CHAPTER 164: KNEEL FOR FORGIVENESS

[Lavinia’s POV—Sacred Grounds of the Dawnspire wing, Twilight Hour]

"Marshiiiii..."

His name tore from my chest like a hymn and a battle cry all at once.

Across the golden expanse of the enchanted training fields, I saw him—my beast, my boy, my terrifying, oversized, utterly divine, utterly mine tiger—charging toward me like a living mountain of striped fury and devotion. His paws pounded against the earth, each thunderous step shaking the ground, sending flocks of silver-winged birds scattering from the trees in awe.

And I—I ran too.

Like a girl who hadn’t just been grounded for one agonizing week by her warlord of a father for a not-so-minor incident.

"My big—mountainous—marshmallow beast—!" I shrieked, laugh-sobbing as I sprinted, arms wide, skirts flying like battle flags around me.

Marshi roared, a sound that split the air like thunder cracking open the sky, and when he reached me, it was like crashing into the side of a snow-capped mountain that had grown a heart just for me.

"DID. YOU. MISS. MEEEE?" I cried, leaping at him without a hint of self-preservation.

He tackled me right back, with all one thousand kilos of his ridiculous celestial bulk. We tumbled. I disappeared beneath his thick golden fur and those red-flame-like stripes that shimmered with divine energy. And when he growled—deep, bone-rattling—it was less anger and more insulted affection.

"Ohhh, don’t give me that growl! You’re sulking, aren’t you?" I huffed, buried in his fluff like a deranged little princess in a royal fur blanket. "You think I forgot you; is that it? Just because I was locked away like a criminal in my diamond cage without you?"

He blinked those massive crimson eyes at me.

I pressed a kiss to his furry nose and whispered, "I cried for you, you oversized divine marshmallow. Every night."

He huffed.

I huffed louder.

"Admit it—you missed me. Say it. Say it with your majestic royal tiger grumble."

He didn’t say it.

He sneezed.

Right in my face.

"...Gross," I muttered. "Romantic reunions are dead." Still, I clung to him like he was the last soft thing left in the world.

"You’re still the best part of my life, you know that?"

He made a sound between a yawn and a lazy purr. His tail swished with the weight of storms. His tail flicked, heavy with the weight of tempests and tangled lightning, brushing against the earth like thunder had found a spine.

Behind me, I heard a choked gasp.

Osric stood frozen, Solena clinging to his shoulder with wide, iridescent eyes, both of them staring as if they’d just stumbled into a myth. Beside him, Caelum blinked slowly, as if processing an epic painting come to life.

"I—" Osric began, still wide-eyed, "have never seen such an enormous reunion in my entire life. It’s like... some grand romantic ballad... but with claws."

Caelum, ever the composed one, added with a slight smirk, "Indeed. This might end up in history books, Lavi. Possibly under divine absurdities and dramatic princesses."

Marshi let out a low growl, his golden eyes narrowing.

I pulled back from my beast just enough to glare at both of them, wiping my cheek with a dramatic sniff. "Excuse me. It will not be just history. It will be—" I flung an arm to the heavens "—a beautiful history. One they’ll whisper about under silver moons and carved temple ceilings."

Marshi let out a proud, deep-throated hum and nodded his giant head solemnly.

"Now," I said, turning back to him with narrowed eyes, brushing the dust off his nose, "Papa is sulking. And we did break a few dozen rules, so we have to apologize. Are you ready?"

He snorted steam, looked at me like he wanted to argue, and then... nodded. A single, majestic nod that sent a breeze through the trees.

Caelum cleared his throat, adjusting the silver cuff at his wrist. "Well... technically, Your Highness... His Majesty isn’t sulking. He’s... angry."

I turned to him slowly. "Caelum."

He blinked.

"If he were angry, there’d be dead bodies draped across the palace floor right now. Possibly charred. Possibly in decorative patterns. Are you seeing any corpses, Caelum?"

He looked around theatrically. "Not at the moment."

I spread my arms. "Therefore... he is just sulking."

Caelum leaned toward him, whispering with awe, "Do you think she was this dramatic as a child?"

Osirc muttered, "This is less; she was worse back then."

"I can hear you both," I called out sweetly.

Marshi rumbled beside me. Even he sounded amused.

***

[Imperial Palace, Cassius’s Chamber, Later]

I and Marshi made our way to Papa’s chamber. Just then, the grand doors opened, and out walked Ravick—his brows arched in surprise.

"Oh, Ravick!"

He immediately bowed, straightening like a perfect soldier. "Good to see you roaming around as usual, Princess."

