[Lavinia’s POV—A Week Later—Lavinia’s Office]
"...So you’re saying you cannot make Sera your next heir?"
My voice was calm. Too calm.
Across from , Count Aureolmont of the Western Marches sat straight-backed, fingers folded neatly over his cane. He hesitated just a fraction before answering, and that hesitation spoke louder than any excuse ever could.
Sera stood beside him.
She did not speak—but disbelief flashed openly across her face, sharp and unguarded. For a heartbeat, she looked like a child who had been promised the sky and then told it was too far away.
Her father noticed.
Of course he did.
He turned toward her and smiled—soft, paternal, and unforced.
"It is not because you are my daughter, my dear," he said gently.
My gaze sharpened.
"Then what is the problem?" I asked.
He t my eyes without flinching.
"You know this as well as I do, Your Highness," he said. "A noble house cannot be ruled by sentint. An heir must be knowledgeable—capable of holding its weight. If my daughter wishes to take over House Aureolmont, she must first learn. She must prove to that my faith in her will not beco a liability."
Silence settled.
Not defiance.
Not refusal.
A test.
I leaned back slowly in my chair, fingers steepled. "And you are not worried," I asked lightly, "about her cousin you already nad as heir?"
His lips curved into a knowing smile.
"I have heard," he said carefully, "that my daughter is the Crown Princess’s beloved lady-in-waiting." He paused. "So I believe you can handle that matter with a single sealed letter."
I scoffed softly.
He trusts far too much.
Then again, he was not wrong.
"Sera already handles imperial parchnts," I said, eyes drifting briefly toward her. "She gives advice when asked—and sotis when not." A faint smile tugged at my lips. "As for the rest..."
I looked back at him.
"She will learn."
He nodded, satisfied. "Then I would be honored if you sent her back to the west," he said. "Let her begin."
Sera turned to him slowly, then, without warning, she hugged him.
"Thank you Father, thank you for giving a chance. You’re the best father," she said, voice thick.
He patted her back with quiet pride. "I know, my dear, but I have a wonderful daughter..." he whispered, "Who handles the crown princess tantrums...so I do not have to guess that you can handle the house."
"I heard that..." I said.
Sera laughed, and I reached for the parchnt on my desk.
"Then it is settled," I said, my voice carrying weight now. "House Aureolmont’s next heir shall be Sera—alone."
I slid the docunt across the table.
"Sign here," I continued, pressing the imperial seal beside the blank. "Since the beginning of the new law... it... will start with you."
Count Aureolmont did not hesitate; he signed. I lifted the seal and stamped it down with finality.
Thump.
"New law," I said evenly, "has been ford."
Sera’s breath hitched.
And sowhere beyond these walls, the nobility of Eloria shifted uneasily—because the first stone had fallen.
And it would not be the last.
Knock. Knock.
"Co in," I said.
The door opened—and Rey walked in.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Who... was this man?
Gone was the usual Supre Mage Rey—the one who lounged like laws didn’t apply to him, who smirked at emperors and called disasters "interesting." This Rey walked in straight-backed, robes perfectly aligned, hair actually combed. His expression was calm. Polite.
Disciplined.
Terrifying.
"What’s wrong with him...?" I muttered under my breath.
Sera heard . She looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor. Instead of bowing to —which was his daily habit—Rey turned and bowed deeply to Count Aureolmont.
"Greetings," he said smoothly. "I am Rey, Supre Mage of the Magic Tower."
The room went silent.
Sera’s father blinked.
"Oh," he said slowly. "A mage."
"Yes," Rey replied imdiately. "A very responsible one."
I nearly choked, and Sera stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed her. Her father adjusted his glasses. "And... why are you here?"
Rey straightened. "I escort Her Highness frequently. I also handle magical security, diplomatic wards, ergency seals, historical spell preservation—"
He paused, then added far too quickly,
"—and I am very good with children."
Sera’s head snapped up. "WHAT children?"
Rey froze, and Count Aureolmont’s brow twitched.
"...Children?" he echoed.
Rey coughed. "Hypothetical. Future. Academic. Magical constructs sotis behave like—"
"Rey," I said sweetly, leaning forward, "why don’t you tell Count Aureolmont why you’re really here."
He stiffened.
Then—like a man marching to execution—he said, "I am... very fond of your daughter, sir."
Dead silence.
