CHAPTER 152: OPERATION: SISTER SMUGGLING

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Palace, Hallway of Doom (aka Papa’s Office)]

Marshi and I marched toward Papa’s office like two soldiers on a dangerous mission.

BANG.

I flung the door open like the dramatic princess I was born to be.

"My dearest, most handsome, terribly powerful, gloriously broody papa—!"

Papa flinched. Not a lot. Just a twitch. But I saw it.

He was hunched over his desk, quill in hand, writing something important, no doubt about taxes, warfare, or why I shouldn’t eat too many candied peaches before breakfast. The moment he heard my voice, he let out a long, exhausted sigh, like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him to fatherhood.

He stared at me.

Then at his parchment.

Then, with zero hesitation, he rolled it up and set it on fire.

Casually.

Like it was a Tuesday.

"I have to write that all over again..." he muttered under his breath, watching the ashes fall like snowflakes from hell.

Undeterred, I glided across the room like the sugar-fueled menace I was and leaned against his desk, tilting my head with all the innocent charm of a guilty kitten.

"What is my dearest Papa doing?" I asked sweetly.

He stared at me again—cold, flat, and expressionless. The stare of a man who’d dealt with too many of my shenanigans in too short a time.

"Get to the point, Lavinia."

I blinked. "Point? What point? I just came here to—"

His eyes narrowed into two invisible daggers made entirely of suspicion and generational trauma. A silent, powerful gaze that screamed: I know you’re lying. Speak, child. Confess. Or perish.

I laughed nervously and avoided eye contact like a seasoned criminal. "Well... I might need a teensy-weensy permission."

His brow furrowed like I’d just suggested marrying a peasant. "For what?"

I slid dramatically to the side of his chair like a stage actress mid-monologue. "I heard the Empire is celebrating my First Crawl Day?"

He nodded with pride, eyes twinkling. "Of course. There will be banners. Fireworks. A golden reenactment statue."

"Oh wow," I said, trying not to sound like I was choking on glitter. "That’s... grand. But actually, I wanted to..."

His eyes gleamed.

"Do you want a gift?" he interrupted excitedly. "Another Empire? A diamond mine? A ruby mine? I have a garnet volcano I haven’t even unwrapped yet—"

"No, no, no, no. Papa, please." I waved my hands frantically before he went out to conquer a random kingdom in my name again. "I don’t need... geological kingdoms this time."

He narrowed his eyes again. "Then what?"

I cleared my throat and tried to sound casual. "I just... want to go out. Into the Empire. See how people celebrate. You know. Be one with the commoners. Observe the humble festivities of the peas—uh, people."

He stared.

"You," he said flatly, "want to visit the Empire?"

I nodded, smiling like a sunbeam of lies.

There was a long pause.

Then he picked up a piece of parchment and began scribbling and said, "N. O."

"Papa—please—"

"N. O." He said it again like he was delivering a death sentence.

"I just want to—"

He rose up suddenly without a word. Grabbed my wrist. Marched me to the hallway like a military commander escorting a traitor.

And then—

THUD.

The door shut behind me with the soft subtlety of a falling mountain. Marshi and I stood there in stunned silence.

"...Did he... Did he just kick me out?" I blinked. "His dearest daughter? His precious, priceless jewel of a child? The literal embodiment of his legacy?"

Marshi snorted.

"He...could’ve said no." I mumbled, still in shock.

His tail flicked. He looked at me like he was trying not to say, "He did say no. Repeatedly. You just chose to ignore it."

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "He could’ve said it nicely, like, I don’t know—’No, my darling moonbeam, the world is dangerous’ or ’No, beloved, I can’t risk losing my most adorable daughter to the perils of daylight and street food.’ But noooo—just ’grabbed me and kicked me out."

Marshi padded beside me, tail flicking, whiskers twitching like he was thoroughly enjoying my royal humiliation.

Still, rejection or not—I had a mission.

I marched down the hallway, head held high despite the metaphorical boot print Papa had left on my royal pride.

I need a guild master, someone who can quietly dig into Elaenia’s past. Who she was. Where she came from. And why no one knew she existed until she floated into Theon’s wedding like a glitter bomb with no paperwork.

And I wanted to handle it myself, like a strong, independent future empress who doesn’t need her father’s permission.

Instead?

I got kicked out.

By my own father.

I groaned. "Now... what do I do?"

And that’s when I saw them.

Osric and Caelum.

Standing in the garden like two statues with excellent jawlines, frozen mid-spar, faces twisted in expressions of absolute... bewilderment.

I followed their gaze curiously, wondering what could possibly render the Crown’s finest warriors completely speechless.

Then I saw it.

And immediately regretted everything.

"What in the name of celestial cabbage is that—?"

I stood there, stunned. A tidal wave of emotion hit me so hard, I nearly fell backwards.

Love.

Romantic, floral, soul-snatching love.

It was pouring through the garden like rose-scented fog.

Theon and Lady Evelyn—locked in some overly dramatic, forehead-touching, hand-clasping, soft-smiling haze of pure affection that made even the roses wilt from second-hand embarrassment.

