CHAPTER 213: THE STAGE IS MINE

[Lavinia’s POV — Outside the Chamber]

As I stepped out of the chamber, smoothing the skirts that shimmered like midnight, I saw him—Papa—walking toward me.

He paused mid-stride, eyes narrowing as if the mere sight of me had struck him speechless. Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Papa..." I whispered, my chest warming.

He stretched out his hand, steady and commanding as always. Without hesitation, I placed my gloved hand into his. His grip tightened, grounding, protective.

"Are you here to escort me?" I asked, tilting my head with a grin.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His voice was low but filled with a weight that could silence armies.

"Of course. It is my daughter’s first event—organized by her own hands. How could I allow you to walk alone into a den full of traitors?"

I smiled softly at his words... until I noticed the sudden shift. The overprotective Papa aura practically radiated from behind him, thicker than a storm cloud.

"But..." he began, his tone dropping to that dark and dangerous register that usually meant someone’s head would roll. His gaze raked over me, and his jaw clenched. "Don’t you think this dress is... too revealing, my dear?"

I blinked. "Revealing?"

"Yes." His voice hardened, his fists curling at his side. "I can already sense it—those filthy, perverted bastards staring at you. Eyes crawling over what belongs only to the imperial family. If one dares to even think—"

"Papa!" I cut him off, chuckling despite myself. "Don’t worry." I leaned closer, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "I have a dagger hidden under my cloak."

His eyes lit up instantly, proud as though I’d just recited scripture. He nodded firmly. "Good. Very good. But don’t hesitate to use a sword if needed. Daggers are for petty warnings. A sword makes a statement."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Oh, it’s fine. I already have Osric with me."

Papa’s smile vanished. His head turned, slowly, ominously, toward Osric.

The air went heavy.

"Osric." His voice could have frozen the sun. "Protect her. If she so much as loses a single hair, I will personally ensure you open your eyes... in hell."

Osric bowed immediately, not a flicker of hesitation in his voice. "Do not worry, Your Majesty. I shall protect the princess with my life."

"Alright, you both are reacting too much." I huffed, throwing my arms up. "I’m going to a tea party, not marching into a battlefield."

They both turned their heads to me at the same time, eyes sharp, voices in perfect, terrifying unison:

"It’s the same thing."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"I see," I said flatly, my tone dripping with mock defeat. "Thank you ever so kindly for reminding me."

Papa’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Now... let’s go."

I nodded, slipping my hand onto his arm. His presence was steady and unyielding, the kind of strength that made even the marble pillars seem smaller. Osric fell in step behind us, silent and sharp-eyed, while Solena darted in through the window in a flurry of golden feathers, perching with practiced grace on Osric’s shoulder.

***

[Imperial Palace—The Garden Entrance, Continuation]

As we crossed the corridor and the open doors revealed the garden, Marshi padded softly from the side hall, joining us like a silent shadow. Our little procession moved as one.

The sound reached us first—noise, chatter, the rustle of silk skirts, and the polished laughter of nobles who thought themselves untouchable. Then, step by step, the sound faltered. Murmurs broke. Whispers rose. By the time we reached the archway leading into the garden, silence had nearly swallowed the air.

And then it happened.

Dozens of eyes turned at once. Surprise flickered, then widened. Fans paused mid-wave, goblets stilled in trembling fingers. The crowd collectively inhaled as if the very air had been stolen from their lungs.

Gasps rippled through the gathering like a wave crashing against stone, and then—like trained dogs—they bowed low, voices rising together in reverent unison:

"We greet His Majesty the Emperor... and Her Highness, the Crown Princess."

The weight of their words lingered, heavy, as though it bound the entire garden beneath us.

I let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer, savoring the sight of nobles bent low, their jewels catching the sunlight as though even they were forced to glitter in tribute.

Then I smiled faintly—measured, composed. "Please... raise."

The command carried, soft but sharp enough to cut through the air. One by one, they straightened, masks of courtesy fixed over their faces.