Sera slapped a hand over her face; her father stared. Rey continued, voice earnest, intense, and completely serious.
"I assure you, my intentions are honorable. I respect her intellect, her loyalty, her courage, her handwriting, her tea-making skills, her ability to tolerate Your Highness—"
"I am right here," I said.
"Yes, Your Highness," he said automatically, then refocused. "I also possess land, influence, a tower, and several ancient grimoires worth more than three duchies."
Count Aureolmont leaned back slowly.
"...Are you proposing," he asked carefully, "or negotiating?"
Rey panicked.
"I can do either."
Sera groaned.
I laughed out loud. For the first ti that day, Count Aureolmont studied Rey for a long, assessing mont—like a general deciding whether the man in front of him was a threat... or an inconvenience.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"Well," he said, nodding once, "at least he’s not a coward."
Rey bead.
Like—bead bead.
The kind of smile that said I have survived judgnt, and I will tell my descendants about this mont.
Sera peeked through her fingers, mortified beyond salvation. I leaned back in my chair, utterly satisfied. But the count’s smile vanished just as quickly as it appeared.
He turned those sharp paternal eyes on Rey and said flatly, "But... I do not want my daughter to be married yet."
Rey blinked.
Once.
Then nodded with frightening seriousness. "I can wait."
The room froze. Count Aureolmont narrowed his eyes—actual laser beams of suspicion firing straight at Rey.
"My daughter," he continued slowly, "is going to be the heir of House Aureolmont. And while she learns—" he leaned in slightly, voice dangerous, "—I will make sure no romance touches her."
Rey gasped.
Actually gasped.
He looked personally offended.
He glanced at .Then at Sera.Then back at the count.
"...Are all daughters’ fathers like this?" he asked genuinely.
Count Aureolmont blinked, confused. "Like what?"
"Terrifying," Rey replied at once. "Overprotective. Emotionally violent."
Sera groaned into her hands. Rey straightened, determination blazing.
"Then tell ," he said boldly, "how should I charm you?"
The count scoffed.
"Charm?" he echoed. "We’ll see."
He turned to and bowed deeply. "I shall take my leave, Your Highness. And I would request that my daughter be sent to the west as soon as possible—before so mage decides to take over her life."
"I am still standing right here," Rey muttered.
I waved my hand dismissively, grinning. "Of course, Count. As fast as possible. No mages. I promise."
The count imdiately pulled Sera into a protective side hug, shooting Rey one last murderous glare. She waved weakly at us as she was escorted out like precious cargo.
The door closed.
Silence.
Then Rey slumped into a chair.
"...I think he hates ."
I smiled sweetly."No," I said. "He just sees you as a threat."
Sera’s absence felt loud.
Oh yes.
The nobility was trembling. The laws were changing. And sowhere in Eloria—Love was making absolute fools of powerful people.
But—
"Your Highness—!"
The door burst open.
Theon rushed in, breath uneven, hair slightly disheveled—far too frantic for a man who usually complained if forced to walk too fast. I straightened at once.
"Theon," I said sharply, "why are you running at this age? You’ll trip and—"
"There’s sothing you need to see," he cut in, voice tight. "Imdiately."
The room changed.
The laughter drained. The air hardened. I took a single step toward him.
"Why do you look like that?" I asked quietly. "Did sothing happen?"
He swallowed.
"There’s a headline," he said. "It’s spreading across all of Eloria. Every street. Every tavern. Every noble house."
My fingers curled slowly at my side.
"And?" I pressed.
Theon t my eyes, and for the first ti, I saw genuine shock there. "It’s about... Crown Prince Haldor."
Sothing cold slid down my spine.
Before I could speak, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor. Ravick appeared, moving faster than I had ever seen him move, a folded newspaper clenched tightly in his hand.
"This," he said, holding it out, "is the headline."
I took it.
The paper felt heavier than steel. I unfolded it slowly, and there—splashed across the front page in bold, rciless ink—was his na.
HALDOR VALETHORN—THE CROWN PRINCE OF ELORIA OR...THE TRAITOR FROM ASTREON!!!!!
The room went deathly silent. Ink bled into my fingers as I tightened my grip. So this was their strike.
Not steel.Not magic.
But doubt.
I lifted my gaze, calm settling like ice over fire.
"They finally targeted him," I said quietly.
And in that mont, Eloria learned a terrible truth—anyone who tried to take my crown through my husband would first have to survive .
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