[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Ballroom—After the Toast]
Applause thundered through the ballroom. Crystal chid. 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 flawlessly across the floor, every step precise, every movent commanding. The crowd watched with reverence—this was not just a dance. It was a declaration.
Afterward ca 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 ."
"Yes," Papa replied flatly, "but I might."
Before I could protest further, a familiar presence moved beside .
Haldor. Without a word, he calmly picked up a goblet of grape juice and held it out to . "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 so 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 , Theon laughed outright. Ravick shook his head. Papa muttered sothing that sounded suspiciously like I raised a nace.
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 amusent behind .
"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 sohow... that made the night even more dangerous.
Haldor stood beside , 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 mont, he spoke—carefully.
"May I ask you sothing, 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 mont, I didn’t answer.
Then I spoke.
"Because," I said softly, "he doesn’t want 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 imdiately, 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 ca to the conclusion that he...sowhere likes the mother who gave birth to . Still does, in his own way. And he has never once regretted getting drunk night... or ."
A pause.
"But that doesn’t an," I continued, fingers tightening slightly on the balcony rail, "that he wants to walk the sa path."
The night breeze stirred my hair. Sowhere 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 ."
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 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. Soone who grows with . Who stands beside —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 beca 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 mont, 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 shimred above us. And standing there—too close, too quiet, too aware of each other—I realized sothing 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 imdiately.
When he finally looked at , 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 ti 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 seed to hold its breath. A long, stretched silence fell between us—heavy, aching, unbearable.
And in that mont, 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 .
"And what is that, Captain?" I asked, smiling faintly—trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
His gaze t 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 —warm, dangerous, beautiful. And in that mont... I don’t know what overca .
Maybe the stars.Maybe the night.Maybe the way his devotion sounded less like duty and more like love he refused to na. 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 sowhere between discipline and disbelief.
I stretched my arms toward him, offering—not commanding. "It’s okay," I said gently. "Just... co here."
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then—slowly, like soone stepping onto sacred ground—he closed the distance.
His arms ca around . Careful at first. Hesitant. As if he feared I might vanish if he held too tightly.
The mont his chest t mine, warmth flooded through . He was tall—so tall that my toes lifted off the ground without 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 t.
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 sothing you didn’t want to escape.
My voice ca out softer than I intended. Almost a whisper.
"...Do you want to kiss?"
The night seed to still.
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