There is a shiny on the floor.

A lucky penny I suppose. It's nothing but a small copper but I bend to pick it up anyways. It's not an unreasonable thing for someone to drop a little coin.

Slipped from a sleeve, a loose belt purse. Maybe, god forbid, a newly made pocket.

It is however quite unreasonable for there to be a line of such shiny minted coins.

There are subtly placed a bit of a distance away from one another, however upon retrieving one coin, the eye spots the next. Then the next and so forth. One shiny after another, coppers with the occasional small silver.

Did someone's money pouch develop a hole?

I follow along, collecting the money as I go. If the poor staff member reports the missing funds then at least I can reimburse them a verified portion. If not then that's free money! Even if its a just copper I can't say no to free money. Money is precious.

To the people who say that money can't solve your problems, well then obviously they must not have had enough money to solve them! Money money money~

Ignoring the obvious trap that is the money trail I follow along from hallway to hallway to my father's work quarters. Money money money~ lalala~ All I wanna do is bang bang bang cha ching and take your money~ All I wanna do is-

I sing softly. Amusing myself with another world very not toddler appropriate choir of a song while picking shiny coins like they're wild mushrooms in the woods. Finally, the trail goes cold, a little after turning into a room and leading right up to the littlest desk I have ever seen in this world.

Absolutely tiny. Practically a child's playset. Something Lilyanne at her current age would have no problem climbing and taking a seat on the baby chair.

Out of curiosity, I approached the table, grimacing at the small stack of parchment and leather-bound books. Their contents looking suspiciously like homework problems and writing worksheets. A cup of brightly short brightly colored quill pens, too small for any adult to use rest on top.

Great.

Just great.

"Well that worked disappointingly well."

A polished wooden sliding screen folds to reveal a neat and darkly dressed Alfonso on the other side, my father seated behind a normal sized desk. The nerd tsks while looking down at me in a manner that most would call intimidating and judgemental. He taps at his cheek, looking almost bored. That's when I notice how the wall on his side of the room contains a long vertical window that was most certainly not visible from outside. It's more than transparent enough, the entirety of the abbey and courtyard on the other side clearly visible.

If one wanted to spy on stupid little girls bobbing their head, picking things off the ground, and maybe making gun signs and cash register effect, well then they would have had a perfect view a minute ago.

Curses.

"Greetings honorable father. I seem to have stumbled upon a work station unannounced. It was not my intention. Do forgive my lost misdeed. Good day now." I bow, quickly walking backwards.

"Have a seat Chippy."

The door closes with no one to close it. It's some bad movie special effects. So close. I was so close to inching my way out of here.

I eye the play desk warily, obviously being the only other seat in the room, on any side of the screen. The thing already looking quite frightening despite the look and scent of newly polished wood.

It appears to be a special commission. No one their right mind would try making let alone selling a desk set that small. It's something that could only fit a very small child. Something that they would soon outgrow in a few short years. What a waste of wood.

"There?" I ask, side-eyeing the thing.

"Alfonso, it appears my young daughter needs to be escorted to her seat."

"Right away my Lord."

With a flourish, Alfonso bows low. Getting on his knees in front of the kiddy desk to pull the seat out, patting at the extra short seat before bowing again in place.

I think they're making fun of me.

Left with a little choice and a mockingly low Alfonso pulling out the chair, I take the seat. He pushes me in and the entire thing god damn rolls.

The desk is so low that it only requires one thick cushion for me to reach and....oh never mind. It's a slate desk. How does this lever work? How far can it go? Where are the cranks and wheels angled in this thing? Is it hidden in the wooden paneling? Oh ho ho ho I see I see.

Let's not play too much with that lest these paper stuff and supplies go spilling. No matter what world it's no fun to pick up on spilled ink.

Alfonso wheels me across the screen divider, placing me at a scrutinizing position angled across my father's full-sized desk. It's quite the awkward place to be.

"This is a rather wasteful commission is it not father?" I try making myself comfortable, trapped with no exit, and already fearing for the rest of my day.

