If there was one thing Sharath had learned about noble society in this world, it was that visitors never arrived alone. They brought entourages, assistants, servants, cousins, and the occasional random hanger-on who seemed to have wandered in just for the food.
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## The Morning Parade
By mid-morning, the nursery door opened for the first noble of the day. Sir Randal of Eastmarch was a man built like a tree stump — short, thick, and wearing far too much perfume. He stomped over to the cradle, leaned down, and squinted.
"Well now," Randal said, "let's see if the little lord has a proper grip. Good grip means good sword arm."
Before Sharath could object — not that babies were given veto rights — Randal stuck a thick, callused finger into his tiny hand.
Sharath gripped.
Randal's eyes went wide. "By the Saints! That's… that's a firm hold you've got there!"
Yes, well, years of wrestling with stubborn Python code have strengthened my willpower, if not my muscles.
Randal tried to pull his finger back. Sharath didn't let go.
The noble gave an awkward laugh. "Strong! Very strong! Er… you can release now, young master…"
Sharath stared at him with what he hoped was the expression of a man refusing to commit to a bad handshake.
It took Vinya gently prying his fingers loose to end the stalemate.
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## Noble Rumor Upgrade
The moment Randal left, two more nobles entered — Lady Meris and her brother Sir Gathren. They were dressed in matching blue silks and shared the same faintly predatory smile.
"Oh, he does have his mother's eyes," Lady Meris said, leaning in so close that Sharath could smell the floral oil in her hair. "But there's… something sharper there."
Sir Gathren tapped his chin. "They say he can focus on a person longer than any babe his age. That he *knows* things."
Yes. For example, I know you're about to ask an impertinent question, and I'm debating whether to respond with spit-up or projectile sneeze.
"Does he speak yet?" Gathren asked.
Vinya laughed politely. "He's barely a month, my lord."
"Mm. Some prodigies begin early."
Not that early, genius.
---
## Fashion Crimes
Sharath's day took a turn for the absurd when Lady Trevina arrived. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a towering headdress shaped like… an actual ship. Complete with tiny sails that fluttered when she moved.
The thing was a masterpiece of ridiculous engineering.
She peered down at him and whispered, "Do you like Auntie Trevina's hat?"
Sharath blinked.
"Oh, he's *enchanted*," she said proudly.
Enchanted is one word for it. Horrified is another.
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## The Cursed Toy Incident
Later that afternoon, a steward arrived bearing a "gift from the western cousins." It was a small, stuffed lion… with porcupine quills. Not in a pattern — just randomly poking out at odd angles.
Vinya frowned. "Is this… safe?"
"It's enchanted," the steward explained. "The quills retract when held."
Vinya gave it a cautious squeeze. The quills retracted with a faint pop.
Satisfied, she placed it in the cradle.
Sharath gave the thing a once-over. The stitching was uneven. The rune on its back was crude — sloppy work. His inner QA engineer flared to life.
He poked it.
The quills shot back out with a *snap*, narrowly missing his hand.
Vinya gasped. "Oh! Oh dear—"
Braska the hunting dog, who had been snoozing nearby, leapt up, grabbed the toy in his jaws, and shook it like a mortal enemy. The quills flew in every direction, embedding themselves in the rug, the cradle's side, and — somehow — Lady Trevina's absurd ship-hat, which had been leaning against the wall.
The chaos lasted thirty seconds. The laughter from the hallway lasted much longer.
The toy was never seen again.
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## Servants in Damage Control
"Who sends a quilled toy to a baby?" Eyebrows muttered while cleaning up the mess.
"A cousin from the west," Vinya replied, prying a quill from the rug. "They probably thought it was *charming*."
Sharath watched them work, already filing away a note: gifts from the western cousins = probable booby traps.
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## More Grip Tests
As if the morning's episode with Randal hadn't been enough, word of Sharath's "iron grip" had spread. By mid-afternoon, three different nobles had tried it themselves.
Sir Malric lost a ring when Sharath refused to let go. Lady Helra got her sleeve yanked halfway into the cradle. A young squire left muttering about "training regimens" for babies.
This was getting ridiculous.
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## Evening Quiet… For Now
When the last of the day's visitors departed, Vinya finally breathed out and slumped into the nursery chair.
"Tomorrow," she told him, "we have only *one* visitor. The court magister. And he's here for your aura reading."
Sharath stilled.
Aura reading. That sounded dangerously like "magical background check."
The dog shifted beside him, ears twitching at some far-off sound. Sharath's fingers brushed the hawk carving Varundar had left, the wood warm under his hand.
Tomorrow, things might change.
But tonight, he was still just the owl-eyed baby in the judgmental cradle.
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