My Crybaby Father is the Kingdom's Worst Villain
Chapter 49: Spirit Beast Contractee.

Chapter 49: Spirit Beast Contractee.

Ramiro’s smirk faded slightly, his gaze turning distant. He was quiet for a moment, his fingers still resting lightly against Luzia’s hair.

"...She was stubborn," he finally said, voice softer than before. "Sharp-tongued, just like you. Always had something to say."

Luzia tilted her head, watching him closely. "Sounds like she had good taste in men."

Ramiro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "If you’d said that to her, she would’ve told you she regretted it every day."

Luzia grinned. "I like her already."

Ramiro leaned back against the bedroll, exhaling. "She wasn’t afraid of anything. And if she was, she never showed it. I used to think nothing in the world could shake her." His voice grew quieter. "Until it was almost time for her to give birth to you."

Luzia blinked, caught off guard. "...What do you mean?"

Ramiro’s lips pressed together for a moment. Then, slowly, he looked at her again. "She was terrified. Terrified she wouldn’t be good enough. That she wouldn’t be around long enough." His hand clenched slightly. "And she was right."

Luzia felt something twist in her chest.

Ramiro let out a slow breath, eyes unreadable. "But she loved you. Fiercely. Even before you opened your eyes, you were the most important thing in her world."

Luzia swallowed. "Then why don’t you ever talk about her?"

Ramiro’s jaw tightened. "Because every time I do, it feels like losing her all over again."

Silence stretched between them.

Then Luzia shifted, reaching out. She hesitated—just for a moment—before gripping his sleeve.

"You’re an idiot."

Ramiro blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"

Luzia scowled. "You think not talking about her keeps her close? That’s stupid. If you really loved her, you’d keep her alive by remembering her. By telling me about her."

Ramiro stared at her, expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, he exhaled. "...You really don’t let up, do you?"

"Nope." Luzia shifted, still holding onto his sleeve. "So. Keep talking."

Ramiro let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Fine."

And so, for the first time in years, he spoke of her.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "She would have liked you."

Luzia raised a brow. "Obviously. I’m great."

Ramiro huffed a quiet laugh, but his eyes were distant now, lost in a memory.

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows over the room’s curtains. Dahlia sat on the edge of the bed, her vermillion hair tumbling over her shoulders in waves, a stark contrast against the pale silk of her nightgown. One hand rested on her swollen stomach, fingers absently tracing patterns over the fabric, while the other idly toyed with the dagger she kept on the bedside table.

The door creaked open.

"Finally," she muttered without looking up. "I was starting to think you’d forgotten your way home."

Ramiro stepped inside, his dark cloak heavy with dust from travel, his boots near soundless against the plush rug. He smirked as he approached, his sharp features softening as his gaze landed on her.

"You know I’d never get lost," he said smoothly. "I always find my way back to you."

Dahlia snorted, finally lifting her head to fix him with her icy blue stare. "Charming. Now try saying that without looking like a man who’s about to disappear again the second I blink."

Ramiro sighed but said nothing, dropping to one knee before her. He pressed a slow, reverent kiss to the curve of her belly.

Dahlia arched a brow. "If you’re trying to win her over, you’re already losing. I’m the one keeping her alive. You? You just showed up to steal the credit."

Ramiro chuckled against her skin before looking up. "I need all the advantages I can get. She’s already stubborn like you—I can feel it."

Dahlia scoffed. "Good. She’ll need it if she takes after you in the recklessness department."

Ramiro only grinned, shifting up to press a kiss against her lips. She allowed it for a moment before biting his bottom lip—not hard, but enough to make him pull back slightly, blinking.

"That’s for making me wait," she said simply.

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he rubbed his lip. "Noted."

Dahlia tilted her head, studying him. "So. Are you leaving again?"

Ramiro hesitated, the easy humor in his expression flickering.

Dahlia sighed. "So you are."

"I have no choice," he admitted, voice lower. "As the Tower Master, I—"

"Please. Save the ’duty and honor’ speech for someone who hasn’t already heard it a hundred times. The only duty I care about is you being here when I push your child into this world."

Ramiro exhaled, brushing a hand over her knee. "I promise," he said, quieter this time. "I’ll be back before she’s born."

Dahlia studied him for a long moment, then leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. "You’re a terrible liar."

Ramiro stiffened. "Dahlia—"

"Fne," she cut in. "Go. Be the all-important Tower Master while I sit here, growing bigger by the second, waiting. Just know if you’re late, I’ll find a way to curse your name from the grave—and you know I’d find a way."

Her fingers curled slightly against her arm.

Ramiro exhaled, running a hand through his hair before leaning in again, pressing another kiss to her lips—firmer this time, as if trying to carve the moment into memory.

"I’ll be back," he murmured against her mouth. "I swear it."

Dahlia let him kiss her again before muttering against his lips, "You better."

Ramiro swallowed thickly, staring at the firelight. His fingers barely brushed against Luzia’s hair as he exhaled.

"I couldn’t keep that promise," he said, voice low.

Luzia watched him, silent.

"After she gave birth to you... a few days later, when she was traveling back to the capital to stay in our estate... I found her." His jaw tightened, hands curling into fists. "She was—" He inhaled sharply. "She was killed in her room."

A heavy silence fell between them.

"And you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "You had been stolen."

A lump formed in her throat. "I see." So that’s what happened. Luzia’s fingers tightened around Ramiro’s sleeve, her breath shallow. The words hung between them, heavy and unshakable.

She had been stolen.

It wasn’t just that her mother had died—Dahlia had been murdered, and Luzia had been taken.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. "Who?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Who took me?"

Ramiro exhaled slowly, staring into the fire. "I don’t know," he admitted, jaw tight. "By the time I found her... you were gone. No ransom note, no trace. Just an empty crib and the scent of magic in the air."

Luzia swallowed hard. "Magic?"

"A teleportation spell," he said, his hands curling into fists. "One powerful enough to erase any trail. Whoever did it didn’t just want to kill Dahlia. They wanted you—and they wanted to make sure I could never find you."

A shiver ran down Luzia’s spine. Despite the fire’s warmth, she felt cold.

"But you did," she murmured.

"So... was my mom some powerful mage, or... what?" Luzia asked, hesitance creeping into her voice.

Ramiro’s gaze flickered toward her before returning to the fire. "No," he said slowly. "Dahlia wasn’t a mage." He paused, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face. "She was the most powerful spirit animal contractee."

Luzia frowned. "Spirit animal contractee?"

Ramiro nodded, his fingers absently tapping against his knee. "She didn’t cast spells or manipulate raw magic like I do. Instead, she formed a contract with a spirit beast."