CHAPTER 206: THE TYRANT AND HIS PANDA

[Five Days Later—Lavinia’s POV—Emperor’s Chamber]

I lounged like a queen on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, my head resting on Papa’s shoulder. He was sipping his wine, looking every inch the fearsome tyrant... while I was busy demolishing a plate of macarons.

"Papa..." I drawled, stretching the word until it almost fell asleep.

He hummed in acknowledgment, not sparing me a glance, eyes still sharp on the wine goblet.

I eyed the glass suspiciously. That dark, glimmering liquid called to me like forbidden treasure. "Can I taste a little bit?"

His answer came fast and cold—like an execution order. "NO."

I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest. "So cruel!"

He sipped again, calm as ever. "Cruel? I am trying to save."

My eyes lit up, a smile spreading. "Me?"

His eyes flicked down at me, flat as a blade. "No. Them."

I blinked. "...Them?"

"The people," he clarified with a sigh, swirling the wine lazily. "From you."

"Excuse me?!" I sat up straighter, indignation bursting out. "Do you think I’ll turn into a drunk lion and eat people alive?"

Papa tilted his head, considering. "Not a lion."

"Then what?"

"A drunk panda," he said, deadpan, "who will roll into some corner of the palace, fall asleep, and spark a full-blown crisis. Guards panicking. Ministers crying. Me searching every hall thinking you’ve been assassinated or kidnapped."

I gawked at him. "I am not that lazy, okay!"

He finally looked at me—those sharp red eyes glinting with the knowledge of a thousand roasted truths. "Yes, you are."

"Papa!"

"It is normal behavior," he continued mercilessly, "for you to skip paperwork, disappear from meetings, and claim you are ’thinking strategy’

while drooling on your papers."

I gasped again, louder this time, clutching the macaron plate like a lifeline. "That happened only once!"

"Three times," he corrected instantly. "And one of those times, you kicked your blanket off and shouted ’Victory!’ in your sleep. The knights and guards still haven’t recovered."

I slapped my palm over my face. "Ugh, why do you remember everything embarrassing?"

"Because I am your father," he replied smoothly, taking another sip. "And because every time you embarrass yourself, you drag my imperial dignity down with you."

"Unbelievable." I flopped back dramatically onto his shoulder again. "Why must you always roast me alive?"

"Because it is entertaining," Papa said without hesitation.

Wow. Just... wow. I can’t believe this terrifying man is my father.

I slumped back against his shoulder, stuffing a macaron into my mouth with all the anger of a wronged princess.

He glanced at me, unimpressed. "You’ll choke at that rate."

I puffed out my chest proudly. "OH, don’t underestimate me. I have a special, hidden talent. I can stuff dozens of desserts at once—without choking!"

He blinked at me. Slowly. Like he was questioning all his life choices. Then he sipped his wine and said flatly, "Such a great talent. I shall write it as the greatest achievement in royal history."

My eyes narrowed into a glare. "Are you mocking your precious, adorable, only daughter?"

"Yes," he said immediately.

I clicked my tongue. "...Tch."

He smirked faintly as I sulked, slumping against him again like a sack of lazy potatoes. Then he reached over, brushing crumbs from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. "I heard you hired a personal assistant?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes. But don’t worry, he’s no harm. His name is Rey. I only hired him temporarily."

Papa nodded, calm as if he’d already known. "You can hire him permanently. I don’t mind."

I gasped so hard my macaron almost flew across the room. "Are... are you actually letting a man stay beside me? Did the sun rise from the west today?"

Papa flicked my forehead without mercy. "Stop your nonsense."

"Ow!" I rubbed the spot with a groan, still gaping. "But seriously! This is the man who scolds osric for breathing near me, and now you’re like—’Yes, let him stay forever’? What happened to the overprotective tyrant I know and love?"

"I looked into him," Papa said, ignoring my dramatics. "He’s capable. That is why I said you may hire him permanently."

I pouted, mumbling into my macaron. "Capable of being annoying, maybe..."

Papa pretended not to hear and instead asked, "What about the tea party?"

"Mm." I waved a hand vaguely. "Sera’s handling it. She’s on fire. Like—actual dragon fire. She’s making sure not even a single petal is out of place. I just sit back and enjoy the show."

