Chapter 5
Custard Cookie III stormed into the castle, clutching his scepter so tightly his fingers hurt.
He wasn’t crying.
Kings didn’t cry.
But his tiny fists trembled, his lip wobbled, and his vision blurred at the edges.
He stomped through the halls, his cape dragging behind him. The words still rang in his ears.
"You’re not a real king."
"You’re just some kid Pure Vanilla felt sorry for."
"The only reason anyone listens to you is because you got lucky."
His stomach twisted, hot and hollow.
It wasn’t true.
It wasn’t.
He had trained to be a king! He had studied royal decrees, practiced his speeches, and held his scepter high! He had—he had—
A sob caught in his throat.
He hated it. Hated how easily those words slipped under his skin.
Custard sniffed, rubbing at his eyes furiously.
No. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t—
“Custard?”
He froze.
Soft, familiar warmth. A voice like sunlight after a storm.
He looked up.
Pure Vanilla Cookie stood at the end of the hall, his ever-gentle gaze watching him closely.
Custard swallowed hard. He didn’t want to look weak. He didn’t want to—
His crown slipped from his head.
He barely had time to react before it clattered onto the floor.
A broken sound tore from his throat, and suddenly, his tiny legs were moving before he could stop them.
He ran straight into Pure Vanilla’s arms.
Pure Vanilla caught him instantly, dropping to one knee as Custard Cookie III buried himself into his robes.
Small hands clutched at the fabric, clinging as if he’d disappear.
Pure Vanilla frowned. He could feel the way Custard trembled, his breath coming out in tiny, uneven gasps.
Gently, he wrapped his arms around him, pressing a hand to his back. “What happened, little one?”
Custard shook his head.
He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want Pure Vanilla to think—
He sniffled. The words came out anyway.
“They said I wasn’t a real king.” His voice wobbled. “That I’m just some privileged kid who got adopted by you.”
Pure Vanilla’s eyes softened.
Custard hiccupped. “They said that the only reason anyone listens to me is because I got lucky.” His fists clenched tighter. “That I’ll never be a real ruler.”
Pure Vanilla felt something ache deep in his chest.
Oh, Custard…
Slowly, he pulled back, tilting Custard’s face up with a gentle hand. “Look at me, my dear king.”
Custard hesitated but obeyed, wide blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Pure Vanilla smiled softly.
“You are not a king because of luck,” he said, voice warm as the morning sun. “You are a king because of your heart.”
Custard sniffled.
“You care for others. You dream of a better world. You hold your head high, even when you are small.”
Pure Vanilla brushed away a tear with his thumb.
“That is what makes a king.”
Custard bit his lip, his tiny shoulders shaking. “But—but they said—”
Pure Vanilla placed a hand over Custard’s chest, right where his tiny heart beat fast.
“Do you feel that?”
Custard blinked.
“…My heart?”
Pure Vanilla nodded. “That is what makes you strong. That is what makes you worthy.”
Custard stared, eyes wide and glistening.
His fingers curled into Pure Vanilla’s robes, breath hitching. Then, finally—
He burst into tears.
Pure Vanilla held him close, letting him cry.
Later that night, Custard Cookie III sat beside Pure Vanilla on the castle balcony, a warm cup of cocoa in his hands.
He still wasn’t sure if he fully believed it yet.
But as he watched the stars above, wrapped safely in Pure Vanilla’s presence…
He thought that maybe—just maybe—his crown wasn’t made of paper after all.