CHAPTER 193: HOLLOW EYES AT THE DOOR

[Lavinia’s Pov---Dawnspire Wing—Continuation]

Marshi was still sulking like a giant, fluffy cloud of guilt. His head was lowered, his tail drooping, those big golden eyes shimmering with regret. I crouched down, patting his massive head like I was consoling a toddler who had just dropped his candy.

"There, there, Marshi. It’s okay," I murmured, scratching under his chin. "It’s just a dress, not the end of the world."

(Though, if Papa finds out, it might be the end of the world. For me. Not for Marshi. Because it’s hard to convince sulky tyrant.)

I was still patting him when my gaze wandered to the tea set on the table. The untouched cup sat there, steamless, cold. I blinked at it.

"...Oh." I tilted my head. "The tea’s cold."

Then I blinked at tea.

Then at Marshi.

Marshi blinked back, head tilted in confusion.

And then—oh, it was like the most wicked idea hatched right there in my tiny, mischievous brain. I smirked. Slowly. Deliberately.

Marshi froze. His ears twitched back. His pupils shrank. He knows.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice dramatically. "Marshi... do you think... you could re-heat my tea?"

The poor divine beast went into absolute statue mode. Just... a blank stare. Like, did this tiny human just mock my uncontrollable powers?

I had to suppress my laughter, though my lips quirked. But his expression was so priceless that I burst out laughing.

"Hahaha—oh no, don’t look at me like that!" I burst out laughing, flopping back onto the carpet. "I was kidding! I swear! Hahahaha—"

Too late.

With a loud huff, Marshi launched himself at me like a giant, offended cat. One second I was laughing; the next, I was flat on my back, buried under warm, fluffy fur while my divine beast decided to smother me into submission.

"MARSHI! I CAN’T BREATHE! HAHAHA STOP—NOOO—"

"Your highness?" Sera’s voice came from somewhere above, dry as toast. She was holding a tray and staring at us like this was just another Tuesday. "Well... your highness isn’t exactly wrong. Marshi can re-heat food. It’s quite convenient, actually."

Marshi froze mid-lick.

I tilted my head back from underneath him and grinned, my cheeks squished by fur. "SEE? I KNEW IT!"

That was apparently the last straw because Marshi gave a low, offended growl and began licking my face with all the determination of a beast on a mission.

"GAH—HAHAHAHA STOP! YOUR BREATH SMELLS LIKE FISH! STOP IT, MARSHI! STOP IT!"

And that was the exact moment the door creaked open.

"Lavinia."

...Oh no.

I froze. Marshi froze. Even Sera froze.

Slowly, I turned my head. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised, was Papa. Emperor Cassius. The Scary-but-Actually-Soft Papa.

He surveyed the scene: his daughter rolling on the carpet, pinned by a divine beast, face shiny with slobber. Then he exhaled and said, voice smooth but oh-so-deadly, "Seems like my daughter has... a lot of free time."

My soul left my body.

"P-Papa, this is not what it looks like!"

He smirked. SMIRKED. That was never a good sign.

"Perfect," he said casually, strolling toward me. "Since you’re so free, you can help me with the documents."

"W-Wait—WAIT!"

Too late. He scooped me up like a sack of potatoes, tossed me over his shoulder, and started walking.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" My screams echoed down the corridor. "PAPA, NO! THE DOCUMENTS ARE BORING! I’M TOO YOUNG TO SUFFER!!!"

Behind us, I swear I heard Sera sigh and Marshi purr smugly. Traitors. Both of them.

Papa, completely unaffected by my wailing, marched on like a general dragging a war prisoner.

"Theon and I have been staring at numbers and treaties until our eyes are ready to fall out," he said, voice calm but merciless. "Meanwhile, my daughter, the supposed jewel of the empire, is laughing on the carpet with a divine beast. The empire cannot afford such luxury. You must work. Now."

"I OBJECT!" I slumped over his shoulder like a very dramatic dead fish. "THIS IS CHILD LABOR! A CRIME! SOMEONE ALERT THE NOBLE COUNCIL! I DEMAND A LAWYER!"

***

[Imperial Palace—Emperor’s office--Later]

..... And that’s how I ended up trapped in Papa’s office, sulking like a tragic koi fish that lost its pond. My beautiful hands flipped through endless stacks of documents, each page heavier than my soul.

Sigh. Sigh. Siiiiiigh.

Theon stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty—"

Papa didn’t even lift his head, just shot him a sharp, cold look that could freeze lava, "Speak."

