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“Bleh~” Baby Cardan mumbled for what had to be the fiftieth time that day, smacking Valerian’s cheek with his tiny, floppy hand.
Locke and Nicasia were practically doubled over, voices hoarse from laughing so much.
How did this happen, you ask? Well—some absolute bastard spiked Cardan’s wine at a revel. The result? Elfhame’s sharp-tongued, wicked prince was now a sticky-fingered toddler with floppy slaps and the same unholy level of sass.
And gods, he was cute.
His fluffy little tail twitched with every pout, his curls were a mess Nicasia kept fussing over, and he had immediately latched onto the very first person he saw: Valerian.
The irony? Valerian despised children. Or at least, he claimed to. Which made the sight of him being used as Cardan’s personal chair, mattress, and reluctant babysitter all the more hilarious.
Still, Baby Cardan wasn’t the feral menace everyone expected. Instead, he was a clingy little kitten who wanted chocolates, to be carried everywhere, and to be fawned over. Nicasia had gleefully taken up the role of his stylist, putting him in ridiculous little outfits and braiding his fluffy hair. Locke entertained him with piggyback rides and trips to secret corners of the palace.
And Valerian? Well, no matter how much he groaned or rolled his eyes, he had a very noticeable blush dusting the tips of his ears every time Cardan curled up against him, tiny fists tugging at his tunic.
Not that he’d ever admit he adored the brat.
But Locke and Nicasia? Oh, they knew.