[Lavinia’s POV — Everheart Estate, Grand Hall]
"ANNOUNCING HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, THE EMPEROR — ACCOMPANIED BY HER HIGHNESS, THE CROWN PRINCESS!"
The doors of the Everheart Estate opened with a sound like thunder wrapped in silk.
As we stepped forward, the sea of nobles parted, bowing low in perfect unison. The symphony paused; even the chandeliers seed to hush as the announcent echoed.
A thousand golden flas shimred from the chandeliers above, scattering across the marble floor like stardust. The scent of lilies, gold dust, and polished wood mingled in the air—rich, regal, and suffocatingly perfect.
Every head bent lower. Silk whispered, jewels chid, and I could practically feel the weight of every gaze following us.
Papa’s arm was steady as he guided forward, his presence solid and towering beside . I peeked up at him, and as expected, he was shooting death glares left and right like a general inspecting enemy ranks.
I bit back a laugh and whispered under my breath, "You know, Papa... I’m starting to envy Osric. When do I get my coronation crown?"
His lips twitched—the faintest, most imperial smirk. "Patience, my little nace. Every heir’s coronation happens after they turn twenty-two. You’re only eighteen. You still have years to prove yourself... and," he added slyly, "a few more years to laze around before your dreams are replaced by endless paperwork."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "So basically, you’re telling to enjoy freedom while I still can?"
"Exactly," he murmured, eyes glinting with amusent. "Enjoy it, My dear. Once the crown sits on your head, even your sighs will be scheduled."
I smiled faintly, looking ahead at the glittering hall and the hundreds of eyes watching. "I’ll hold you responsible when that happens."
He chuckled under his breath. "Oh, I’m counting on it."
At the end of the carpet, two figures stepped forward—Grand Duke Regis Everheart and Osric. Both bowed low.
"Your Majesty, Your Highness," Regis said with a polished smile. "It’s an honor to welco the Empire’s sun and moon to our humble estate."
Papa gave a slow, unimpressed cough. "I was forced to co."
The room froze for a beat.
Regis’s smile twitched, just slightly. "And yet, you ca," he said smoothly. "That alone makes happy—to have you here, witnessing the future of our children together."
Papa’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Future, yes. Present, no."
I blinked, stifling a laugh as Regis turned to , trying to salvage the atmosphere. "You look beautiful today, my dear—"
"She’s not your dear," Papa cut in sharply, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet.
Regis glanced at him, equally polite and equally suicidal. "But I’m going to be her father soon, am I not?"
Papa’s smile was the kind that could make seasoned generals faint. "Soon," he said softly. "Not. Yet."
The tension between them could’ve shattered glass.
anwhile, I stood there smiling sweetly, utterly used to this ritual of male ego warfare. "You two do realize," I murmured just loud enough for them to hear, "the ceremony hasn’t even started and you’re already competing for a future relationship?"
Osric, standing beside his father, let out the faintest sigh—the look of a man accustod to chaos. "It’s best not to intervene, Your Highness," he whispered wryly. "They’ve been at this since before I could walk."
I leaned toward him just a little. "And you survived?"
"Barely," he said, lips twitching.
Papa gave Osric a look sharp enough to decapitate a lesser man. "Sothing funny, boy?"
Osric straightened instantly. "Not at all, Your Majesty."
"Good," Papa said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Because I’m still deciding if I like you."
I sighed softly, but I couldn’t stop the amused smile tugging at my lips. This was my father—Emperor Cassius Devereux—conqueror of empires, bane of dukes, and apparently the most possessive man alive when it ca to his daughter.
Osric straightened his uniform—a crisp black coat trimd in Everheart silver—and stepped closer, his expression composed but his eyes holding a quiet warmth.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly. "May I have the honor of escorting you to your seat?"
Before I could answer, Papa’s hand tightened on my shoulder again.
"Honor?" he repeated, in that low, dangerous tone that made generals beg for rcy. "You’re talking as if she’s so stranger at a ball, boy. She’s the Crown Princess of the Empire."
Osric t his gaze calmly—brave soul that he was. "And precisely for that reason, Your Majesty, she deserves to be treated with the utmost honor."
Papa’s jaw flexed, clearly torn between approving the respect and despising the source of it. "Hmph," he muttered finally. "If you step on her gown, I’ll have your head."
"Papa," I sighed.
Osric extended his arm toward , eyes steady—waiting patiently, not forcing, not pleading. I placed my hand lightly on his arm.
His arm was warm and steady—too steady, perhaps. For a mont, I thought I saw the faintest smile curve his lips, a flicker quickly smothered beneath the noble composure he is currently maintaining.
