Copyright J.B. Norman
Pela Strahlend and her mother peer around the doorjamb into the kitchen where Pela’s father is, as ever, busy at work.
“Wow,” Pela notes. “He’s cooking up a storm. You know, even more than normal.”
The Half-Goblin frowns.
“Shouldn’t we help him?” she asks her mother. “It’s Father’s Day, after all.”
“Honey,” Pela’s mother replies. “This is what he likes doing. If we offered to cook for him, he’d just get grumpy and sullen. The best Father’s Day gift we can give me is to just stay out of his way and let him cook to his heart’s content.”
Pela nods. “Okay, but I made him a card, though.”
“Behold, Father!” Witch-Princess Tenebella declares to her father, the Sorcerer-Lord Rhadamanthus the Grim. “I present to you a fitting tribute for his, the day we honour our paternal forebears!”
With a gasp and a wave of impressed murmuring, the Ansangaarian Hordes lean forwardly intently.
“Captain Ratsumies,” Tenebella commands the leader of her bodyguard.
“Hey-ho!” the warrior in the horned helmet cries.
“Bring forth the tribute!”
“Hey-ho!”
“Father,” Tenebella says, approaching her father’s dread throne in the very heart of Castle Ansangaar, one of the most ancient places of power in Realmgard.
“Daughter,” Rhadamanthus the Grim answers from behind a mask of black steel.
“I made you this mug. Do you like it? I painted a happy little unicorn on it myself.”
Tenebella’s mother unsubtly clears her throat.
“Mom helped,” Tenebella admits quietly. “A little.”
Tenebella’s mother unsubtly clears her throat.
“A lot…”
“Come, come, Father,” Amara says, steering her father into the dining room. “Cyprian and I have prepared a delectable twenty-seven course meal to celebrate our dear father on this, Father’s Day.”
She frowns.
“Well, she didn’t prepare it, exactly, so much as instruct the help to prepare it,” Amara explains. “But I did personally sign off on all twenty-seven course. I hope you like pheasant, Father. Because it’s in at least eleven of those courses.”
“Happy Father’s Day, Uncle Marcellinus!” a visiting Egeria calls from the far end of the dining room table. “I know you ain’t my father, but I done glued you a macaroni picture anyway!”
“Happy Father’s Day, Admiral,” Kat Darkstone tells her father. “I got you a card.”
She thrusts the card into her father’s hands.
Dorian Darkstone looks down at the card, bearing the words Happy Anniversary, though Kat has hastily crossed out Anniversary and scrawled Father’s Day in its stead.
Tears well in Dorian’s eyes and he starts to sniffle.
“Ugh, Dad,” Kat sighs. “Father’s Day is a just an excuse from the people selling cheap presents to nickle and dime people who they don’t get guilt-tripped by other people.”
“I’m just so proud of you for not spending money you didn’t have to!” Dorian exclaims. “There’s that legendary Darkstone frugality I tried so hard to teach you.”
“Yeah,” Kat says. “Thanks for that, Dad. Expensive gift cards are history’s biggest scam!”
“I’m so proud,” Dorian sobs, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve.
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