[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Palace, Hallway of Doom (aka Papa’s Office)]
Marshi and I marched toward Papa’s office like two soldiers on a dangerous mission.
BANG.
I flung the door open like the dramatic princess I was born to be.
"My dearest, most handso, terribly powerful, gloriously broody papa—!"
Papa flinched. Not a lot. Just a twitch. But I saw it.
He was hunched over his desk, quill in hand, writing sothing important, no doubt about taxes, warfare, or why I shouldn’t eat too many candied peaches before breakfast. The mont he heard my voice, he let out a long, exhausted sigh, like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him to fatherhood.
He stared at .
Then at his parchnt.
Then, with zero hesitation, he rolled it up and set it on fire.
Casually.
Like it was a Tuesday.
"I have to write that all over again..." he muttered under his breath, watching the ashes fall like snowflakes from hell.
Undeterred, I glided across the room like the sugar-fueled nace I was and leaned against his desk, tilting my head with all the innocent charm of a guilty kitten.
"What is my dearest Papa doing?" I asked sweetly.
He stared at again—cold, flat, and expressionless. The stare of a man who’d dealt with too many of my shenanigans in too short a ti.
"Get to the point, Lavinia."
I blinked. "Point? What point? I just ca here to—"
His eyes narrowed into two invisible daggers made entirely of suspicion and generational trauma. A silent, powerful gaze that scread: I know you’re lying. Speak, child. Confess. Or perish.
I laughed nervously and avoided eye contact like a seasoned criminal. "Well... I might need a teensy-weensy permission."
His brow furrowed like I’d just suggested marrying a peasant. "For what?"
I slid dramatically to the side of his chair like a stage actress mid-monologue. "I heard the Empire is celebrating my First Crawl Day?"
He nodded with pride, eyes twinkling. "Of course. There will be banners. Fireworks. A golden reenactnt statue."
"Oh wow," I said, trying not to sound like I was choking on glitter. "That’s... grand. But actually, I wanted to..."
His eyes glead.
"Do you want a gift?" he interrupted excitedly. "Another Empire? A diamond mine? A ruby mine? I have a garnet volcano I haven’t even unwrapped yet—"
"No, no, no, no. Papa, please." I waved my hands frantically before he went out to conquer a random kingdom in my na again. "I don’t need... geological kingdoms this ti."
He narrowed his eyes again. "Then what?"
I cleared my throat and tried to sound casual. "I just... want to go out. Into the Empire. See how people celebrate. You know. Be one with the commoners. Observe the humble festivities of the peas—uh, people."
He stared.
"You," he said flatly, "want to visit the Empire?"
I nodded, smiling like a sunbeam of lies.
There was a long pause.
Then he picked up a piece of parchnt and began scribbling and said, "N. O."
"Papa—please—"
"N. O." He said it again like he was delivering a death sentence.
"I just want to—"
He rose up suddenly without a word. Grabbed my wrist. Marched to the hallway like a military commander escorting a traitor.
And then—
THUD.
The door shut behind with the soft subtlety of a falling mountain. Marshi and I stood there in stunned silence.
"...Did he... Did he just kick out?" I blinked. "His dearest daughter? His precious, priceless jewel of a child? The literal embodint of his legacy?"
Marshi snorted.
"He...could’ve said no." I mumbled, still in shock.
His tail flicked. He looked at like he was trying not to say, "He did say no. Repeatedly. You just chose to ignore it."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "He could’ve said it nicely, like, I don’t know—’No, my darling moonbeam, the world is dangerous’ or ’No, beloved, I can’t risk losing my most adorable daughter to the perils of daylight and street food.’ But noooo—just ’grabbed and kicked out."
Marshi padded beside , tail flicking, whiskers twitching like he was thoroughly enjoying my royal humiliation.
Still, rejection or not—I had a mission.
I marched down the hallway, head held high despite the taphorical boot print Papa had left on my royal pride.
I need a guild master, soone who can quietly dig into Elaenia’s past. Who she was. Where she ca from. And why no one knew she existed until she floated into Theon’s wedding like a glitter bomb with no paperwork.
And I wanted to handle it myself, like a strong, independent future empress who doesn’t need her father’s permission.
Instead?
I got kicked out.
By my own father.
I groaned. "Now... what do I do?"
And that’s when I saw them.
Osric and Caelum.
Standing in the garden like two statues with excellent jawlines, frozen mid-spar, faces twisted in expressions of absolute... bewildernt.
I followed their gaze curiously, wondering what could possibly render the Crown’s finest warriors completely speechless.
Then I saw it.
And imdiately regretted everything.
"What in the na of celestial cabbage is that—?"
I stood there, stunned. A tidal wave of emotion hit so hard, I nearly fell backwards.
Love.
Romantic, floral, soul-snatching love.
It was pouring through the garden like rose-scented fog.
Theon and Lady Evelyn—locked in so overly dramatic, forehead-touching, hand-clasping, soft-smiling haze of pure affection that made even the roses wilt from second-hand embarrassnt.
