written in Verania's unmistakable hand:

If you break her heart, there will be consequences. Have a pleasant evening.

I swallowed, suddenly wishing for a moat, a flock of trained ravens, or at least an alibi. Instead, I got Elyzara's laughter echoing from the gardens below.

The thing about falling in love with a princess is this: you're always waiting for the sword to drop. Or the kraken, if the rumors about Verania's taste in magical pets were true.

I pressed my forehead to the cold window glass. Elyzara was below, sitting on the grass with Riven and Elira, all three passing a charmed lantern between them. She glanced up as if sensing me, and for a moment our eyes met through the dark. Her wave small, secret, utterly fearless made my heart trip over itself in the most infuriating way.

Maybe it was worth it, after all.

Still, there were other problems in the air. The sit-in, the forbidden spell, the way every corridor felt just a little colder. The academy was changing, its shadows deeper, its laughter edged with warning.

That night, as the bells tolled curfew, I slipped out of the dormitory, drawn by a nagging sense that something was about to snap. The old tower, usually locked, was open and dark. I crept inside, senses tuned for danger. That's how I found myself face-to-face with Lysbeth, the leader of the Phoenix Study Group, poring over a set of blueprints by candlelight.

She looked up, her eyes narrowed. "Nightthorn. You here to spy for the crown, or just for Elyzara?"

"I don't spy," I said. "I prefer direct sabotage."

Lysbeth's smile was tired and sharp. "We're not the enemy, Velka. But things are moving too fast. Someone outside is pushing us all of us. Even you."

I thought of the spell, the dome, the way the magic had felt hungry and wrong. "You think it's deliberate?"

"I know it." Lysbeth tapped a diagram. "There are new sigils appearing on the wards ones I can't trace. Students reporting strange dreams, compulsions. You notice how everyone's just a little… off?"

She looked at me as if expecting an argument. Instead, I just nodded. "It's the revolution. It's not outside the gates anymore."

"No," she said quietly. "It's in our bones."

We sat for a moment in the dark, listening to the wind moan through the tower. Then Lysbeth looked at me, softer. "Why do you care so much about Elyzara?"

I hesitated, then shrugged, careful. "She's… different. She makes the world brighter. She makes me want to be someone worth loving."

Lysbeth nodded. "Hold onto that. Because it's going to get harder."

Back in my room, I found a note pinned to my pillow in careful script:

Be in the east gardens tomorrow at dawn. Come alone.—Elyzara

I smiled, nerves settling into something steadier. I would face queens, revolutions, and krakens if I had to. For her.

Dawn crept over the horizon, and I crept through the dew-soaked grass, cloak brushing the wildflowers. Elyzara was waiting, hair silver in the rising light, eyes half-shadowed but warm.

"Did you get their letter?" she asked, a mischievous grin lurking behind her worry.

I rolled my eyes. "You mean the one where they promised to exile me if I make you cry?"

She laughed, bright and unafraid. "It means they care."

"Or that they're plotting my doom. Either way, you're worth it."

She reached out, lacing her fingers through mine. "Come on. Let's watch the sun rise. And then, let's start making trouble."

There was a kind of sacred recklessness in her smile, the sort that made even ancient vampires reconsider their attachment to cautious plotting. She tugged me through the dew-wet grass, both of us moving quietly—though in Elyzara's case, "quietly" meant occasionally tripping over her own feet and muttering apologies to startled beetles. The sky was slowly turning violet and gold, and the whole academy lay drowsing below us, its towers and turrets crowned in mist.

We settled on a low stone wall beside the east garden. The last of the moonlight silvered the petals of the night-blooming roses, and somewhere a chorus of magical songbirds began warming up, slightly off-key.

For a while, we simply sat together, hands twined, shoulders pressed close. Elyzara swung our arms idly back and forth. I let myself breathe, the strange weight of royal letters and revolution lifting, just for this moment.

"Do you think it's always going to be like this?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft as dawn itself. "Secret meetings, chaos, the occasional threat of exile?"

"Probably," I said, leaning my head against hers. "But you know what they say if you're going to get in trouble, pick the right co-conspirator."

She snorted, half-laughing. "What do you think they're doing right now? Our mothers?"

I pictured the queens one bristling with parental outrage, the other composed and quietly plotting. "Verania's probably sharpening a sword and reading up on ancient curses. Sylvithra is likely knitting a sweater and planning our eventual wedding guest list."

Elyzara burst out laughing, the sound bright and startling in the morning hush. "You're not afraid?"

I hesitated, searching her face. "Terrified. But only because I don't want to lose you. Not to them, not to the revolution, not to anything."

She went quiet, looking down at our joined hands, the smallest, shyest smile curling her lips. "Good. Because I think—" she stopped, words tangling, then rallied. "I think you make me braver. And I want to be the sort of princess who doesn't run away from trouble. Or love."

There it was the word neither of us had dared say until now, hanging between us like the first rays of sun.

"Is that what this is?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. "Love?"

Elyzara nodded, cheeks pink. "I think so. Is that ridiculous?"

"No." I squeezed her hand, feeling the truth settle in my bones, cool and certain as twilight. "It's magic. The good kind."

The sun rose, painting gold across her hair and mine, the world holding its breath for the briefest, perfect moment. Down in the academy, a bell clanged, and the sounds of students waking up drifted toward us: laughter, complaints, a distant magical bang as Mara set off an experimental breakfast spell.

We sat a little longer, reluctant to return to reality, savoring our brief, fragile dawn.

Elyzara broke the silence at last. "Ready to make trouble?"

"With you?" I grinned, fangs glinting in the morning light. "Always."

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