"Oh no at all. I was quite fascinated by the concept of a miniature desk. How small it could be made. I admit woodworking is not one of my gifts, best left to paid artisans, as were the paneling, but the function gears and sides were in the same vein as a design of a butter churner. Quite amusing."

"....."

"Do test it out for my observations Chip dear."

If I ever needed a desk to facepalm myself into, well here it is. Apparently laboriously crafted by the nerd himself.

Curse him.

Curse him and all these random nerd skills he manages to have under his belt. What the hell? How much work did he avoid and time wasted in the creation of the toddler play desk?

"I've heard quite the most interesting thing happen yesterday." quips my father, not even looking up from his work.

Trapped. I am trapped like a rat in a trap.

"Oh?"

I gulp, schooling my face into an expression of innocent indifference. Because they're watching. Somehow, someway, they're watching me. That much is clear.

"Yes. A great mob flooded to the household's accounting department."

"...."

"A truly surprising incident. Alfonso remind me again."

"My Lord. Multiple reports including contents of: 'the entirety of the downstairs staff', onlooking, cheering, and making merry. No work could be done for the remaining of the morning hours straight through luncheon."

"...."

"My, what a preposterous thing. What, my dear young imp, do you take of such an episode?" father looks almost bored. He must have been, due to the existence of the damn rat trap play desk

"....bad discipline." I spit out, making eye contact with anything and everything but my father.

What is this, a bad interrogation? How was I supposed to know everyone was that desperate for a show? I didn't know they would flash mob it? You really should do something about that staff discipline

"What a thing for our household, is it not Alfonso? An almost comedic show. Our standards haven't fallen to such an extent for people to abandon their posts in waves to 'make merry'. Though I do understand how people tend to get right after winter."

"Indeed my Lord. A grave show of disorder."

"I don't expect that they were...incited in any way or manner? For such a unified manner of disruption. A mass gathering would be unthinkable without... a catalyst?"

Oh my would you look at that? These worksheets suddenly look oh so very interesting. Oh yes, I do need to practice my handwriting, how helpful. Hmmm.

"Rosalia? Doll of my darling? Corner crust of a torte de riso and singing helion of my inner courtyards, would you have any idea whatever could have occurred? Anything you have seen or heard?"

"....."

"Perhaps during the hour of your 'second breakfast', yesterday took in the heart of the lower kitchens? Before the majority of our fine household's employees turned to a violent mob, storming the poor upstairs?"

"...."

"Biting your lip and squirming is as telling as a confession Rosa dear. Do try to improve."

"...Yes Father."

"Your face is inadequate on either end of the spectrum. We've been over that. Indifference doesn't work as a child your age wouldn't be capable. Aim for a reasonable 30-60% of your sister's daily expressions."

"Yes, Father.

"I understand you and your mother do enjoy 'weddings' and such. It is not my intention to spoil your amusements my dear. However, we do not incite flash mobs nor threaten our employees so blatantly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father. No starting mobs and threatening."

"What was it Alfonso, that was the weapon reported to take my accounting floor by storm?"

"A fork my Lord. An imported cutlery fork, blessed by the mouth of our young miss, and turned a tiny pitchfork of symbolism."

"Ah yes. Rosalia. We do not bestow upon untrained employees....weapons. No matter how ornamental they may be. Do you happen to know just how many people, soft defenseless people, were threatened with a said fork?"

I sink, making myself as small as possible in the desk and looking busy with the obviously assigned homework. It does not work, for the interrogation, torture does not end.

"I....was eating with that? You really ought to set some better discipline on the staff. They're were quite lax and unpredictable. "

"Yes. I've noticed. " drolls father, setting aside a new stack of books. Books that are swiftly transferred down by Alfonso, landing with a solid thud on my baby play desk.

I don't think he means the much-needed staff retraining. Boo hoo, woe is me. Neither one of my parents is safe. I'm bound to be grounded on either side. I knew it, I am a cursed and abused child. It's homework. Hoooooommmeeework.