Osric blinked. Caelum gagged. Marshi flat-out covered his face with his paws.

I squinted into the glowing halo of their shared gaze.

"Gosh," I whispered. "It’s... blinding. Is this why Papa hated love?"

Because if that was what love looked like—fragrant, sappy, and painfully slow-motion—I understood completely.

I turned to flee the crime scene when—

"Lavi!"

I blinked.

That voice. That unmistakable musical lilt. That unnecessarily sparkly entrance.

I turned, and there he was.

Brother Lysandre.

Gliding toward me like a snowflake blessed by the moon gods, hair glistening like starlight, cloak flowing as if the wind had a personal crush on him.

I beamed and launched myself into a hug. "Brother Lysandre! What are you doing here?"

He hugged me back with all the grace of a romantic novel illustration and said, "I came to meet the Emperor... just some casual work."

Then he hugged me again, tighter this time, his voice softening.

"But mostly, I missed my darling little sister."

I blinked. "But we met three months ago."

He looked me dead in the eyes. Dead. In. The. Eyes.

"It felt like an eternity."

I chuckled, charmed against my will, even though I was 99% sure he said the exact same line to the Council of Mages last time.

But then—it hit me.

Wait.

Hold on.

Brother Lysandre is an elf. The Archduke of Nivale. He literally rides on moonlight and dreams and—teleports.

Which meant... he could help me.

He could teleport me OUT of the palace.

Stars practically burst in my eyes. I grabbed his hand with all the enthusiasm of a girl who just found the last piece of cake and said, "Brother. Let’s go."

He blinked, clearly thrown. "Go where?"

I turned on my heel with royal purpose, cloak swishing, eyes gleaming. "Your sister needs help."

Lysandre smiled, already resigned to the chaos. "Anything for you, my dearest, most feral sister."

I beamed. "That’s why you’re my favorite."

***

[Dawnspire Wing, Lavinia’s Chamber — Later]

"WHAT?!

"

Brother Lysandre nearly levitated off my chaise lounge.

"You want me to what?" he gasped, scandalized. "Teleport you... out of the Imperial Palace?!"

I nodded.

Calm. Composed. Dead serious.

"Yes."

He blinked at me like I had just suggested we swim across the boiling sea in full brocade.

"Lavi," he said, voice full of brotherly horror, "you do realize how dangerous it is. And also insane. You want me to smuggle the Imperial Princess out of the most secure fortress in the world? Dressed like some... rogue cabbage seller?!"

I smiled sweetly, tucking my legs beneath me like I hadn’t just asked for federal-level treason. "I know you know appearance-change magic too, brother. The fancy elf kind. With sparkles."

He groaned and dramatically flopped backward on the chaise, covering his face with his elegant, ring-studded hand. "Laviniaaaa... your father is going to kill me. Slowly. With great detail. Possibly using a diplomatic knife."

"Relax," I said cheerfully. "I’ll go when he’s in that Very Important Meeting with the Dwarven Delegates."

Lysandre peeked at me from between his fingers. "Even so—Lavi, it’s still dangerous. There are people outside who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you. Thieves. Perverts. Jerks, Lavi."

I knew he wouldn’t agree.

And now it was time.

Operation: Starry-Eyed Manipulation had officially begun.

I scooted closer, gently took his hands in mine, and looked up at him with the full force of my celestial cuteness.

"You won’t help me, Brother?" I said, voice trembling just enough. "Not even for two hours?"

His left eye twitched. Dangerous sign. Keep going.

"I’ll be back in two hours," I promised solemnly. "I just... I just need to see for myself, how people celebrate. And you’re the only one who can help me."

I poured every shimmering, galaxy-drenched ounce of love into my gaze. Then I reached for the delicate pink pendant around my neck—the one Grandpa Thaelein gave me when I visited Nivale.

"And I’m wearing this," I added softly, clutching it. "You remember, don’t you? The protection charm Grandpa gave me?"

Lysandre’s shoulders sagged.

He tried to dodge my puppy eyes. Tried. Failed miserably. He groaned again, but this time it was the defeated kind.

"Lavi..."

"Pleeeease," I whispered, stars practically spilling from my lashes.

Another groan. A dramatic head toss. Then—

"Fine," he sighed, utterly ruined. "Only for two hours. That’s it. And I’m putting five layers of glamor on you. And we’re using an invisible gate. And you’re not allowed to buy soup from street vendors, I swear to the moon, Lavinia—"

"YES!" I sprang up and kissed his cheek. "You’re the best! I knew I loved you more than brother callen for a reason!"

"Wait—what?"

"Nothing."

I danced toward my wardrobe, already mentally dressing in something humble and scandalously peasant-chic. My heart beat like a drum of destiny.

Now was my chance.

To learn who Elaenia really was. To find out why no one knew her before she appeared, smiling and suspiciously radiant. To discover what secrets even the Imperial Spies missed.

This wasn’t just a visit anymore.

This was a mission.