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

The tension between Velka Nightthorn and me simmered beneath the surface for days, a quiet yet persistent itch I couldn't ignore. She was cold and elegant, wrapped in shadows like a precious jewel guarded carefully by venomous thorns. Every word she spoke dripped disdain, each casual glance sharpened by subtle contempt.

Yet, despite my best efforts, I couldn't entirely ignore her. There was something magnetic about the vampire, something fierce beneath her aloofness that drew my curiosity even as it stirred frustration.

It was inevitable that eventually, our careful avoidance would crumble.

The breaking point came swiftly, dramatically, during Professor Merrin's overly tedious lecture on magical history. Riven had decided it was the perfect moment to launch into an exaggerated reenactment of the Battle of Thorne's Rise, complete with whispered sound effects and dramatic flourishes.

Velka's patience shattered abruptly. She twisted elegantly in her seat, crimson eyes narrowed sharply. "Must we endure your idiotic theatrics, or could you perhaps spare us?"

Riven blinked, momentarily stunned into silence a feat I'd failed to achieve despite years of effort.

I turned slowly, irritation rising hotly beneath my calm exterior. "If you dislike noise, perhaps you could relocate your fragile ears elsewhere. Like the hallway."

Velka's eyes flashed dangerously, a brief flicker of surprise swiftly concealed beneath quiet scorn. "Ah, the princess speaks. Tell me, do you always defend your minions, or am I merely special?"

Riven scoffed indignantly. "Minion? I'll have you know I'm her favorite source of constant annoyance."

"You're certainly the loudest," Velka drawled coldly.

"Enough," Professor Merrin snapped, irritation flushing his normally pale face red. "Miss Thorne. Miss Nightthorn. You both will report to detention after class."

Riven smirked smugly, whispering, "Have fun bonding."

I shot him a sharp glare, though it lacked the usual bite. Truthfully, the prospect of detention alone with Velka filled me with quiet dread.

After class, Velka and I were led silently to a remote wing of the Arcanum, an ancient corridor rarely visited. Stone walls here were aged and cracked, lanterns flickering weakly, shadows dancing restlessly along the floor. At the corridor's end stood a heavy wooden door, carved with faded runes worn smooth by countless years.

Professor Merrin cleared his throat stiffly. "You'll spend the evening cleaning the Reliquary. No magic. Perhaps manual labor will teach you both humility."

He swept away, robes fluttering dramatically behind him, leaving an oppressive silence settling heavily between Velka and me. I reached hesitantly toward the iron door handle, pushing open the ancient door with a quiet groan.

The room beyond was vast and dimly lit, cluttered with forgotten artifacts, stacked crates, dusty manuscripts, and various peculiar items abandoned to time. Everything was blanketed in thick layers of dust, the scent heavy and stale, mingled with the faint aroma of ancient ink and leather bindings.

Velka stepped cautiously into the room behind me, disdain evident in her voice. "Lovely. This seems appropriate for royalty."

I clenched my jaw, irritation simmering hotly beneath my carefully maintained calm. "Do you always speak just to annoy, or are you naturally abrasive?"

Her lips curved faintly, expression coolly amused. "Are you always so easily ruffled, princess, or only when confronted with truths you dislike?"

I grabbed a rag from a nearby crate, gripping it tightly as I began wiping down the nearest shelf, anger sharpening each movement. "And what truth is that, exactly?"

Velka approached slowly, delicate fingers trailing idly across dust-coated artifacts, red eyes examining each curiously. Her voice was soft, almost thoughtful. "That you're a princess in a cage, carefully protected from everything remotely threatening or inconvenient. You've never tasted true freedom."

I turned sharply, temper flaring despite my determination to remain composed. "You know nothing about my life. Nothing."

She tilted her head slightly, studying me closely, expression suddenly serious beneath its usual mask of disdain. "Perhaps not. But tell me, Elyzara have you ever once questioned the perfect little world your family created for you? Or do you truly enjoy your gilded prison?"

"I'm not a prisoner," I snapped sharply, heat rising swiftly to my cheeks. "My family protects me because they care."

"Care or control?" Velka countered coolly, eyes narrowing slightly, voice dropping lower, almost gentle yet edged with challenge. "You're their carefully curated weapon, their heir, their jewel. But do they see you clearly? Or only their perfect vision?"

I hesitated, momentarily caught off guard, words twisting sharply within my chest. My voice came quieter, defensive yet uncertain. "They love me. That's enough."

Velka stepped closer, eyes locked steadily onto mine, unreadable yet strangely intense. "Perhaps it is. But does love justify keeping you blind?"

I turned away sharply, throat tight, anger mingled uncomfortably with unsettling doubt. My voice came cold, brittle. "Don't speak of my family again."

She watched silently as I continued cleaning, the silence between us thick and uneasy. After a moment, Velka exhaled softly, sounding oddly regretful. "I apologize. Perhaps that was unkind."

Surprised, I glanced back toward her, meeting those strangely compelling eyes, seeing sincerity flicker briefly behind her carefully guarded expression.

I softened slightly, allowing myself a small, reluctant concession. "And perhaps… my reaction was overly harsh."

She raised an elegant eyebrow, lips curving faintly in amusement. "An apology from Elyzara Thorne? Remarkable."

I fought a reluctant smile, returning to my cleaning. "Don't get used to it."

For a while, silence settled gently between us, broken only by quiet rustling as we worked methodically through the clutter. Eventually, curiosity overcame irritation, prompting me to speak cautiously. "Why are you here, Velka? Really?"

She paused briefly, expression carefully neutral, voice controlled. "Family duty. Expectations. The usual constraints."

"Sounds familiar," I murmured dryly, tension easing slightly beneath our shared frustration.

Velka glanced thoughtfully toward me, her voice quiet, genuine for the first time. "Perhaps we're not entirely different."

I considered her cautiously, wary yet intrigued. "Perhaps."

A grudging, reluctant respect flickered faintly between us a quiet acknowledgment that despite our differences, despite irritation and sharp words, we shared something fundamental. Both of us trapped by family, duty, expectation. Both struggling silently beneath masks of control and confidence.

Velka broke the quiet again, voice gently teasing. "Though I must admit, your family is uniquely dramatic in their protection. Assigning personal guards? Very subtle."

I sighed deeply, feeling amusement reluctantly tugging at my irritation. "Believe me, subtlety has never been their strength."

She laughed softly a rare, genuine sound, delicate and strangely appealing. "At least you're honest."

A hesitant smile curved slowly at my lips. "Occasionally."

We continued working quietly together, careful movements blending seamlessly into a fragile truce. When Professor Merrin finally returned, he surveyed the room approvingly, clearly surprised by our diligent work.

"You may leave," he conceded stiffly. "Perhaps next time you'll think before disrupting my class."

Velka and I stepped quietly into the corridor, tension slowly easing between us. She glanced toward me briefly, expression thoughtful. "This changes nothing, of course."

"Of course," I echoed dryly.

Yet something had changed subtle, quiet, fragile. Rivalry lingered still, pride and differences inevitably sparking conflict again soon. Yet beneath it, mutual respect had quietly begun to grow, reluctant yet undeniable.

[Fascinating,] the system murmured dryly in my mind. [The vampire's actually likable. Who knew?]

"Shut up," I replied silently, though a faint smile lingered reluctantly on my lips.