CHAPTER 175: THE RUMOUR THAT NEEDED KILLING

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Palace—DawnSpire Wing—Lavinia’s Chamber]

Then, very slowly, I said, "What... exactly is going on outside the imperial palace? Because I feel like I’ve somehow missed three entire seasons of drama about myself while living in the palace."

I looked at Nanny. She was smiling. Not a normal smile. The dangerous, I-know-something-you-don’t-and-I’m-enjoying-this-too-much kind of smile.

"Nanny—" I started.

But before I could finish, she turned to Sera and announced, "I think we should leave them alone."

And then—then—they both giggled. Giggled like teenage girls watching the first scene of a romance play. Making those ridiculous "we-know-something" faces at each other.

I blinked. "...What’s wrong with them?"

And then—

"Princess, why are Nanny and Seraphina making those fac—"

He froze.

Eyes wide.

It was like someone had just hit the pause button on Lord Osric. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. His entire face turned so red, I was honestly concerned the imperial physician might have to be called in for overheating.

Even Solena—the giant bird perched on his shoulder—tilted her head, clearly wondering why her master suddenly looked like a beetroot having an existential crisis.

I think... oh yes... Sera was right. He really did freeze.

Which meant... I absolutely had to tease him. I smirked and started walking toward him, slow, deliberate steps that made my gown swish dramatically around me.

"You look," I said, tilting my head, "like a tomato... that’s about to burst."

He blinked. "A... a what?"

"A tomato," I repeated sweetly, "ripe, red, and ready to explode."

"N-No...I don’t."

"Oh, you absolutely do."

I stopped in front of him, leaned forward just enough for my perfume to reach him, and watched him desperately try to avoid my eyes.

"Tell me, Osric... Do I look gorgeous?"

He stammered, still looking at the floor like it was suddenly the most fascinating object in the empire. "Y-yes."

I smirked, leaning closer. "Oh, come on. Look at me properly and say it."

He hesitated, then glanced up—and that’s when something shifted. His blush was still there, but in his eyes... there was something else. Something that made my stomach flip.

He reached out, gently took my hand... And before I could make another joke, he lifted it to his lips.

"You..." His voice was low and steady now. "You look absolutely gorgeous, Lavi."

My heart skipped.

Oh no. That was not part of my teasing plan.

I blinked—hard—suddenly the one avoiding eye contact like my life depended on it. "I... see. Uh... thank you."

Now, he tilted his head, that slow, knowing smirk curling his lips. "Are you alright, Lavi?"

Oh, for heaven’s sake, my poor heart was not trained for this kind of verbal assault.

I risked a glance at him—mistake. Big mistake. He was blindingly, unfairly handsome, like the universe had dumped all its "attractive" quota into one person and left the rest of us in economy class.

Gosh, this stupid, stupid handsome man. My heart’s going to pop right out, land on the cobblestones, and get trampled by a passing goose at this rate.

"I—uh—we... we should leave," I stammered, starting to walk before my dignity burst into flames. "Papa must be waiting."

His smirk deepened, like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he’d just unleashed in my chest.

Marshi trotted along happily beside me, tail flicking, while Solena sat perched on Marshi’s back, looking like she was overseeing some royal parade.

Meanwhile, I was just trying not to combust.

***

[Emperor Cassius’s POV—Grand Banquet Hall—Imperial Palace]

CRACKLE!

BOOM!

Outside, the sky was exploding with fireworks. The entire empire was roaring in celebration—my daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony... and my own birthday.

The daughter who had the audacity to be born on the exact same day as me. Sixteen years ago, she was a tiny bundle that fit in the crook of my arm. Now... now she was sixteen. Sixteen!

"How," I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my throne, "how in the blazes did she grow up this fast?"

"That," came a dry voice beside me, "is what every parent thinks when their child grows."

I turned my head to find Thalein—her elf grandfather—standing there, looking like he’d stepped out of some ancient painting.

His gaze was distant, almost wistful. "I wasn’t there when my own daughter turned sixteen... and then gave birth to her."

Then his eyes snapped to mine, narrowing dangerously. "Even though," he said slowly, "some idiot emperor got drunk and made her pregnant...she gave birth to a gem."

