Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby!
Chapter 212: The Serious Business of Mischief

Chapter 212: The Serious Business of Mischief

There is a particular kind of silence that falls after news of revolution and impending disaster a silence thick as cold porridge, heavy enough to drown a conversation before it begins. Such silences, I’ve found, rarely last long in this particular palace.

This time, Mara was the first to break it. “If we’re officially on the brink of chaos, does that mean we can skip etiquette lessons today?”

My mother fixed Mara with a look sharp enough to slice bread. “If chaos canceled etiquette, we’d never have learned table manners at all.”

Mara considered this, nodding thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But consider the revolutionaries—will they appreciate my perfect curtsy when storming the gates?”

Elira sighed theatrically. “If nothing else, it might confuse them long enough for us to escape.”

Despite myself, I smiled. In a room tense enough to strum nerves like lute strings, Mara’s irreverent humor felt like sunlight through clouds. Yet the fear remained, an undercurrent beneath every joke and half-smile. Revolution wasn’t a game—not even one played out in enchanted bakeries and dancing cutlery.

My parents retreated into hushed conversation with the messengers, their expressions grim but determined. I felt the weight of their burdens settle onto my own shoulders, invisible but tangible. I wasn’t a queen yet, but the world outside seemed intent on shaping me into one ready or not.

The twins tugged quietly at my sleeves, sensing something deeper than they fully understood. “Elyzara?” Aeris asked softly. “Will there really be fighting?”

My heart twisted painfully. I knelt down, meeting their solemn gazes. “I hope not. That’s why we’re trying so hard. Sometimes fighting happens because people don’t feel heard.”

“We can shout extra-loud!” Arion offered helpfully.

I laughed gently, ruffling his hair. “Exactly right. Shouting, singing, listening we’ll do everything we can.”

“Even diplomacy?” Aeris wrinkled her nose skeptically.

I nodded gravely. “Even diplomacy.”

Satisfied, the twins skipped off toward Mara, who promptly started teaching them revolutionary marching songs involving jam-based warfare. Velka drifted quietly to my side, her fingers brushing lightly against mine. A small gesture, but it grounded me like nothing else could.

“You’re holding together remarkably well,” she murmured.

“Only on the outside,” I confessed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Inside, I’m about three seconds from stealing the twins’ hiding spot under the table.”

“Not a bad strategy,” she agreed. “But I have a better idea.”

Before I could ask, Velka tugged me gently but firmly out of the breakfast room. The corridors, bustling with courtiers and servants, gave way gradually to quieter halls filled with ancient tapestries and enchanted armor that saluted respectfully as we passed.

Eventually, Velka stopped at a small, secluded balcony overlooking the palace gardens—my favorite spot, familiar as my own heartbeat.

“What’s your better idea?” I asked.

She smiled, leaning against the balcony rail. “Perspective.”

“Perspective?”

“From up here, the world seems simpler,” she said softly. “People look smaller, the garden paths clearer. It helps.”

I sighed, gazing out at the perfectly manicured hedges and carefully tended flowerbeds. It did help—just enough to make breathing easier, thoughts calmer. “It’s still a mess down there.”

“True,” Velka agreed easily. “But our mess.”

I chuckled quietly. “We seem to have a talent for creating memorable chaos.”

Her eyes glinted mischievously. “It’s an art form, truly.”

We stood there quietly for a moment, feeling the distant warmth of sunlight and hearing the soft murmur of palace life below. Velka’s silence was comforting, her presence a gentle reassurance in itself.

“Do you really think we can do this?” I asked finally, voicing the question that had haunted my thoughts since breakfast.

Velka considered the question carefully. “I think…,” she began slowly, “we’ve already started something we can’t entirely control. But perhaps that’s exactly why we’ll succeed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because we’re terrible at controlling things?”

She smiled, a brief flicker of mischief returning. “Because the world doesn’t always need control. Sometimes it just needs someone brave enough or foolish enough to step forward and try something different.”

I exhaled, tension melting slightly at her words. “You make chaos sound poetic.”

She inclined her head regally. “My true talent. Alongside pastry-cheffing, according to gossip columns.”

I laughed aloud, surprising myself. For one precious heartbeat, the weight of revolution lifted, leaving only the girl beside me and the gentle absurdity of our lives.

Unfortunately, chaos respects no peaceful moment. A sudden shriek echoed through the gardens below, followed by unmistakable shouts of youthful protest.

“What in the—?” I leaned over the railing to see Mara, Aeris, Arion, and Riven in a frantic chase involving several enchanted garden gnomes, a protesting gardener, and something that looked suspiciously like my father’s ceremonial robe draped across a bush.

“Do we want to know?” Velka asked dryly.

I groaned softly. “No. But we probably should.”

When we reached the garden, Riven was attempting diplomacy with the gardener who was gesturing wildly and demanding compensation while Mara organized a tactical retreat, gnomes still in hot pursuit.

“Mara, what exactly happened?” I called, trying not to laugh at the absurd tableau.

Mara paused long enough to shrug. “Leadership training for the twins went slightly…astray.”

“Slightly?” Riven echoed incredulously, ducking a particularly aggressive gnome.

Arion appeared, dragging my father’s robe like a conquered enemy flag. “Victory is ours!”

