CHAPTER 199: PROPOSALS, DUELS, AND DISASTERS

[Lavinia’s POV — Palace Garden]

I walked slowly across the garden, the grass cool beneath my slippers, where the animal keeper had brought out several striped beauties. Their golden fur shimmered under the sun, muscles rippling as they prowled within the enclosure.

I circled them like a picky shopper at a market stall, patting one here and scratching another behind the ear there. "Is this all you’ve got?" I asked finally, wrinkling my nose in mock disappointment.

The animal keeper bent into a nervous bow. "Y-yes, Your Highness. These are the finest females, all healthy and strong."

"Mm." I tapped my chin, pacing dramatically. "Healthy? Strong? Beautiful stripes? But will they pass Marshi’s standards?" I tilted my head with a mischievous grin. "That’s the real question."

My gaze slid toward Sera, who stood stiffly like a shadow. "Sera," I called sweetly. "Bring Marshi."

She bowed and hurried off, though her expression screamed why does my princess keep doing this to me?

I folded my arms and looked back at the sleek tigresses lounging like arrogant noblewomen at a ball. "Rey said only Marshi can recognize his true mate—the one who can endure his heat." I gave a dramatic sigh, fanning myself with my hand. "Well, my darling beast better hurry and fall in love. I don’t have the patience to supervise a royal matchmaking event for tigers every season."

A low rumble rolled across the garden, and all the female tigers stiffened. Their ears twitched, tails flicking nervously. Then came the heavy, ground-shaking steps.

Marshi arrived.

Tall as a man, fur gleaming like molten gold, his eyes burned like twin suns. He padded into the enclosure with all the arrogance of a king who knew the world belonged to him.

"Good boy," I cooed, patting his broad head. "Now, go on. Pick your bride. Choose wisely, hmm? If she scratches your face, I’ll refuse to console you."

The tigresses hissed and swished their tails, trying to appear regal and desirable. One even licked her paw and posed.

But Marshi? Oh, no.

He strutted past them all without a glance. One tigress roared, another playfully swiped at him—but Marshi ignored them like a noble ignoring peasants. His nose twitched, his ears perked, and his chest puffed—until suddenly he stopped.

With slow, deliberate steps, he walked right up to... the smallest tigress of the bunch, one who had been hiding shyly at the back, half-curled in the shade.

Marshi sat down in front of her like an emperor on his throne, tail swishing proudly. Then—oh heavens—he flopped onto his side with a dramatic roll, exposing his belly.

Gasps echoed. The animal keeper nearly fainted.

I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach. "Oh, Marshi! You hopeless fool! Out of all these regal beauties, you chose the shy little one? And you dare roll around like that?!"

Marshi yawned, nudged the small tigress with his massive head, and purred so loudly the ground seemed to vibrate. The tigress, wide-eyed at first, suddenly relaxed and nestled against him.

"That’s it then," I declared with a smirk, hands on my hips. "The divine beast has chosen his queen. Heaven help us all—because apparently, even beasts fall for the quiet ones."

I turned to Sera with a wave of my hand. "Pay the animal keeper."

Sera, ever efficient, produced ten pouches of gold coins and handed them over. The animal keeper practically sparkled, bowing low.

"Thank you for this generous amount, Your Highness."

I gave him a regal nod, and he left beaming with joy.

Then—

"Ohhh, so Marshi was choosing his bride?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. My head snapped around, only to find Grand Duke Regis looming behind me like a shadow that had learned how to smirk.

"Saints above—!" I pressed a hand to my chest, glaring. "Could you please make a sound next time? Bells, whistles, tap shoes—anything!"

He ignored my suffering, of course, and instead leaned closer, his gaze sharp. "Your Marshi has chosen his mate, Princess. Now..." His lips curved. "What about you?"

I blinked. Hard. "P—pardon?"

Regis straightened proudly, puffing out his chest as if he was about to recite a war speech. "My son, Osric—" he began, each word ringing like a drumbeat of self-importance—"is strong... handsome... and noble. I have received countless wedding proposals from the most prestigious ladies in the empire!"

My mouth opened and then closed again. "Wedding... proposals?"

He nodded so vigorously I thought his neck might snap. "Oh yes. Towering stacks of them." Then he suddenly paused, lowering his voice, dragging out the words with the theatrics of a stage actor. "But... do you know what I did?"

I swallowed nervously. "...of course not! How would I know? I’m not some fortune-telling parrot with a deck of tarot cards!"

His eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward, drawing out the moment until I felt like I was being roasted over a firepit. Then—he flung his arms wide, voice booming: "I—burned—EVERYYYYYYY—proposal!"

I gawked at him, stunned into silence as he delivered that declaration like he was announcing victory in a thousand-year war.

"...I see. Should I give you a noble peace award, or should we build you a statue instead?"

"No, no. I am just telling you!" His hand shot up, pointing toward the heavens with divine conviction. "You see...I believe my son deserves only the best."

My laugh came out shaky, nervous, and very much like a mouse cornered by a lion. "H-ha... y-yes... he sure does. The... the absolute best."

Regis’ eyes sharpened, and then—he dropped the bomb. "So, Princess... WOULD. YOU. LIKE. TO. BE. MY. SON’S. MATE?"

I promptly choked on my own breath, wheezing and coughing like someone had stuffed an entire loaf of bread down my throat. My eyes flew wide, and all I could do was gape at him like a fish tossed onto dry land.

Because really—who just says that out loud and so directly? I mean, people usually talk in riddles, dance around the subject, drop subtle hints, and maybe send cryptic poetry about roses and moons. But no. This man just stood here and basically proposed to be my father-in-law like he was ordering lunch.

I rubbed my temples. "Grand Duke Regis... normal people usually start with small talk. You know... ’How’s the weather, Princess? Nice tigers you’ve got there, Princess.’ Not—’HELLO, PLEASE MARRY MY SON.’"

His chest puffed even more, as if my sarcasm only polished his ego. "Small talk is for small men," he declared proudly, like he’d just invented the concept of blunt honesty. "I am Regis! A man of ACTION!"

"Oh gods," I muttered, side-eying Sera, who was already biting her sleeve to keep from laughing.

Grand Duke Regis leaned in again, eyes twinkling with that smug fatherly pride that screamed matchmaking villain in disguise. "So tell me, Princess... Do you like bold men? Because my son Osric—he inherited that from me."

I blinked. "Bold? Bold is one word... terrifying is another."

He actually winked at me. "Terrifying is just another form of charm, Princess."

I nearly choked.

And then—

"REEEEEGIS!! YOU BASTARD!!

"

The whole garden froze. Birds scattered. Even the tigers sat their fluffy butts down like obedient kittens. Because that voice... oh gods... that was none other than Papa.

I flinched so hard I almost tripped into a bush.

"Papa... y-you need to cal—" I started, but nope. Too late.

Papa had already drawn his sword with that terrifying shiiing sound and pointed it straight at Regis. His crimson eyes glowed like molten lava. "LET’S. GO. FOR. A. DUEL."

Regis actually squeaked. Yes. The mighty Grand Duke Regis, whose shoulders were broader with proudness, squeaked. He raised his hands nervously. "O-oh, a duel, yes, well... normally I’d love to, but... my arms, you see—they’re aching terribly! Old age is hitting me like a hammer! Sometimes I can’t even lift a teacup without—"

Papa stomped forward, grabbed Regis by the collar like a misbehaving chicken, and snarled, "WE. ARE. STILL. DUELING. WHETHER YOUR ARMS HURT, OR YOUR LEGS, OR YOUR BIG FAT EGO... TODAY, YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE SOMETHING FOR SURE!!"

Regis flailed like a fish on dry land. "WAIT, WAIT—my knees are weak, my back is cracking, my teeth are sensitive, my doctor strictly forbids—"

"SILENCE!!" Papa roared, dragging him across the garden.

And just like that—off they went. My terrifying father hauling the so-called "fearless" Grand Duke Regis by the scruff of his neck all the way to the training field.

Regis’s voice echoed pitifully down the hall. "AGHHH! S-seriously, Cassius! What’s wrong with us becoming in-laws? We’d make such a beautiful family portrait—"

"SHUT. UP!!" Papa bellowed.

I slapped my forehead. "Gods above... their gatherings are going to need a battlefield medic at this rate."

Even the tigers looked at me like, yeah, your people are insane.

I actually chuckled—because honestly, what else could I do?—until Sir Aldric suddenly came rushing toward me, face pale and eyes wide.

"P-Princess—!" he panted, clutching his side.

"What is it?" I straightened up immediately.

"Lord Osric..." he huffed, his voice breaking. "...he’s injured. Badly."

My smile froze. The air in my chest vanished.

"W-what?"