"Ahem...um, surely the matter of the mob....dispersed? Everyone's back to work today no?" I try, hoping against physics that the stack was not growing at the rate I'm so seeing.

"For the most part," waves off father, hand coming to rest at his forehead, as if in a headache. "your mother handled it."

"That's good?"

"You're mother is currently ill. Sleeping off the 'making merry' right now still as we speak. Something that she took upon herself to make even more 'merry', involving the stores of wine. This morning it took an investigative team to track down and release my accountant and the kitchenmaid from the exact storeroom she had them locked in, hours overdue from his post."

I feel my blood pressure drop. Mother....whatever did you do? Mother? Can this wedding still even proceed? What will become of your ribbon selection decor or my more important banquet menu? What!?

"Alfonso, would you say my child has been increasingly idle as of late? Skipping out on her lessons and playing with unclean little things that make one ill?"

"I suppose my Lord, no more so than any other child out lady's age."

"Ah yes. The childhood activities of poisoning and mob inciting. My how times have changed from what I recall. Tell me again Alfonso, just what my old lessons consisted of."

No need. I'll be good. I'm doing my homework now. Look, I've picked up the quill and dippy dippy. Just wheel me in the corner and leave me there.

Which is precisely what Alfonso takes to doing. My book heavy play desk wheeled to directly face the wall. It's actually the corner, in full view of father I'm sure. A kiddy punishment that no amount of trembling or crocodile tears can get me out of. I'm not Lilyanne. No amount of sobbing will save me from the nerd.

If I was my sister I could cry and play being sick. That got her away from many tutoring lessons.

If I try the same thing I fear I will only get a mocking glance over. Perhaps another scathing review on my inadequate performance. Ah yes, that's father alright. Cursed nerd, strict with the homework when it comes down to it.

I have no choice but to diligently scribble away, occasionally changing subjects and getting further instructions from Alfonso. Even as my butt gets sore and legs get twitchy from staying in one spot for so long. I am still, after all, a physical toddler. There's a fearsome amount of energy in here. Looks like today will be another day to skip nap time.

I finally get a break after two turns of the hourglass. How horrid. Forcing a child to stay so still for this long. It goes against all child welfare and common sense. It's already past lunchtime! No other 3 year old would be able to stand it!

"I did."

"Your memories are not reliable father. " I sob ignoring him in my pained plight.

Ow ow ow. My little baby hand is stiff in cramps and stained in ink. Handwriting practice sucks.

"Hmm judging from your previous performances, an allocated 5 hours a day seems reasonable for your current age. You're currently quite idle seeing the cancellation of this year's visit. "

"Huh?!"

Given that no one but the wall can see my facial reactions I snap and motion for Alfonso to turn me around, doing that all over again when I'm facing the right way.

"Pardon me father, do you mean to say?"

"5 hours. A day. If not in my offices than with your personalized instructors. If your new tutors prove inadequate, make yourself known to either Alfonso or directly to my studies. "

I test out the durability of the play desk with my face. Slam.

Yep. Very sturdy thing with a smooth surface. Very suitable item to cry on. It's just like school all over again.

With a snap of his hand, father has Alfonso lift my limp beaten form out of the play desk and onto the main desk. Wonderful, another surface to mope on.

"Father is this not too unreasonable? I'm only 3!" I make to gesture, holding out that exact number of fingers.

Previously I've proved myself with the tutors. The two of them turned three, now in charge of Ventrella employee benefit adult re-education classes. I didn't go overboard and scare them with all that I know of course. Just perform beyond my age group by a few years or so.

Think I need help to pronounce my name or starting on my letters? Ha! I'm not wasting my very limited time playing pre-pre school.

But that doesn't mean I want actual schooling in such dull or useless things.

