[Imperial Palace—Throne Room—Later—LAVINIA’S POV]
The hall felt too small for the noise it held—a thousand breaths held and waiting.
Papa sat like a volcano at the center of it all, his crimson cloak a slash of daylight against the throne’s black. I stood at his side, shoulders squared, Marshi’s quiet weight at my feet.
Then Imperial Knights shoved Marquess Everett into the room, chains clanking like a funeral bell, and the court thinned into a tense hush.
Everett’s face was of fear and anger. He went to his knees before us, hands clawing the floor, voice high and frantic. "Your Majesty... I—"
Papa lifted one slow hand and cut him off.
"Osric," he said instead, eyes like twin blades, aid not at the man on the floor but at the Osric beside him. "What of... Caelum?"
Osric dipped his head, grave. "Captain Haldor made him swallow the poison, Your Majesty. Heis dead."
A gust of sound blew through the chamber. Gasps, mutters, a wet, choking silence. Faces paled; mouths shaped the sa question.
"What? He’s—dead?"
"He’s dead. So it was true."
"So the Marquess conspired..."
"Such audacity. Such—foolish audacity."
Papa’s eyes rolled slowly over the assembly like twin coins searching for weakness. The chatter died the way a struck bell falls silent.
Then, very deliberately, he turned back to the quivering Marquess.
"Marquess Everett," he said, voice long and soft as a drawn sword. "Your so-called adopted son confessed before all of us. He nad nas. He nad actions. He nad you."
Everett’s pleading dissolved into a strangled protest. "No...no, no, Your Majesty, He’s—he’s lying! Your Majesty! He—that wretched—I did not know—I swear on my house—I have been loyal—"
Papa laughed then—not a warm or soft sound, but a low, contemptuous thing that echoed down the stone like a verdict.
"Loyal?" he spat the word with the contempt of one who had seen too many masks peel away. "Such an ironic word, coming from vipers who call themselves nobility."
He rose. Heads bowed as if the air itself had ordered it. He walked forward—asured steps that sounded like judgnt—until he stood over Everett and, with one effortless motion, crushed the marquess’s outstretched hand beneath his boot.
CRUNCH!!!
The crack was not loud, but it was absolute.
"You know what, Marquess?" Papa’s voice snapped like a steel wire, tight and cold. "Do you know what else I’ve learned today? Every attack, every poisoning, every attempt to break my line—from the day my daughter was born—every. single. one.—was planned by you."
Everett’s face blanched. He tried to shake his head free; his mouth ford words that ca out as whimpers. "No... no, Your Majesty... I—I would never—"
"Then you an," my father said, leaning in until his breath was paper against the marquess’s ear, "that a dying man lied to us?"
"No, your majesty—" Everett choked.
Papa straightened. His hand lifted, and the command rolled across the room with the simple authority of law.
"Strip him of the title. Seize his lands. Bind his line. No coin for his houses. Publish his cris."
He looked up at the assembly, slow and cold as a verdict. The imperial heralds moved like shadows, already preparing the paperwork the emperor’s words demanded.
Papa’s voice dropped to a low cruelty, the kind that sits like winter on a man’s tongue. "And when the court opens tomorrow, in the square—execute him tomorrow itself. Let it be a lesson: harm my blood, and the world will watch you burn."
An odd, bright thing glinted at my side—it was not approval but the sharp taste of satisfaction. My fingers tightened, invisible claws under my silk.
Everett’s wails broke the last of the stunned silence—half terror, half denial—and around the hall people began to whisper, speculate, and recalculate alliances with the speed of sharks slling blood.
Papa’s gaze slid to for the smallest instant—not with indulgence, but with that exact, cold approval that is richer than praise.
"You did well, Lavinia," he said, his voice like a dark bell on a windless night. "You followed the path. You struck true."
My bow was formal, the sort that carved the air. "Thank you, Father. I followed where your will led."
He turned back to the nobles, his presence filling the throne room like a storm contained within stone walls. His chest rose high, his gaze cutting through the trembling crowd.
"The court is adjourned."
His words cracked through the air like thunder, final and undeniable.
The nobles bowed hastily, their robes whispering against the marble floor as they hurried out, their whispers a frightened murmur trailing behind them. I caught fragnts—"Marquess Everett... treason... the Princess... terrifying..."—but none dared speak too loudly under Papa’s shadow.
When the last of them had gone, silence fell like a blade.
Papa’s shoulders eased ever so slightly. He turned to , and for the first ti that day, his hand—so heavy with power monts ago—was gentle as it ca down to pat my head.
"Take so rest, my dear," he said, his voice still edged with steel but warr, laced with sothing only I was allowed to hear. "You’ve carried enough weight for today."
I looked up at him with a smile, saying, "Yes, Papa."
***
[Imperial Palace—Hallway—Later]
As I turned to leave for my chambers, a familiar voice called out behind .
"Lavi..."
I stopped, my lips curving into a smile before I even turned around. Osric was rushing toward , his usual calm face softened by concern. He caught my bandaged hand with both of his, his touch careful, as though I might break apart at the slightest pressure.
"How are you? Does it hurt?" he asked, his brows drawn tight.
I tilted my head at him, then let out a mischievous little smirk. "Well... if you kiss my palm, maybe the pain will go away, Osric."
His expression didn’t even flicker. He just stared at flatly, like I had said the most absurd thing in the world.
I widened my eyes, blinking up at him with all the innocence I could muster. "What? Don’t look at like that. I’m serious."
Finally, he sighed, his lips twitching just slightly. "You know, Lavi... you’re very bad when it cos to flirting."
The words hit like an arrow straight to the chest. My heart crumbled. I actually trembled, clutching my bandaged hand dramatically against my heart. "I... I was trying to be romantic..."
"In which you’re terrible," he deadpanned, without even a shred of hesitation.
I gaped at him, then slumped my forehead onto his shoulder with a groan. "I can’t believe this. Instead of pampering , my boyfriend is stabbing rcilessly with words sharper than a sword."
Osric chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. He raised one hand to pat my head, his touch lingering. "I was just stating the truth."
I peeked up at him from his shoulder, pouting. "Then at least lie to once in a while. Say sothing sweet, Osric. Just once. My poor, wounded heart needs it."
He ignored my theatrics with infuriating calmness, gently taking my hand to examine the bandages. His thumb brushed carefully along the edge of the wrappings, his voice quieter now. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes," I admitted softly, my eyes following his every movent. "It still stings... but I took the dicines, so... it doesn’t hurt as much anymore."
Osric nodded slowly, his gaze focused entirely on my hand. His fingers lingered, not letting go. "Good. Then I’ll keep watch... so you don’t overdo things again."
I leaned back against his shoulder with a faint smile, murmuring under my breath, "Hmph. Even if you’re cruel with your words, you’re far too gentle with your hands... guess I’ll forgive you this ti."
Osric chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly over my hair before patting my head. "Do you need my help with sothing, troublemaker?"
I tilted my chin up to et his gaze, eyes gleaming. "Yes. I’m hungry... feed ."
He shook his head with a helpless smile, the corners of his lips twitching. "You’re such a child sotis. Fine—let’s go back to your chambers."
I nodded, but as we started walking, I tugged at his sleeve with mock seriousness. "But wait. Before that... please also honor with a kiss."
His steps faltered, and he gave a look equal parts stern and flustered. "We’re in the middle of the hallway, Lavi. Soone might see. Soone might hear."
"This is my palace. No one dares to speak against ... not when I command it."
Osric exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but I caught the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips—the smile of a man who had already lost to .
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