But Papa’s gaze was already sweeping over them—piercing, dangerous, like a hawk searching for prey. A single glare from him carried the unspoken warning: one wrong move, and I’ll destroy you.

I leaned slightly toward him, my lips curving. "Thank you for escorting me, Papa."

At last, his eyes softened, if only for me. He brushed a hand over my hair with the tenderness he gave no one else and smiled, rare and genuine. "I’ll see you at dinner, my dear."

And just like that, he turned, his imperial robes sweeping behind him as he strode away—leaving the nobles in a daze, their whispers rekindling in hushed tones, their eyes flicking nervously between me and where my father had disappeared.

But I... I stood taller. His presence had lit the path, but now the stage was mine.

Then, slowly—hesitantly—one noblewoman in emerald silk stepped forward, her fan fluttering nervously against her cheek. She bowed just enough to show respect, though her eyes dared to flick up at me.

"Your Highness... you look radiant today. Truly... breathtaking."

Her words broke the spell. Others began to follow.

Then another noblewoman in silver and blue approached. "I must say, Princess, I have attended countless gatherings, but never have I seen such a bold choice of dress worn with such grace. It suits you... perfectly."

Another voice chimed in, sharper, carrying a note of envy beneath the courtesy. "Yes... bold indeed. Few could wear it without being... overwhelmed. Yet, on Your Highness, it becomes art itself."

Whispers stirred at the edges of the crowd. She dares to wear such a thing... In front of everyone... How could she... But it looks magnificent...

They circled closer, like moths to a flame, their jeweled smiles dazzling, their words polished, but I could feel it—some sincere admiration, some grudging awe, and some thinly veiled resentment.

And thus, I welcome myself to noble society.

I inclined my head gracefully, the faint smile never leaving my lips. "You are too kind. It is merely a dress."

But I let the silence hang after, letting them stew in the knowledge that only I could have worn it, that only I had dared to command the stage they all thought belonged to them.

Behind me, Osric remained silent and sharp-eyed, Solena shifting her wings restlessly on his shoulder. Marshi sat at my feet, calm but alert, her gaze sweeping the nobles as though daring one to step too close.

Yes... let them look. Let them whisper. Tonight, I wasn’t just the emperor’s daughter.I was the Crown Princess.

I curved my lips into a faint smile—serene, angelic, but sharp enough to make their hearts stutter. My voice carried, light and sweet, yet every word pressed down on them like a weight.

"It has been quite some time since my coming-of-age ceremony... I’m glad to see you all standing here, looking so well—healthy... and wealthy."

The effect was immediate. A ripple of discomfort ran through the crowd. Their eyes flickered, fans snapped shut too quickly, and goblets trembled in their hands. They knew exactly what I was pointing at.

The treason they committed on that very day still lingered like a stain on their souls—and yet, not a single one of them had surrendered.

Look at them glancing at each other with discomfort...and the Traitor...Eleania...was standing in between them with her head low.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "And indeed, the ladies tonight look absolutely gorgeous."

"T-thank you, Your Highness," came the faltering reply, a chorus of forced smiles and bowed heads.

But their gazes shifted—not toward me now, but toward the man standing just behind me. Osric.

To them, he wasn’t merely my protector. He was the Grand Duke—young, striking, and far too untouchable. I could already see the hunger in the eyes of the young ladies who wished to ensnare him. And just as easily, I caught the calculating gleam in the noblemen who wished to win me.

Fools.

None of them realized that our hearts were already bound—tied in a way no ambition, no scheming hand, and no desperate attempt at seduction could ever sever.

I let them look, let them hope. Then, with a soft clap of my hands, I said smoothly, "Shall we begin the party?"

And just like that, the spell broke. The nobles hurried forward, ushering us toward the tables with false cheer and shallow smiles, still whispering beneath their breath.

I walked ahead, Osric’s shadow steady at my back, Solena’s wings rustling faintly, and Marshi pacing at my side.