The contents of my homework only getting more and more tedious as the difficulty goes up. The average level now something of what the original Rosalia would be learning at the age of 8. I can't say that's the average level of a child given the 'personalized' lessons Rosalia received, but it's the only reference I can use. Right now, the means a painful playback review of the aristocratic subjects and manners of study. I do put in the effort to 'play dumb' or pretend I don't know how to read beyond a certain level but it's all just so dull to play along. Best to pass and avoid, like skipping some grades.

The only thing I can completely avoid now would be etiquette and embroidery. I'm already forced to practice reading musical notes.

I admit it's my fault on many accounts. A 3-year-old should not have my reading levels....or many levels. But it's already a very strange world and I can't be blamed for that! It's also my fault for misunderstanding some of father's previous 'homework'. I took them too seriously like they were a job. OF course, he wasn't really expecting me to get market expenditures done. It's all my for getting others to previously help cheat on some 'problem solving' market problems and household accounts, but it's lies.

All lies. Don't give me any harder math, I can't take it! No no no!

I don't do accounting, never did, not my department! I was not an economic's major. Too high applications of numbers and spreadsheets make my head spin. Bargaining prime spots and multiple advertising rates was as far as I was willing to go for the job. Anything further was out of my hands, not my responsibility. Nope nope nope. Give me a budget and I will work with that. Hell tell me to fix or make a budget and I can do that. Don't make me count anymore, especially if we're working with stocks. The highest related course I ever took in actual school was business calculous and I want no more of that!

I hate this nerd. Hate him so bad. He went off and died then left me with such a headache. Too much money is also a type of sin. Handling it is a great sin few can afford.

My assigned homework is still the easy stuff. Tedious matters to throw at a child to play at, no matter the results. It's nothing compared to the general ledgers and accounts that father keeps stored away, not unlike a portfolio collection.

The things I took easy, too for granted while this damn nerd was alive, crashed all on Rosalia little head over a lifetime ago. It took sitting at the big table too soon to truly realize that not all nobles operated equally. That though money may be hidden, not everyone kept such detailed ledgers. Not every family knew how to make double-entry bookkeeping systems.

Why didn't the original father ever tell me anything practical? Those details would have been very helpful in swallowing down the decoding of all our family's hidden assets. The secret guards? Could have told me somewhere in those years that I was inheriting a secret very shady unit of guards.

Oh, I remember now, because he's a damn nerd that sucks at communicating!

All he knows is nerding, being gross and money. As the world knows, money makes money.

Money lending is scary and bad. Blah blah blah, the church doesn't approve blah blah baloney. a whole system, I understand where the confusion lies. For most of the uneducated population, banks were big bad scary things no different than hated loan sharks and petty local gangsters demanding protection fees. Hell, even some idiotically wasteful nobles think that way.

Times are already changing.

Oh lord, the banks. Something so small, so new to this still-growing society. Nothing but local lending offices and storage for places that can't afford the house a guild. To trust a bank is a gamble that you don't take likely. Nothing like the modern financial institutions I know from another world. Something no one could have predicted to grow the way it did.

Not now, not even in 10 years, but it will come.

How hateful, how amusing, for the largest rising bank to be reigned by the hands of an illegitimate Bichhieri.

It took me years to figure it out, the hidden financial ties that my father's birth family held. Just how much wealth they truly controlled. How else they could block and play with so many major ports across city states and nations. Made me laugh like crazy that I was hardly behind Philippe in what I knew, managed to learn, when he was living in it! Ahahahahahaha!

That bastard sure gave him a good run.

It's still too early. All of father's siblings are still alive and well. Philippe is still the only boy borne by a son of the family. Thus, those people should still be hidden peacefully away.

Eight. I was eight years old when eldest uncle passed away. The main Bicchieri's won't be welcoming civil war in their homes for at least another 5 years. They won't make their hidden banks public for an even longer time than that.

God damn banking.

"When I was your age it was 8 hours a day. Perhaps your mother is right, I do spoil you." father ponders, unaware of all the truths I have annoyingly stuffed in my head.

Hate him. I am not spoiled, I am full of suffering.

"...That's illega- nevermind. Father...that's impossible for a small child."

"Alfonso?"