Papa nodded, but then his eyes sharpened—danger glinting in his gaze. "I see. But if any of the nobles dare to disobey... or speak filth—"

I cut him off with a devilish grin, leaning closer. "I CAN SLASH THEIR HEADS OFF...I know."

He looked at me... and for once, the corners of his lips tugged upward proudly. "Very good. That’s my girl."

My chest warmed, and I couldn’t help but smile like a toddler who’d just been praised for walking. He ruffled my hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. "You will be a good empress one day."

I beamed up at him, cheeks hurting from how wide I grinned. "Hehe... Papa, stop spoiling me~"

"Do you want more macarons?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, please!" I said instantly, practically bouncing in place.

But then—his voice dropped, cold and sharp as a blade. "After this... you’re coming to duel with me."

The macaron in my hand froze midair. "...Excuse me?"

He sipped his wine like he hadn’t just sentenced me to death.

I leaned closer, whispering desperately. "Can’t you just—just once—let me live? Let me roam around freely like a mad person? No swords, no sweat, just naps and desserts?"

He set his goblet down with deliberate grace, his crimson gaze pinning me in place. "You don’t have such privilege."

I stared at him.

He smiled faintly.

I squinted suspiciously.

He smiled harder.

I groaned, slumping against his shoulder like a tragic heroine. "Ughhh... this is child abuse..."

Papa smirked faintly, patting my head. "If it were child abuse, you’d be choking on your fifteenth macaron by now."

"...Tyrant."

"Correct."

Silence followed. Not the heavy, suffocating kind—but a silence stitched with warmth, soft as a blanket. His hand kept moving through my hair, steady and sure. My legs swung lazily back and forth, brushing against the couch. For once, we weren’t the Crown Princess and the Emperor of Eloria. We were just—father and daughter. Living in the moment.

I thought it would stay that way. But then Papa’s hand slowed. His gaze lingered on me, sharp and unreadable.

"Lavinia," he said quietly.

"Hmm?" I hummed, not looking up, too busy nibbling the last crumbs of my macaron.

But when I finally turned my eyes to his... I froze.

It wasn’t the warmth I always found there. It wasn’t the cold steel of the Emperor either. It was... fear. A raw, unsettled fear that didn’t belong to the man who terrified entire nations.

My heart skipped. "...Papa?"

He held my gaze, voice low. "What if one day... you found out that I have committed a grave sin against you? What will you do?"

Huh? What kind of question was that?

My brows scrunched, confusion flooding me. "Did you... do something, Papa?"

He didn’t answer. Just stared. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and then, as if dragging the words from the pit of his chest, he said, "I am just asking. What if, one day, you learned that I abandoned you... neglected you... for a long time?"

Abandoned. Neglected.

The words cut through me like a blade. These questions I knew they don’t belong to me. They belonged to someone else—the real Lavinia. The child he hadn’t known. The girl he had turned away from accoding to the original story.

But...it felt like it was meant for me.

"Will you forgive me?" he asked again, and this time... it wasn’t the Emperor speaking. It was just a man. A father.

I sat there, stunned.

If I was real Lavinia Would I? Could I?

I pressed my lips together, thinking hard. Then, slowly, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest. His warmth seeped into me, his heartbeat steady against my cheek.

"How can I answer that, Papa?" I whispered. "We never know what emotions will come when something shattering is placed in front of us. Maybe I’d be hurt. Maybe I’d cry. Maybe I’d get angry. Maybe I’d never try to talk to you. Anything could happen, Papa. Anything."

His arms tensed faintly around me, as if bracing for rejection.

I leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, mine steady, mine firm. "But..." I smiled softly. "Then I’d remember our best moments. The you who never lets me sit alone in meetings. The you who kills anyone who dares to even look at me wrong. The you who announces national holidays like you’re throwing candy in the streets."

Papa blinked, lips parting slightly.

"My Papa is the one who spoils me, makes sure I grow strong, and tells me every single day that I am his pride." I pressed closer, snuggling into him. "Now tell me... how could I stay angry when the best man in the world is my father?"

His breath hitched—barely, but I caught it. His hand trembled once before cupping the back of my head, pulling me tighter into his embrace.

And for a moment... the tyrant emperor disappeared. And all that was left was my father—fragile, human, and mine.