[Lavinia’s POV — Imperial Palace—One Week Later]
After convincing our fathers, I thought everything would go smoothly. But ofcourse, I forgot...my papa is way more dramatic than . It took weeks.
Actual weeks.
And Papa—oh, Papa—yes, he agreed, but he did not like a normal father.
He declared war. Not a loud war and not a dramatic war either.
A Petty tyrant war.
It began at lunch. I had barely sat down when the servants placed my plate in front of . The aroma alone made my eyes water.
I stared at it.
"...Why is my curry glowing?" I asked carefully.
Papa sipped his wine, utterly calm. "Extra spices."
I took one bite.
Instant regret; my mouth was on fire. I coughed. Gagged. Reached desperately for water.
"WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS IS THIS?" I yelled at the maid.
Papa leaned back, watching with infuriating serenity. "Do you feel the burning sensation, my dear daughter?"
"...Yes," I croaked.
He nodded solemnly. "Good. That is exactly how marriage feels."
. . .
. . .
I stared at him dumbfounded. "YOU POISONED ."
"I seasoned you," he corrected. "For realism."
"Ugh...seriously," I groaned.
The next attack ca during sword practice. I stepped onto the training ground, reached for my blade—And found nothing.
I blinked.
Looked left. Looked right.
"Where is my sword?" I asked slowly.
Papa stood across the yard, hands behind his back, wearing the face of a man who had planned this mont since dawn.
"Oh?" he said mildly. "You cannot find it?"
"...No?"
He spread his hands. "Exactly. Marriage, my dear Lavinia, is full of deliberately hidden secrets."
Haldor—standing behind —went rigid.
"I will find it for you, Your Highness," he said imdiately.
Papa snapped his head toward him. "No, you will not."
Haldor froze.
"This," Papa continued, pointing at , "is a lesson. A swordless lesson."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is psychological warfare."
"Yes," Papa agreed proudly.
I groaned again and thought that was the end. And you’re right...I was absolutely wrong.
Then ca dessert. I was foolish enough to think he had grown tired. The chef placed a beautiful tart in front of . Golden crust. Sugared fruit. Perfect presentation.
I smiled.
Took a bite.
My face twisted instantly. "...Why is it sour?"
Papa didn’t even look at as he cut his own slice. "Sour. Bitter. Occasionally disappointing."
He glanced up then, eyes sharp. "Just like all the marriages."
. . .
. . .
I pushed the plate away. "You’re projecting."
"I’m warning you."
The final blow ca during the council eting. I entered the chamber as usual. Walked toward my seat—And stopped.
My chair beside Papa, the crown princess chair has gone.
Just... gone.
I stared at the empty space and knew who did this. Slowly, I turned to him.
Papa folded his hands, satisfied. "See, my dear daughter?"
"...Papa."
"After marriage," he continued calmly, "you leave my side."
The nobles went deathly still. But Theon and Ravick chuckled silently. Papa gestured to the missing chair. "Even furniture understands this truth."
I clenched my fists. "YOU REMOVED MY CHAIR."
"I relocated it," he said. "Symbolically."
Haldor looked like he was one comnt away from drawing steel on a chair.
I leaned forward, smiling sweetly. "Papa. If you remove one more piece of furniture to make a point—"
"Yes?"
"I will marry Haldor on that furniture."
The room froze. Papa stared at . Then—slowly—he looked away.
"...Bring her chair back," he muttered.
Victory.
Temporary.
But glorious.
As I sat down again, Haldor leaned closer, voice barely audible.
"...Is this normal?"
I smiled brightly. "No and you should get used to this."
Then I added, softer and more dangerous, "But it does an he’s losing."
And honestly?
Watching a tyrant emperor wage emotional warfare against his own daughter—Almost made the marriage worth it already.
That was when my gaze t Osric’s across the council chamber.
He looked... surprised.
Not amused. Not mocking. Just caught off guard—like he had realized too late that the ga had changed boards.
***
[Later—After the Council eting]
I walked down the marble hallway rubbing my temples, my patience hanging by a thread.
"I can’t believe an old man like him throws tantrums," I muttered to myself. "He’s way too dramatic. I thought I was the only one cursed with that trait."
Footsteps echoed behind .
Then—"So... you finally decided to marry?"
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned. Osric stood there, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed—but his eyes were cold. Sharp. Like winter steel.
Our gazes locked. There was no warmth there anymore.
No lingering sentint.No nostalgia.
Just two rulers who had outgrown whatever illusion once existed between them.
"Yes," I replied evenly. "I am. Everyone gets married one day."
For a heartbeat, he said nothing.
Then he scoffed quietly. "Right. Everyone does."
His eyes flicked over —assessing, distant.
