[Lavinia’s POV]
[Banquet Hall—Where Vows Beco History]
The silence stretched. So did the tension. Even the chandeliers seed to lean in, as if the palace itself was holding its breath. No orchestra. No murmurs. No movent—except one.
Osric.
Still kneeling. Still holding his sword—offered with both hands, like an ancient rite brought back to life.
And ?
I wasn’t sure if I was breathing. My fingers trembled just enough for to feel it. Everyone was watching—everyone. Nobles, knights, servants, even the tapestries, I swear.
And then—
"Lavinia."
Papa’s voice.
Cold. Commanding. Familiar. But this ti, it held sothing else—sothing I couldn’t na. I turned slowly. He didn’t look at .
His gaze was fixed on Osric like he wanted to burn through the boy’s soul.
Then he spoke. "Do it."
I blinked. "What?"
His voice didn’t falter. "If he wants to give his oath... accept it. Let the Empire bear witness."
The words hit harder than I expected.
Was he serious?
Papa—the man who once threatened to outlaw romance as a concept—was telling to accept the vow of a boy who made his eye twitch just by standing six inches too close?
I turned back to Osric.
He was already lifting the sword from the floor, holding it up with both hands, arms steady, gaze lowered—not out of submission, but respect. Complete, deliberate, terrifyingly real respect.
He bowed his head slightly. Offering it again.
Offering himself again.
My heart skipped. My voice caught sowhere between my ribs and history.
"You still have a chance to walk away," I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
He didn’t. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He simply smiled—softly, almost fondly—and bowed again, silently saying: I already made my choice.
Sothing shifted inside then. Like a page turning in a book, I didn’t realize I’d been writing my entire life.
My hand reached out.
I took the sword.
It was warm. Not from tal. From intent. From promise. I stepped closer, the marble echoing softly beneath my steps, until I stood before him—crown princess to heir. Girl to boy. Shielded to shield.
I lifted the blade and gently rested its flat against his shoulder. First the right. Then the left.
My voice was quiet.
But it didn’t shake.
"By the blood of Everheart and the will of Elarion," I began, eyes on his bowed head, "I, Lavinia Devereux, accept your oath."
Osric’s fingers tightened slightly against his knee.
"From this mont, you are my sworn shield," I continued, words flowing like a river I didn’t know I could speak from. "My sword in shadow. My guard in light. My strength where I falter... and my silence when I cannot speak."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
I kept going. "You will not answer to the court. Nor the crown. Only to ."
I lowered the sword, the blade now pointed to the floor between us.
"I accept your vow, Osric of Everheart... and I place my trust in your hands."
The room erupted—but not in sound.
In tension. In disbelief.
Osric finally looked up, and at that mont, our eyes locked—again.
But this ti... it was different. There was sothing in his gaze.
Sothing sharp. Sothing bright. Sothing that shimred like steel dipped in moonlight—beautiful, but dangerous.
It hit my chest like a forgotten na whispered in a dream. Unfamiliar. Heavy. Intimate.
And I felt it—not just in my breath, but in my bones. This wasn’t just a vow.
This was a shift. A turning point. A stone dropped into the center of a still lake—and the ripples? They were only just beginning.
There was sothing behind those eyes. Sothing he wasn’t saying. A secret pressed into the corners of his soul—kept quiet, locked behind princely smiles and perfectly tid nods. A truth he carried alone.
He looked at like I was the center of sothing.
And yet... I had no idea what.
Behind us, the silence of the hall slowly started to crumble. Murmurs. Whispers. A few uneasy shuffles. But the weight in the air hadn’t lifted—not fully. It clung to the chandeliers. To the tapestries. To the very breath of the empire watching us.
And then—Papa exhaled.
Slowly. Too slowly.
He turned without a word and walked away.
He looked... annoyed. No—pissed. Like he wanted to unsheathe every sword in the room and stab the silence itself.
But he didn’t say anything.
He just walked.
Because in our world...an oath isn’t just a pretty gesture. It’s not a poetic flourish or romantic display.
It’s not flowers. It’s not dances. It’s not fluttering fans.
No.
In the Empire of Elarion... An oath is law.
And in the simplest, most brutal terms—It ans: I am holding Osric on a leash from now on.
A leash that only I can touch. Only I can command. Only I can release.
From now on, whatever happens to —He bears it.