"Twas 8 hours a day and preparation, practice and lessons my lord. Your schedule had been updated with the utmost scrutiny, blocked appropriately for meals, and a required child's rest, all from the time my young lord could walk."

"Right then. 5 hours?"

"A mere 5 hours were your weekends my Lord. A quite generous schedule in comparison."

"5 hours it shall be then, five days a week. Depending on your performance, I may see to it that we either increase or decrease your study time."

My jaw drops. My brain already calculating the sheer painful boredom of all those hours. All of it cruelty beyond belief. If what my father and his butler speak of is true then he is merely continuing the cycle of abuse from his own childhood.

I guarantee you, Phillipe is not getting these hours of study at this age, let alone when he was as small as me. What awful standards are these? They're even worse than what the original goods suffered through.

At least my official queen's lessons don't start till I'm at least 5. Then the hell really starts. Father was always oddly strict with lessons but why are we so keen on kickstarting me down such a painful path right now?

At this moment, father deems it appropriate to take advantage of my open mouth, throwing in strange objects and closing my jaw up to chew. Ack! Watch it, I could choke!

Sweet juice pops in my mouth, the shock of mild sour skin making me scrunch up in displeasure. It burns down my throat as I cough.

"According to the schedule, it's time for luncheon. Is it not?"

"Certainly my lord, on days without morning exercises and a 'second breakfast', tis indeed the common hour young miss Rosalia takes luncheon, followed my various slots of 'snacks'. "

"Hmm, I do suppose children need to intake more nutrients. Very well then, I'll allow it. Prepare the table outside. " waves my father lazily, finding it far more interesting try to pop grapes into my mouth.

The hell! Where did those come from?

In the time that I've been facing the wall, a platter of multicolored grapes has magically appeared on my father's counter desk. The bunches sectioned and colored, a bit of chilled wet droplets still clinging to the orbs.

When my jaw drops again, he takes the opportunity to stuff my face further, changing up the color of the grape. It's a wheel of green, purples and even pale yellow on the platter.

"Those aren't in season yet." I mumble and choke, grapes squishing in my cheeks.

"They are in the South Eastern vineyards." answers father, curiously picking his next grape color as if it were choice of paint on a palette.

I try not to think too hard about how they were even rush delivered from said vinyards. Bird? Beasts? Magic drones? Just what? Just why grapes and when were they....

"Father....exactly how many secret guards are following me now?"

"As many as need be," he answers plainly, selecting a pale yellow-green to lazily throw at me.

"Are they always listening in and spying? This is a rather disturbing treatment." I chew.

It's not that I particularly like them, I'm just hungry from all this awful studying past my lunch hour. What useless info you've seemed to have gathered father.

"Given your tendency for trouble and harm? As much as need be."

"...."

"Which grape do you prefer? Tide yourself over till luncheon."

I pout and throw a damn grape at him. This is a great invasion of my privacy! I understand the increase in hidden guards but not all the hidden spies, listening in and possibly misconstruing what I may do or say. How dangerous.

I of all people know just how dangerous, how thorough my father's secret guards can be. I will have no true sense of privacy at all. What if they gather enough evidence to come to the correct conclusion? That I'm not actually of this world and am instead another entity just waiting till I'm grown enough to make off with a portion of this Ventrella money.

This level of distrust is simply atrocious! As a reincarnation, this is just too dangerous. I will not stand for it.

"Chip?" My father asks as I make a mess of his current papers, rolling off his lap and onto the floor.

"I don't want the secret guards following me around like that. It's ridiculous!"

"Chip. Get out from there."

"No. They can't see me under here. I bet they can't hear me either." I roll, dark and hidden under the normal sized desk.

Am I being very effective? Honestly no. Am I petty? Yes, very.

The action causes my father to give a sigh, one that sounds both tired and indulgent. As if he's used to nonsense worse than this on a daily. Which....given my current mother and grampa, is quite likely the case.