Papa’s glare, however, could’ve lted the chandeliers above us.
"Careful," he said in a tone that could chill sunlight itself. "You’re holding my daughter’s hand, not a ceremonial flag."
Osric inclined his head, completely unfazed. "Then I shall guard it with the sa loyalty I give the Empire, Your Majesty."
That earned a faint raise of Papa’s brow—the smallest sign of reluctant respect.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "Can we proceed before the chandeliers catch fire?"
Osric chuckled softly, the sound low and controlled. "Let’s go, Your Highness."
I nodded, but before following him, I turned slightly toward Sir Haldor, who stood a few steps behind, vigilant as ever. "You can relax and enjoy yourself tonight, Sir Haldor," I said with a grin.
He bowed faintly. "I hope you enjoy the event, Your Highness."
I nodded and stepped forward, my arm brushing against Osric’s as we walked through the golden aisle. The chandeliers glimred above, and nobles whispered like rustling silk.
Osric leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t realize that man was Sir Haldor. The legendary ’Steel Knight’ himself."
I smiled, keeping my eyes ahead. "Mm. He looks very handso, doesn’t he?"
He stopped for half a step—just enough for to catch the flicker of jealousy in his jaw. "Is that your subtle way of making jealous, Lavi?"
I tilted my head, biting back a laugh. "Maybe. I’ve always been curious how my man looks when he’s jealous."
He exhaled through his nose, the corner of his lips twitching. "Dangerous, apparently."
"Oh? Then I suppose I should tread carefully," I teased.
He looked at then, his eyes soft but burning with that quiet Everheart pride. "Or perhaps," he said smoothly, "you should stay close enough that I don’t have to be."
Before I could respond, we reached the grand dais, and the hall fell silent.
I drew in a slow breath, fixing my posture, the playfulness fading as the weight of the mont settled over . Osric released my hand and took his place.
And just like that, the ceremony began—the murmurs stilled, the air shimring with reverence and history.
Grand Duke Regis Everheart stepped forward, his heavy ceremonial robe trailing behind him like liquid gold. The light from the chandeliers glimred on the crest of the Everheart sigil stitched across his chest. His expression carried the calm dignity of a man who had ruled for decades—and the faint tremor of one finally ready to let go.
He raised his hand, and the hall fell silent. Even the music seed to bow before his voice.
"Thank you all," Regis began, his tone smooth yet resonant, filling every corner of the grand hall. "For standing witness to this day—a day that marks not only celebration, but legacy."
He paused, glancing briefly at my father, whose expression could have frozen molten steel.
"As you all know," Regis continued, "just as my father once passed his title and duty to , the mont has now co for to do the sa. To place my trust, my honor, and the na of Everheart in the hands of my son."
He turned toward Osric, who stood proudly at the center of the dais, the flickering light from the torches gilding his hair.
"From this day forth," Regis declared, his voice rising, "I step down from my position and announce my son, Osric Everheart, as the Grand Duke of the Elorian Empire!"
Applause erupted—thunderous, echoing against the marble and high-arched ceiling. Nobles stood, their jeweled hands coming together, cheers mingling with the triumphant notes of the royal anthem.
I clapped too, though slower, watching Osric rise to his feet—taller sohow, his usual warmth tempered by the weight of power now settling on his shoulders.
Regis turned, his smile wide and glinting like a polished blade. "But," he said, voice rising above the cheers, "this evening is not only to celebrate my son taking over my position."
A murmur rippled through the hall. The nobles exchanged curious glances, fans paused mid-wave, and jewels flickered under the candlelight.
"Tonight," Regis continued smoothly, "marks another mont in history. A mont that will—"
He didn’t finish.
Because I saw it.
Across the hall, beyond the nobles and courtiers and silver trays—my eyes caught on sothing that froze the blood in my veins.
Sir Haldor.
The ever-composed, stoic Captain of the Imperial Knights—standing beside a table, holding a crystal decanter, pouring wine for a laughing noblewoman like so common attendant.
For a second, my mind refused to process it. Then the heat hit —sharp, furious, unrelenting.
Before anyone could blink, I was already off the dais. My gown swept behind like a streak of fla as I stord down the steps, ignoring the startled gasps and Regis’s startled pause mid-sentence.
"WHAT—" My voice cracked like thunder through the hall. "—IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON THERE?"
The music faltered. The laughter died. Every noble in the room froze where they stood.
How dare anyone—anyone—reduce the Captain of my Imperial Knights to a servant? How dare they humiliate him under my watch?
The flas of the chandeliers flickered as if the air itself trembled with my rage.
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