If I lie... he answers. If I betray... he bleeds. If I fall... he might never get up again. And if I, for even one second, beco the reason for a cri or a war?
He will be punished for it.
That’s what the vow ans, and no one can unbind it.
Not even him.
The words may have sounded beautiful. Strong. Noble.
But in truth?
They’re dangerous.
They’re deadly.
They are like a flower—wrapped in thorns. And every step we take together from here on?
Might bleed.
And the terrifying part?
In the novel I rember... Osric never made an oath to anyone.
Not even the heroine. Not even when she saved him. Not even when they fell in love. He was proud. Cold. Controlled. A sword with no leash. A wolf with no master.
He was the one people swore to—not the other way around.
The only person who ever knelt and pledged fealty in the entire empire... was Ravick.
To my Papa.
But Osric?
He was never ant to kneel. Never ant to give his sword. Never ant to say my na in an oath.
So why?
Why did he do it? What changed?
What was it about —that made him rewrite the script?
The answer wasn’t written in the pages I knew. The answer wasn’t in the prophecies or plotlines.
No.
The answer...lived only in his eyes, and whatever it was—he wasn’t telling yet.
***
[Ten Days Later—Lavinia’s Private Garden | Royal Afternoon]
It had been ten days.
Ten entire days since Osric Valerius Everheart knelt before like so ancient knight from a forgotten legend and vowed his life to mine.
Ten days since the banquet ended in shocked gasps, frozen violins, and Papa needing an ergency diplomatic intervention (read: Grandpa Gregor handing him a glass of wine and silently judging him into calming down).
And yet—
We’re still in the headlines.
I stared at the newest edition of The Solstice Gazette, the headline so bold it practically scread:
"BREAKING: THE FUTURE HEIR OF EVERHEART TAKES LIFE-BINDING OATH TO THE CROWN PRINCESS!"
I sighed and dropped the paper dramatically onto the garden table.
"Still discussing it," I muttered, popping a heart-shaped cookie into my mouth like it was an anti-anxiety pill. "Ten days, Osric. Ten. Days. Do you ever plan to give the empire a break?"
Across from , the aforentioned problem child—Osric Everheart, professional vow-swearer and part-ti script destroyer—sat calmly under the shade of a pear blossom tree, sipping tea and flipping pages of a thick lawbook like he hadn’t publicly upended the Empire’s entire romantic subplot.
He looked up at with perfect, unbothered serenity. "Did you say sothing, Lavi?"
Yes. I said, ARE YOU NORMAL?
Just look at him sipping tea calmly and reading a book on imperial law. Like he hadn’t just altered the fate of an entire fictional world.
I leaned forward, hands folded, lips twitching. "So... are you ever going to tell why you took that oath?"
He didn’t even flinch. "NO."
"Ugh!" I groaned, leaning back in my chair like the world betrayed . "You are so stubborn."
He looked up and smiled with that calm, infuriating charm. "Thanks for the praise, Your Highness."
Gods. He’s impossible.
I sighed and stretched my legs beneath the table, staring up at the blue sky peeking through the trees.
Now I really wonder... how he’s going to et the actual female lead of this story.
Because in the original story, Osric only t her during the war. He was sent to the Northern front—and that’s where he t her after the war while he road so village.
The girl ant to defrost his icicle heart. Bold. Bright. Unapologetically herself. The girl who wasn’t afraid of his coldness.
The one who fell in love with him at first sight.
The one who changed him. The girl who was always ant to beco the Duchess of Everheart in the end.
Elaenia Valcorin.
The girl who is sharp-witted and magnetic in every room she walks into.
The true heroine.
The real one.
But now?
Now, Osric can’t even go to war without mine or Papa’s permission—because of the oath.
Because of .
Now he’s bound to .
By sword.
By vow.
By choice.
And the worst part?
He doesn’t even know what he’s done. He doesn’t know he was never supposed to kneel in front of the villainess.
He doesn’t know he’s completely turned the story into sothing else entirely. I an—I know the story’s already changed so much.
I was supposed to be the neglected daughter. The forgotten royal. The villainess.
But instead?
Papa adores . The Empire whispers my na with reverence instead of disdain. I’m not hated. I’m not cast aside.
And now?
...I’m starting to wonder—
If this story has already changed too much to ever go back.
[THE END OF SEASON ONE]
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