That's fine. I'm very busy thinking about how to finally end the secret guards off my trail. I'm being spied on too much. The grapes are the most current damn evidence.

"Does it displease you, darling?" leans father, his shadow still visible where I've childishly decided to stay for this tantrum.

"Quite."

My case obviously isn't being taken seriously as my father merely chuckles, reaching in to pick me back up like a helpless pet. It is not an amused chuckle, which is only reason I dare not to struggle too violently.

I look around to find no one else in the room, Alfonso already out to his duties. Aka there are no witnesses if I scream or die.

Hey, I may be a little presumptuous is assuming my father wouldn't just get rid of me but uh, that does not exclude torturing me. Hey nerd, stop being scary. You stop that right this instance. Go back to drafting so loans or something.

"You would be wise to think then, how much it displeased me to hear you've gone and poisoned yourself. In great measure and rarity. Both the first and the second incident."

Gulp.

Well now, can't argue against that. I am guilty as charged for both accounts. Not that it was my fault but, well it did happen regardless.

"Darling little gremlin of mine. Did you not think there would be repercussions for breaking and entering through magical barriers, time and time again? A delightful skill I must say, a very troublesome one in the hands of anyone, let alone a 3-year-old."

Oh, would you look at that? I'm suddenly so hungry, nom nom nom. Don't mind me, just chomping on some grapes.

"Doesn't mean I need all the spy guards." I grimace, spitting out a seed. Phew, I prefer my seedless variety.

"Yes. Yes, it does mean you need them. If not for our peace of mind than for your own safety. You have the prodigious talent of jeopardizing both."

"Mmmm." I sound, still very displeased.

I've never had the secret guards sicked on me in my life, any of them. How horrid. This puts a great handicap on absolutely everything if my every action and words are spied on and supervised by my parents. Who do they think they are?!

Besides the parents of toddlers.

In fact, I was the one ordering secret guards on Lilyanne or potential enemies. You've completely got the wrong girl!

"Why doesn't Lily have secret stupid guards?" I whine, stalling as I think of a way to haggle out of this.

"Who says your sister doesn't?"

"Amar and Lukas."

The grape in father's hand suddenly goes squish.

"That's....not how you make jam?" I try, staring at the sad mush.

"Jam? ....Yes what a methodical ...idea."

Oh dear. Why are both my parents so out to murder my minions, each in their own ways?

"Really now father, it's a great waste of resources to put your people on kiddy tailing duties. Having so many highly trained guards, I bet they're quite suitable for a range spy work and assassination- not that I would know or anything. Making them watch me is as creepy as it is unnecessary. Very gross. I'm sure it's tedious for them as well. Babysitting usually isn't in the contract."

"On the contrary my dear.... they're getting quite the .... exercise."

"Oh. Well, don't punish them too hard. Those brats are weird. But that's sort of why they're useful enough to consider as minions in training. "

"...."

"You can keep tailing them for now, especially Amar because I'm pretty sure he's lies about a lot more things but I don't know how you can tail Lukas when he's off with Gable. Not that you can gather much info spying on him. Did you realize what absolute monsters they are? At their age! I Grampa really collects lots of strange sorts."

"....."

"Plllllleeeeeeeease take the secret guards off me? Father, I beseech thee. Release me from them."

I would get on my knees if I wasn't currently dangling in my father's hold. Common sense doesn't seem to work on the case, neither does arguing my case. In fact, I have a rather weak one given my latest history of child injury and poisonings. But again, not entirely my fault.

Cuteness is not a thing I can use effectively against the nerd. That's better reserved for someone like mother, who lives by an honorable code of cuteness rules all. But even this singleminded man had his soft moments towards my sister.

Sure he can absolutely see through my Lilyanne act but it doesn't hurt to try with a little humbleness, a little pitiful. What's that ratio again? 30-60% Lilyanne in my expression? I'm still a woman. That much I can do!

Long piano fingers pinch painful at my cheek, ruining any pitiful cuteness I managed to build up. Ow ow ow. Mission failed, this is what I get for -->>

next page