I leaned in, glancing over his shoulder like a nosy kitten. "Sooo... Is Papa busy?"

Ravick glanced back into the room dramatically, then leaned closer, whispering like we were sharing the kingdom’s top-secret gossip.

"He’s pretending to be busy."

"Ah," I grinned. "Classic."

"You can go in. He’s waiting," Ravick added with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

I gave him a big thumbs up. "You’re the best, Ravick."

He chuckled under his breath and nodded as we tiptoed past.

I pushed the heavy door open gently and peeked in. There he was—Papa, the mighty emperor of storms, sitting at his desk with reading glasses perched dangerously low on his nose, staring at a document like it had personally offended him. His expression was so serious, so icy, I half-expected the paper to freeze in his hand.

Marshi gasped beside me, and I whispered, "He looks like he’s judging the entire kingdom with that face."

Marshi nodded, and I whispered again. "And possibly rewriting laws to exile us both."

Marshi whimpered, clinging to my sleeve dramatically.

I exhaled. "Alright. Time to face the frostbite."

Squaring my shoulders and forcing the sunniest smile I could manage, I chirped as I entered,"Papa... you’re the dearest, the handsomest, the most gracious—"

"Ravick."

The word sliced through the air like a royal decree. I blinked.Ravick, ever the loyal knight, popped in almost instantly."Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Put up a banner outside."

Ravick tilted his head. "A... banner, sire?"

Papa didn’t even look up. "Yes. In capital letters. Bold. Red ink. ’NO. PRINCESS. IS. ALLOWED.’"

I stood frozen with my smile still glued on like an idiot. "B-but... I’m your dau—"

"...AND. NO. DAUGHTER. TOO."

Oh. Okay. He’s not just cold. He’s Arctic.

I turned to Ravick, eyes pleading. He hesitated, then gave me a tragic little nod of support... and promptly dashed away like the floor was lava.

"Ravick! Wait—where are you going?!"

Gone. Vanished down the hallway like a loyal traitor.

Papa muttered under his breath, "That man needs a very long lesson in loyalty."

Right. Fantastic. No reinforcements.

"Papa..." I cautiously tiptoed toward him and tried to sit beside him on the couch, but—

Plop.

He dropped an enormous book right on the seat beside him without so much as a glance.

"It’s occupied," he said flatly, flipping a page with exaggerated calm.

I stared at the book like it had personally offended me.

...Is my papa throwing a royal-level tantrum?

Still, I grinned, not the least bit discouraged, and gently nudged the book aside with one finger. "Well then, I’ll just casually remove this inconvenient piece of literature and reclaim my rightful throne beside you... since my beloved parent has so cruelly abandoned me for—what?—a total of six seconds."

Papa raised an eyebrow, still not looking at me. "You’re forgetting the part where you committed treason. You snuck out. Disguise yourself. Changed your appearance."

I gasped, clutching my chest like I’d just been stabbed. "Papa! Treason? That’s a bit... melodramatic, don’t you think?"

His eyes finally lifted—sharp, glinting, cold.

I grinned sheepishly. "I mean, I still looked beautiful... just like you. It’s not technically a disguise if it’s inspired by your genetics."

He kept glaring.

"Okay, okay!" I held up my hands like I was surrendering to the royal guards. "Stop throwing those angry arrows at me, will you? My poor heart is fragile—it can’t take this kind of emotional warfare!"

Papa didn’t even blink. He just snorted and went back to reading his documents, the light from the fireplace reflecting off his glasses like some villain from a war chronicle. Still, I swear on the royal crown I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

Victory.

I leaned in slowly, like a sneaky cat approaching its grumpy owner, and rested my chin dramatically on his broad shoulder.

"Paaaapaaa..." I sang in my most sugary voice, "Can you pleaaase forgive me? Pretty please? I solemnly swear on my future crown that I’ll only leave the imperial palace with you or with your express royal permission. Cross my heart and hope not to be disowned."

He closed the file slowly and turned to look at me.

"Do you want my forgiveness?" he asked, voice calm—too calm. The calm before the storm.

I nodded rapidly like a very enthusiastic squirrel. "Yes. Very much. I’m starving for it. Hungry. Craving. Desperate. Like I need it to breathe."

Papa gave me one of his signature cold, soul-piercing stares and said with bone-dry seriousness, "Then go kneel near the wall. Hands in the air."

. . .

. . .

I blinked. "...Pardon?"

He turned a page in his document, as if sentencing his daughter to public humiliation was just part of his morning routine. "I don’t like repeating myself, Lavinia. Face the wall. Hands up. That’s your punishment."

"...You want me to look like a sad coat hanger?"

"It suits your crime."