"I am taking my leave," he said, standing there like a man about to challenge fate itself.

Papa’s head snapped up, one brow arched. "...And who," he said slowly, dangerously, "gave you permission?"

Theon’s chest puffed up like an overconfident rooster. "Me."

There was a pause.

Papa’s jaw twitched. The room went silent; even the paper on my table seemed to shiver.

"I see," Papa said at last, his voice low, calm—too calm. "Then allow me to remind you who the Emperor is in this room."

Papa drew his sword out. But theon didn’t flinch. Instead, the man dropped to his knees like a dramatic stage actor, arms flung wide, shouting, "For the love of all the gods—grant me leave, you tyrant! I need... a holiday!"

Papa’s eyes narrowed. "What?"

Theon was already on a roll, practically weeping on the carpet. "I need to produce an heir, Your Majesty! A daughter! A beautiful little girl! But how am I supposed to do that when you have me chained here like some loyal scribe?"

I swear, I almost reached for imaginary popcorn.

Papa blinked, stunned for half a second, and Theon, sensing his moment, went for the kill: "I am withering, Your Majesty! A man needs time to love his wife! Do you want me to die heirless? Do you want the bloodline to end?!"

Papa’s temple twitched. "Theon..."

"I HAVE DREAMS TOO, YOUR MAJESTY! A WIFE! A CHILD! A LITTLE GIRL WHO CALLS ME PAPA!" His voice cracked, and he let out an exaggerated sob. "BUT NOOO, I’M CHAINED HERE, GUARDING YOUR MAJESTY AND YOUR MOUNTAIN OF PAPERWORK!"

"For heaven’s sake, give me a HOLIDAY!" Theon threw his hands up, his voice echoing through the hall.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then Papa rubbed his forehead and muttered, very coldly, "Get out. Take the blasted holiday. Just—stop flooding my office with your dramatics."

"Really?" Theon froze mid-weeping. "You’re... giving me leave? Just like that?"

Papa didn’t even look at him. "Get. Out. Before I change my mind."

Theon’s face lit up like a festival bonfire. He saluted, then bolted for the door at inhuman speed. "Thank you, Your Majesty! I’ll make you the prettiest niece in the empire!"

The door slammed shut behind him.

Papa exhaled, slow and dangerous. "I swear, the people I surround myself with will be the end of me."

I leaned back in my chair, smirking. "...Can I take a holiday too?"

"Absolutely not."

I groaned, loud and theatrical. "Oppression! Pure tyranny! I—"

KNOCK. KNOCK.

The door opened, and my heart practically skipped. "Greetings, Your Majesty. Crown Princess," Osric said, his voice steady but carrying that faint warmth I always caught when he spoke to me. "I heard the princess was here."

I was on my feet so fast the chair screeched against the marble. "Osric! Yes—Papa dragged me here like a prisoner. Come insi—"

"Osric."

The sound of Papa’s voice froze me mid-sentence. Cold. Sharp. Like a blade unsheathed.

I turned. He wasn’t even looking at me—his eyes were locked on Osric, glacial and burning all at once. The air seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Stay out. Wait for her," Papa said, each word clipped, final.

My head whipped toward him. "What? Why? Papa, that’s ridiculous—Osric’s always—"

"Lavinia." Just my name, but it was enough to snap my mouth shut. His glare landed on me this time—heavy and warning—and it made my chest tighten. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was angry.

I turned back to Osric, desperate to fix the awkwardness. "Osric, it’s fine, just come—"

Papa’s voice cracked like thunder. "I said, stay out. You are her guard. Nothing more. Your place is at the door, not at her table."

Something in me flinched. That tone wasn’t his usual teasing strictness. It was cold authority, the Emperor, not my father.

Osric didn’t move. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes... there was something in them. A shadow. He bowed, low and perfect, but his voice was quieter this time. "Understood, Your Majesty. Forgive my overstep."

And just like that, he left.

The door clicked shut, and I swear the sound hurt more than it should have. My heart clenched painfully at the memory of his eyes. They looked... empty. Hollow.

I rounded on Papa, anger bubbling. "Why would you do that? He’s done nothing—"

"Lavinia." He didn’t even look at me. "I will not repeat myself. I hope you won’t argue with me—for someone else."

The weight of his voice pressed down on me like iron. I clenched my fists, my lips trembling with words I didn’t dare say. Instead, I sat back down, spine stiff, and muttered, "...Yes, Papa."

But inside, I was boiling and hurt to see him hurt.