"…so we've executed those nobles in public as you ordered, Your Majesty, and set an example."
Huh?
Execution again?
I blinked from my perch on the Imperial Throne of Doomsday—also known as Papa's lap—my cookie halfway to my mouth.
Must been those pesky nobles who acted like drunken chickens while Papa was away. You know, barking orders, throwing coins, and probably plotting something treasonous while stepping in goose poop. Classic noble behavior.
I should be shocked by the E-word.
But at this point?
Execution is like... breakfast.
See Papa kill. See Papa execute. See Papa smile gently at me and then threaten someone's bloodline in the same breath.
It's basically my daily schedule.
The real mystery?
Why am I still here?
Seriously.
After the drowning incident, I expected Papa to go back to his usual half-cold, half-"I'll burn the world for you" routine. Instead, he went full apocalypse dad mode.
