CHAPTER 354: BETWEEN CRIMSON AND BLUE

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Ballroom—After the Toast]

Applause thundered through the ballroom. Crystal chimed. Silk whispered. The music rose in triumphant waves as the celebration officially began.

I opened, and the first dance was mine—with Papa.

His grip was firm, his posture unyielding, and his expression carved from imperial stone. But I knew him too well. Beneath that tyrant’s composure was a father so proud it nearly leaked through the cracks.

"I still don’t like that gown," he muttered as we turned.

I smirked. "You approved it."

"I approved the front."

"Papa."

"Hm."

Despite his complaints, he guided me flawlessly across the floor, every step precise, every movement commanding. The crowd watched with reverence—this was not just a dance. It was a declaration.

Afterward came formalities.

I danced with Osric—polite, distant, and ceremonial. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet, even as we moved through the steps, I felt it.

Haldor’s gaze.

Steady. Unwavering. I didn’t look at him directly—but I felt the weight of his attention like a warm pull against my spine. It lingered even when the music ended. Even when Osric bowed and stepped away.

The celebration rolled on—laughter, music, and endless conversations that blended into white noise.

And then—

"Don’t you dare take a sip of wine, Lavinia." Papa’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.

I froze mid-reach.

Slowly, I turned. "I was lifting the grape juice—"

"I know exactly what you were reaching for," he interrupted coldly. "Do not insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise."

Theon, standing behind him, failed miserably at hiding his grin. Ravick didn’t even try—he chuckled openly.

I sighed dramatically. "One glass won’t kill me."

"Yes," Papa replied flatly, "but I might."

Before I could protest further, a familiar presence moved beside me.

Haldor. Without a word, he calmly picked up a goblet of grape juice and held it out to me. "Your Highness."

I stared at him.

He stared straight ahead. Loyal. Unbothered. Completely complicit.

Traitor.

I snatched the glass with a scowl. "Thank you, Captain."

"A daughter should listen to her father," Papa crossed his arms, clearly satisfied.

I took an exaggerated sip, then bowed my head mockingly. "Yes, yes. No wine. As you command, Your Majesty, Emperor of Tyranny and Joyless Beverages."

Papa didn’t even blink. "I know you’re bored."

I paused.

"Go get some fresh air," he added. "Before you start causing trouble."

I brightened instantly. "That’s actually a wonderful idea."

I stood, smoothing my gown. "I’ll be right back."

As I turned to leave, I leaned closer and whispered, "I will absolutely try to steal wine."

"YOU—!!"

I didn’t wait for the rest. I fled—laughing, skirts gathered, slipping through the crowd like a rebellious shadow.

Behind me, Theon laughed outright. Ravick shook his head. Papa muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I raised a menace.

And of course—I felt him follow.

Haldor’s steps were quiet, controlled, and familiar. I didn’t even turn around as I slipped through the side doors and into the cooler night air.

Only when the music dulled behind us did I exhale.

"...Ugh," I sighed, resting my hands on the balcony rail. "If I don’t get real wine soon, I might overthrow my own empire."

A pause.

Then—quiet amusement behind me.

"I will pretend," Haldor said carefully, "that I did not hear that, Your Highness."

I smiled. Because even now—under the stars, away from the eyes of the court—I wasn’t alone. And somehow... that made the night even more dangerous.

Haldor stood beside me, hands folded neatly behind his back, posture straight despite the softer air. The moonlight brushed against the sharp line of his jaw, softening him in a way the ballroom never could.

After a moment, he spoke—carefully.

"May I ask you something, Your Highness?"

I glanced at him sideways, amused. "What is my captain so curious about?"

A faint smile touched his lips—brief, restrained—before he straightened again, returning to that disciplined stance as if afraid of overstepping.

"Why," he asked quietly, "does His Majesty never allow you to drink wine? I have seen many noble ladies indulge freely. I don’t... see the harm in it."

The question lingered between us. I turned my gaze back to the sky, watching the stars flicker like distant fires. For a moment, I didn’t answer.

Then I spoke.

"Because," I said softly, "he doesn’t want me to end up like him."

Haldor’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head slightly. "I don’t understand."

I exhaled slowly.

"I was born," I said, voice calm but edged with truth, "from a drunk emperor... and his chambermaid."

The words fell quietly—but heavily.

Haldor flinched.

Not out of disgust.

Out of shock.

"I didn’t know," he said immediately, voice low and sincere.