“Return that immediately!” I ordered sternly, though my voice shook with barely restrained laughter.

Aeris looked earnestly up at me. “We just wanted to practice making trouble, like you and Velka!”

Velka covered a laugh with her hand, eyes sparkling. “Perhaps we should rethink our influence.”

I bent down, gently taking the robe from Arion. “Making trouble is easy,” I told them, more seriously. “But learning to fix the trouble that’s where the real heroism begins.”

Mara huffed dramatically. “Spoilsport.”

“Leader,” Velka corrected gently, smiling at me.

I looked around the small gathering—friends and siblings, mischief-makers and allies and realized the truth of Velka’s earlier words. Maybe chaos was necessary, a messy but vital step toward something better.

“Alright,” I announced decisively. “First, we apologize to the gardener. Then, we find out why these gnomes are rebelling.”

Riven grimaced. “Does this mean another roundtable?”

“Exactly,” I confirmed, feeling a surge of determination. “Only smaller, and with gnomes.”

The twins cheered enthusiastically, immediately appointing themselves official ambassadors. Mara began strategizing the diplomatic tactics required for negotiating with enchanted statuary. Velka gave my hand a brief, reassuring squeeze.

It wasn’t the grand drama of revolutionary politics, nor a neatly ordered lesson in leadership. But perhaps that was exactly the point. Leadership, after all, wasn’t about neatly controlling everything it was about navigating chaos, about laughing when everything went sideways, and still finding the courage to step forward.

The gardener grudgingly accepted our apologies, and the gnomes eventually consented to peace negotiations. As our unusual diplomatic party trudged toward a shaded corner of the garden, I smiled.

If anyone had told me weeks ago that I would someday mediate a diplomatic crisis between enchanted garden gnomes and a disgruntled royal gardener, I would have laughed or possibly questioned their sanity. Yet here we were, seated solemnly around a small stone table usually reserved for decorative purposes, prepared to discuss terms of peace with a group of stone figures barely taller than my knees.

Velka sat beside me, watching with an expression of serene amusement that suggested she was already planning to immortalize the event in verse. Mara was busy sketching out a formal treaty on a hastily borrowed napkin, while Riven attempted to keep Aeris and Arion from declaring war again due to boredom.

“Now,” I began in my best royal negotiator’s voice which was something between stern librarian and gentle teacher, “what exactly sparked this unfortunate rebellion?”

The lead gnome, a surprisingly dignified figure with a mossy beard, puffed up importantly. “We demand respect! We’ve guarded these gardens faithfully for generations, and lately, we’ve been treated as mere lawn ornaments!”

The gardener huffed indignantly. “You are lawn ornaments!”

“Sir,” Mara interjected smoothly, “they clearly prefer the term ‘guardian statuary.'”

I sighed, sharing a quick glance with Velka, whose lips twitched dangerously close to a smile. “Very well, let’s find common ground. Perhaps scheduled polishing sessions and acknowledgment in official garden tours?”

The gardener grumbled something unintelligible but gave a grudging nod. The gnomes began excitedly discussing the merits of being polished regularly versus the pride of weathered appearances, and Mara dutifully noted every detail on her napkin treaty.

As the negotiations continued, Velka leaned closer, her voice a low whisper. “You do realize we’re currently crafting the first-ever diplomatic agreement between sentient lawn decor and the royal household?”

“I’m choosing to see it as innovative leadership,” I replied softly. “Though I admit it sounds less impressive when spoken aloud.”

She laughed quietly, and I felt warmth bloom through my chest, lightening the heavy shadows of the morning’s darker news. Our small absurdities felt precious now, tiny rebellions against fear itself.

Finally, after much debate over polishing frequency and designated titles, the treaty was signed with great solemnity. Mara presented the finalized napkin, ceremonially bowing to the gnomes, who cheered enthusiastically and raised tiny stone fists in triumph.

Aeris tugged at my sleeve, clearly awestruck. “Is this how you fixed everything yesterday, Elyzara? With treaties?”

I knelt down, smiling gently. “Something like that, yes. Treaties, speeches, and lots of listening.”

Arion frowned thoughtfully. “Diplomacy is very slow.”

“But less messy than fighting,” Riven pointed out helpfully. “Usually.”

“Usually?” Arion echoed suspiciously.

“Occasionally, treaties involve spilled ink,” Mara whispered conspiratorially. “Very dangerous.”

The twins exchanged impressed glances, clearly revising their opinion of diplomacy upward slightly.

As we stood, the gnomes returned to their posts, marching proudly back to the garden’s border. The gardener retreated, shaking his head and muttering about polishing schedules and “troublemaking princesses.”

Velka and I lingered for a moment, watching the sun slowly climb higher, warming the gardens and casting patterns of gold across the flowers. Her eyes met mine, thoughtful and gentle.

“You’re good at this,” she said quietly. “Not just the absurd parts though you’re surprisingly adept at gnome diplomacy but bringing people together. Making peace.”

I laughed softly. “I’m still learning. Today it’s gnomes; tomorrow it’s kingdoms.”

Her hand brushed mine softly. “No matter how big the task, Elyzara, remember today. Remember you made peace out of chaos. And remember that I’ll be right here beside you.”