Osric blinked. Caelum gagged. Marshi flat-out covered his face with his paws.
I squinted into the glowing halo of their shared gaze.
"Gosh," I whispered. "It’s... blinding. Is this why Papa hated love?"
Because if that was what love looked like—fragrant, sappy, and painfully slow-motion—I understood completely.
I turned to flee the cri scene when—
"Lavi!"
I blinked.
That voice. That unmistakable musical lilt. That unnecessarily sparkly entrance.
I turned, and there he was.
Brother Lysandre.
Gliding toward like a snowflake blessed by the moon gods, hair glistening like starlight, cloak flowing as if the wind had a personal crush on him.
I bead and launched myself into a hug. "Brother Lysandre! What are you doing here?"
He hugged back with all the grace of a romantic novel illustration and said, "I ca to et the Emperor... just so casual work."
Then he hugged again, tighter this ti, his voice softening.
"But mostly, I missed my darling little sister."
I blinked. "But we t three months ago."
He looked dead in the eyes. Dead. In. The. Eyes.
"It felt like an eternity."
I chuckled, chard against my will, even though I was 99% sure he said the exact sa line to the Council of Mages last ti.
But then—it hit .
Wait.
Hold on.
Brother Lysandre is an elf. The Archduke of Nivale. He literally rides on moonlight and dreams and—teleports.
Which ant... he could help .
He could teleport OUT of the palace.
Stars practically burst in my eyes. I grabbed his hand with all the enthusiasm of a girl who just found the last piece of cake and said, "Brother. Let’s go."
He blinked, clearly thrown. "Go where?"
I turned on my heel with royal purpose, cloak swishing, eyes gleaming. "Your sister needs help."
Lysandre smiled, already resigned to the chaos. "Anything for you, my dearest, most feral sister."
I bead. "That’s why you’re my favorite."
***
[Dawnspire Wing, Lavinia’s Chamber — Later]
"WHAT?!"
Brother Lysandre nearly levitated off my chaise lounge.
"You want to what?" he gasped, scandalized. "Teleport you... out of the Imperial Palace?!"
I nodded.
Calm. Composed. Dead serious.
"Yes."
He blinked at like I had just suggested we swim across the boiling sea in full brocade.
"Lavi," he said, voice full of brotherly horror, "you do realize how dangerous it is. And also insane. You want to smuggle the Imperial Princess out of the most secure fortress in the world? Dressed like so... rogue cabbage seller?!"
I smiled sweetly, tucking my legs beneath like I hadn’t just asked for federal-level treason. "I know you know appearance-change magic too, brother. The fancy elf kind. With sparkles."
He groaned and dramatically flopped backward on the chaise, covering his face with his elegant, ring-studded hand. "Laviniaaaa... your father is going to kill . Slowly. With great detail. Possibly using a diplomatic knife."
"Relax," I said cheerfully. "I’ll go when he’s in that Very Important eting with the Dwarven Delegates."
Lysandre peeked at from between his fingers. "Even so—Lavi, it’s still dangerous. There are people outside who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you. Thieves. Perverts. Jerks, Lavi."
I knew he wouldn’t agree.
And now it was ti.
Operation: Starry-Eyed Manipulation had officially begun.
I scooted closer, gently took his hands in mine, and looked up at him with the full force of my celestial cuteness.
"You won’t help , Brother?" I said, voice trembling just enough. "Not even for two hours?"
His left eye twitched. Dangerous sign. Keep going.
"I’ll be back in two hours," I promised solemnly. "I just... I just need to see for myself, how people celebrate. And you’re the only one who can help ."
I poured every shimring, galaxy-drenched ounce of love into my gaze. Then I reached for the delicate pink pendant around my neck—the one Grandpa Thaelein gave when I visited Nivale.
"And I’m wearing this," I added softly, clutching it. "You rember, don’t you? The protection charm Grandpa gave ?"
Lysandre’s shoulders sagged.
He tried to dodge my puppy eyes. Tried. Failed miserably. He groaned again, but this ti it was the defeated kind.
"Lavi..."
"Pleeeease," I whispered, stars practically spilling from my lashes.
Another groan. A dramatic head toss. Then—
"Fine," he sighed, utterly ruined. "Only for two hours. That’s it. And I’m putting five layers of glamor on you. And we’re using an invisible gate. And you’re not allowed to buy soup from street vendors, I swear to the moon, Lavinia—"
"YES!" I sprang up and kissed his cheek. "You’re the best! I knew I loved you more than brother callen for a reason!"
"Wait—what?"
"Nothing."
I danced toward my wardrobe, already ntally dressing in sothing humble and scandalously peasant-chic. My heart beat like a drum of destiny.
Now was my chance.
To learn who Elaenia really was. To find out why no one knew her before she appeared, smiling and suspiciously radiant. To discover what secrets even the Imperial Spies missed.
This wasn’t just a visit anymore.
This was a mission.
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