I raised an eyebrow. "I can feel the hatred towards me."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you can. I didn’t even try to hide it. But—" His voice dropped, and he leaned closer. "I sincerely hope the same thing doesn’t happen with my grandchild. I hope no bastard wanders around my precious and lures her in love with him."

I froze mid-breath. "What... exactly do you mean by that?"

He twitched, jaw tightening. "I mean—" his eyes swept over the hall like a hawk hunting prey—"I will personally clear out every single young man within a ten-mile radius of her."

...

...

That’s when it hit me.

My little girl... had reached the age where she would be bombarded with wedding and love proposals. Which meant... it was also the age she might... run off with some young, smooth-talking, pretty-faced little—

I gripped my armrest so tightly the wood creaked. My eyes scanned the banquet hall. Dozens—no, hundreds—of guests had arrived. From other kingdoms, from noble houses, from foreign lands.

And every second one of them seemed to be... male. Young. Flashy. Smiling too much. Wearing ridiculous amounts of perfume. Laughing too loudly.

Peacocks. The lot of them.

...

If even one of those pretty little peacocks looks at my daughter longer than three seconds—I swear, there will be an "accidental" duel to the death before dessert.

"Ravick..."

Ravick straightened immediately, bowing with that clipped military grace. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

I leaned forward, voice dropping low and dangerous.

"Wipe. Every. Young man. From this banquet."

Ravick’s head jerked back slightly. "Pardon...?"

"You heard me," I said, fingers curling hard around the armrest of my throne. "This way... no love leeches will latch onto my daughter. No lingering stares. No accidental hand brushes over the dessert table. No young men. Anywhere near my daughter."

Ravick looked like he wanted to ask if I’d lost my mind but wisely kept silent.

Unfortunately, Theon didn’t.

"But, Your Majesty..." he popped in, saying, "the princess is always surrounded by young men."

I fixed him with a look sharp enough to slice steel. "And what, exactly, do you mean by that?"

Theon’s grin was pure trouble. "Well, there’s Lord Osric and Caelum, for starters. They duel with her all the time. And sometimes—" he drawled, "they even sit around eating snacks together. Laughing. Talking a lot."

. . .

"T-They do?"

Theon nodded with the unshakable enthusiasm of a man completely unaware he was skating on thin ice. "Yes, Your Majesty! And—oh—you’ll love this—there’s a rumor."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What rumor?"

With all the subtlety of a drunken peacock, Theon beamed. "That the Princess and Lord Osric confessed their undying love to each other when they were children."

My jaw tightened so sharply I swore I heard it crack. "Is that so..." My fingers slid—slow, deliberate—toward the hilt of my sword. "Who," I growled, "spread such filth?"

Theon hesitated, suddenly remembering that I owned several very sharp objects. "I—I don’t know—"

"I shall personally—" my voice dropped into a lethal whisper, "—execute—"

BWOOM.

BWOOM.

The deafening horns cut me off mid-sentence, rattling the very glass in the windows.

The herald’s voice rang through the hall, pompous and unbothered by the fact that I was moments away from committing a socially unacceptable murder.

"Presenting... Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Lavinia Devereux... "My grip on the sword tightened. "...with Lord Osric Valerious Everheart."

And then—finally—The main star of the evening arrived.

My daughter.My pride.My everything.

A hush fell over the hall, as if the entire kingdom had forgotten how to breathe. Her towering, oversized divine beast—her mashi—strode in beside her, each step radiating the kind of majestic power that even the boldest knights envied.

Upon the beast’s broad back sat Osric’s magnificent divine bird, its golden feathers catching the chandelier light and scattering it like shards of sunlight.

Lavinia moved forward with her chin high, her smile confident and unshakable—every inch the princess she had been born to be. She radiated elegance and confidence, just like me.

Beside her walked Osric, his presence uncomfortably close, his expression unreadable.

And then... my eyes landed on it.

Their hands.Interlocked.

My breath froze in my chest. My lips were curling into something that was definitely not a smile.

They were holding hands?

The hall seemed to fade away—the laughter, the music, the clinking glasses—gone, replaced by the pounding in my ears.

"How..." The word slipped through my teeth, low and dangerous. My grip on the sword tightened further. "...dare he hold her hand."