"It’s okay," I replied. "Not everything needs to be known, Haldor. But I can say that he loved my mother. I still want to know how and why he never killed Mother even though they used to fight. Still, I came to the conclusion that he...somewhere likes the mother who gave birth to me. Still does, in his own way. And he has never once regretted getting drunk night... or me."

A pause.

"But that doesn’t mean," I continued, fingers tightening slightly on the balcony rail, "that he wants me to walk the same path."

The night breeze stirred my hair. Somewhere inside, music pulsed faintly—distant, hollow.

"He drinks to forget," I said. "To bury the weight of ruling alone. Of carrying an empire with no one beside him."

I glanced at Haldor then—really looked at him. "He doesn’t want that lonely future for me."

Haldor’s voice was barely above a whisper. "So... he wants you to have a family."

"Yes," I nodded. "But not the way he did."

I turned back to the stars.

"He wants me to have a child—but not alone. Either I live entirely alone and adopt a child, free of expectation..."

I paused, swallowing.

"...or I choose a partner. Someone who grows with me. Who stands beside me—not behind, not beneath."

The silence stretched.

Haldor didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe loudly.

Didn’t interrupt.

"I think," I said softly, "that’s why he’s so strict. Wine isn’t the problem. It’s what wine became for him."

I smiled faintly—sad, knowing. "He’s terrified I’ll inherit more than just his crown."

Haldor finally spoke, voice steady but changed.

"Your Highness... His Majesty may be a tyrant to the world," he said carefully, "but to you... he sounds like a man who is afraid of failing twice."

I looked at him.

Really looked at him. And for a moment, the captain disappeared.

Only the man remained.

"He is," I said quietly. "And that fear... it rules him more than the empire ever has."

The stars shimmered above us. And standing there—too close, too quiet, too aware of each other—I realized something unsettling.

This conversation wasn’t safe.

Not for a crown princess.

Not for a captain.

Because truth had a way of binding people tighter than vows ever could. And Haldor... was standing far closer to my future than either of us dared to admit.

I turned toward him fully, studying his profile under the moonlight—the sharp lines softened by silver starlight, the disciplined stillness hiding a thousand unspoken things.

"And... what kind of future do you want, Captain?" I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer immediately.

When he finally looked at me, there was no armor in his eyes. No discipline. No distance.

Only honesty.

A faint, sad smile curved his lips.

"I don’t think I deserve a future," he said gently. "Or a family."

My chest tightened.

"Every time I imagine one," he continued, voice low and steady, "it feels like it will disappear. Just like my parents did... on that hill."

The night seemed to hold its breath. A long, stretched silence fell between us—heavy, aching, unbearable.

And in that moment, I didn’t see the Imperial Captain. I saw a man who had stopped hoping long ago.

Then he spoke again.

Softly.

"But now, I only have one future, Your Highness."

That surprised me.

"And what is that, Captain?" I asked, smiling faintly—trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

His gaze met mine fully now. Steady. Certain. Unwavering.

"To serve you," he said. "To stay beside you. To protect you until the end."

Each word landed carefully—chosen, deliberate.

"That," he finished, "is the only future I demand."

My breath caught. Shock rippled through me—warm, dangerous, beautiful. And in that moment... I don’t know what overcame me.

Maybe the stars.Maybe the night.Maybe the way his devotion sounded less like duty and more like love he refused to name. Before my mind could stop my heart, the words slipped free.

"...Do you want to hug, Captain?"

His breath hitched instantly.

"Y–Your Highness—" his voice broke, caught somewhere between discipline and disbelief.

I stretched my arms toward him, offering—not commanding. "It’s okay," I said gently. "Just... come here."

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then—slowly, like someone stepping onto sacred ground—he closed the distance.

His arms came around me. Careful at first. Hesitant. As if he feared I might vanish if he held me too tightly.

The moment his chest met mine, warmth flooded through me. He was tall—so tall that my toes lifted off the ground without me realizing it, my feet barely brushing the stone beneath us.

I laughed softly, breathless. "You’re definitely tall—"

I stopped.

Because we were too close now. Close enough that laughter had nowhere to go.

Close enough that his heartbeat thudded against my ribs. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, steady but restrained, ghosting over my lips.

Our eyes met.

His blue—no longer cold, no longer guarded—burned warm like a deep ocean catching fire under moonlight.

Mine—crimson, steady, unafraid.

There was no space left between us.

Not in distance.Not in breath.Not in truth.

It felt like drowning—slow, beautiful, inevitable. Like being pulled under by something you didn’t want to escape.

My voice came out softer than I intended. Almost a whisper.

"...Do you want to kiss?"

The night seemed to still.