"But not a tyrant like you."
The air dropped ten degrees. My expression didn’t change—but my voice did.
"Grand Duke Osric," I said softly, dangerously, "don’t forget who is standing in front of you."
Silence.
Thick.Pressurized.
For a mont, I thought he might push it. Then he exhaled and raked a hand through his hair, irritation flashing across his face.
"...I apologize," he said stiffly. "That wasn’t why I ca."
I arched a brow. "Then speak."
His posture shifted—subtle, serious.
"I’m here because I found sothing," he said. "Soone."
My attention sharpened instantly. "Go on."
"I discovered who has been aiding Marquis Everett and Caelum all along," he continued. "The one orchestrating every assassination attempt against you."
My steps stilled.
"Who?" I asked.
"Count Talvan," Osric said flatly. "And Sirella Talvan."
For the first ti, my composure cracked—just slightly. "...What?"
He nodded once. "I’m certain."
A slow smile curved my lips—not amused, not surprised.
"Hah," I breathed. "So not even one noble house stands clean before the throne."
I tilted my head, eyes glinting. "But tell , Osric—how do you know this?"
He hesitated.
Then stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"I t Eleania."
I froze.
That na—It stirred sothing sharp and unwelco in my chest.
I kept my face neutral.
"Continue," I said.
"While I was in the city library," he explained, "I ran into her. She told everything. Talvan’s involvent. The funding. The quiet movents. And whatever they’re planning now—"
His jaw tightened.
"—it’s worse than before. I don’t know the full shape of it yet. But it’s sothing heinous."
He t my eyes squarely.
"I ca to warn you, Your Highness. Be careful."
I studied him in silence.
Then I smiled.
Cold.asured.Imperial.
"Thank you for the information," I said. "You’ve done your duty."
He frowned slightly. "That’s all you’re going to say?"
I stepped closer—close enough that he could feel the weight of my presence.
"Osric," I said quietly, tyranny woven into every syllable, "if Talvan believes he can conspire in the shadows while I prepare to ascend the throne..."
My smile sharpened.
"...then he’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet."
Osric held my gaze for a long mont. Then he nodded once. "I thought you’d say sothing like that."
As he turned to leave, I added calmly:
"And Osric?"
He paused.
"Stay alive," I said. "You’re far more useful to as a witness than as a martyr."
His lips twitched faintly.
And then he was gone.
I resud walking, my steps steady, my thoughts already moving three turns ahead.
Marriage.Rebellious nobles.Hidden knives.
The empire was stirring.
And anyone foolish enough to test a tyrant crown princess—was about to learn exactly why fear had always been the smartest form of loyalty.
Then—A hand closed around my wrist. Before I could react, arms wrapped around —firm, warm, unmistakably familiar.
"What—who—" I started, instinct flaring—
I looked up.
"Haldor?" I blinked. "What are you—what are you doing? Who hugs soone out of nowhere like—"
"Your Highness..." His voice was low, uncertain. Almost fragile.
That alone made pause.
"Do you still... love him?"
I frowned slightly, still caught in his embrace. "What are you talking about?"
He hesitated, then looked at —really looked at —with eyes far too earnest for a man who had survived battlefields.
"Grand Duke Osric," he said softly. "Do you still love him?"
I stared at him for a second.
Then—
"Heh." A slow, amused smirk curved my lips. "Are you jealous?"
His ears practically burned red.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it. Just stood there, blushing, hands tightening slightly at my back like he was afraid I’d slip away.
Oh.
Adorable.
I lifted both hands and ruffled his hair without rcy. "There, there. You look exactly like Marshi when he was little—big body, worried eyes, and absolutely no sense of dignity."
"Y–Your Highness—" he protested weakly.
I wasn’t done. I puffed his cheeks with both hands, squishing them gently. "Listen carefully, Captain."
His eyes widened, fixed entirely on .
"I don’t love him anymore," I said clearly. "Not even a little."
The tension in his body eased instantly, "My eyes are only on you."
I leaned closer, foreheads nearly touching.
"Do you get it?"
He nodded quickly. Then—without hesitation—he pulled into his arms again, this ti with confidence. With certainty.
"Yes, I am yours." His arms tightened just a little more. "And you are mine."
Sothing warm blood in my chest. I laughed softly and rested my forehead against his shoulder. "Yes, exactly that."
The hallway around us faded—no nobles, no politics, no knives hiding in silk.
Just us.
And for the first ti since the empire began to stir—I allowed myself to feel safe. Wrapped in the arms of a man who loved without hesitation, without ambition, and without fear.
And with that certainty settling deep into my bones—I knew.
Whatever storms were coming next...we would face them together and I will make sure after this no noble dares to conspire against the throne.
This will be the end of it.
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