[Lavinia’s Pov]
I stared.
I didn’t blink. I couldn’t.
My papa’s hands—those warm, gentle hands that always lifted high in the air, tucked into bed, and brushed my hair—were red.
So, so red.
The color dripped from his fingers and splashed onto the cold white floor like spilled paint. Except this wasn’t paint.
I knew that.
My breath hitched. My heart felt like it had slipped and fallen down a long, cold staircase inside my chest.
And before I could stop myself, my feet dashed forward on their own. "Papa...!" I cried out, voice shaking, tears clinging to the corners of my eyes.
His head turned sharply. Our eyes t.
And for a second—just a second—I saw sothing flicker across Papa’s face. Shock? Fear?
...No, not fear. He never looked afraid.
He looked like... like he didn’t know how I got there.
"Lavinia?" he said my na, but it didn’t sound like him. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t teasing. It was low. Heavy. Cold. Like a door creaking open in the dark.
I didn’t notice who was around him. I didn’t care. The whole room blurred like spilled ink on parchnt. All I could see was him—his face, his hands, that awful red.
I grabbed his hand with both of mine, trembling and hiccuping, and said, "Papa... does it hurt? Hic... There’s so much blood... so much..."
He looked at then. Really looked. He blinked like he was coming back from sowhere far away and sighed, the kind of sigh that makes your shoulders drop.
"Lavinia... why are you here?"
I didn’t answer. I just sniffled harder and held tighter.
"Why are you bleeding?" I cried. "Why is there so much blood, Papa? Did soone hurt you? I’ll punch them! I’ll kick them in the knee! Who did it?!"
His lips twitched just a little, and his eyes softened the tiniest bit.
"...It’s not my blood," he said gently.
I blinked. "Huh?"
He raised his hands, still glistening red. Soone—one of the silent knights—stepped in with a cloth and began to carefully wipe them clean. Papa waited, then turned his palms to .
"See?" he said calmly. "It’s not mine."
I stared at his now-clean hands for a mont... then let out the biggest, loudest sigh of relief my tiny lungs could manage.
"Oh! Thank goodness!" I said, wiping my own face with the back of my sleeve. "So Papa’s fine!"
There was a sudden gasp from around the room.
Wait... what?
I blinked and looked around for the first ti.
Oh.
There were nobles everywhere.
Lots of them.
Theon and Grandpa Gregor stood near the throne, lips pursed, clearly trying not to laugh. Grand Duke Regis raised an eyebrow in amusent. And Grandpa Thalein—dear, silly Grandpa Thalein—was waving both arms at like I was a celebrity arriving at a parade.
I tilted my head and waved back, sniffling.
That’s when I noticed... a man kneeling in front of Papa, pale and trembling. His belly poked out a little over his waistband, and he was holding his left wrist with his right hand, blood dripping from his sleeve like a leaky faucet.
It looked like soone had taken one clean swing at his arm.
I turned to Papa again, eyes wide. "Wait... that’s where the blood ca from?"
He nodded.
I looked at the bleeding man.
Then back at Papa.
Then back at the man again.
"Ohhh..." I said, nodding slowly like a wise old scholar, my finger tapping my chin. "So you swing your sword again?"
Gasps. Again.
Honestly, these nobles really needed to get out more. Why do they keep gasping?
I continued seriously, pointing a small, accusing finger at the kneeling, trembling man with a belly so round it looked like he ate a whole lon. "Is that man a bad guy?"
Papa nodded, expression calm. "He’s the one who tried to kidnap you."
My eyes widened.
And then narrowed. A slow, fiery rage blood in my chest like a spark on dry parchnt.
So this... this was the bastard who tried to snatch on my birthday?
I glared at him with all the fury a four-year-old could summon—which, frankly, is a terrifying amount. My fists clenched. My nose scrunched. I practically vibrated with righteous fury.
The man whimpered.
Just as I was imagining throwing a cookie at his eye, flick!Papa’s finger tapped my forehead.
"Ow!" I groaned, clutching my head dramatically. "Why! Papa, why did you flick my brain? It hurts!"
He gave the unimpressed look he always used when I’d done sothing dumb, like try to eat glue or use my hairbrush as a fork.
Then, Tyrant Emperor Father Mode: Activated™.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, voice sharp and low. "I gave Ravick explicit orders not to let you out of the nursery."
I blinked up at him, completely unbothered. Then I glanced away, avoiding his eyes. No way was I going to admit I ninja-ran out of the nursery.
"I... I missed Papa," I said, all soft and innocent.
He frowned. "That doesn’t an you should be here. This isn’t sothing you should be seeing."
I squinted at him, baffled. Spoken by a man who took his daughter to the execution grounds when I was three months old and rolled soone’s head like a atball in front of almost many tis.
"Papa..." I began slowly, as if explaining sothing painfully obvious, "it’s not my first ti. I’ve seen you kill people."
More gasps.
I swear, if soone gasped one more ti, I’d hand out paper bags for them to breathe into. The way they kept gasping, you’d think this was the first ti they’d heard the rumors.
Did they not know the Emperor took his three-month-old to an execution ground?
Papa let out another sigh—that long, tired sigh of a father wondering where exactly he went wrong.
Still, he scooped into his arms like I was sothing precious and breakable.
"That doesn’t an you treat this like your daily schedule," he muttered.
I stared intently at a crack in the marble floor, trying not to smile.
"I was bored..." I whispered, pouting with full dramatic flair. "Life is boring without Papa."
He looked down at , completely deadpan.
"You’re four years old."
"Still."
Another pause.
Another sigh.
Then, with the care of soone disarming a ticking bomb, he gently set back on the ground.
"Go to your Grandpa Thalein," he said. "I’ll finish this."
I gave a firm, serious nod—chin up, back straight—like a soldier reporting to her commanding officer.
"Okay."
Right on cue, Grandpa Thalein. He was wearing a robe far too flamboyant for the situation, complete with sparkles that caught the blood-stained light—dropped to one knee with open arms.
"Co to , my precious sunshine pudding drop!"
I ran toward him at full speed.
"Grandpaaa!" I squealed.
He scooped up like a swooping hawk catching a giggling mouse.
"Oh, my cheeky-bee boo! My little red-eyed nace! I missed you so much!"
"I missed you too, Grandpa!" I giggled, letting him twirl in the air like the whole room wasn’t currently soaked in blood and tension.
Then—finally—Papa turned his attention back to the man still kneeling before him.
"Then..." Papa began, his voice curling like smoke, dangerous and slow. "...shall we continue, Baron Mortellius Vaun?"
That fat-bellied toad of a man was clutching his bleeding arm and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. His face was pale. His eyes were locked onto Papa like he was staring down the Reaper himself.
Smart. Because he was.
"Your Majesty, please..." the baron wheezed, bowing so low his jowls nearly touched the blood-slick floor. "It was a misunderstanding! I swear, I never ant to harm the princess!"
Papa’s voice dropped low—cold, sharp, and precise. Sharp enough to cut bone.
"You hired rcenaries to abduct my daughter."
"I-I didn’t know it would go so far!" Baron Vaun stamred, shaking like a pudding in a storm. "I was drunk—no, deceived! I was deceived, Your Majesty! I never ant—"
Papa took one step forward.Just one.
And the baron nearly hiccuped, like a child on the verge of sobbing.
Then Papa continued, almost conversational, "I heard you called my daughter cunning. A taint to the throne."
What!That bastard.
How dare he.
My little fist clenched in Grandpa Thalein’s arms. If I had fire magic, this floor would already be lava.
The baron’s panic grew. "No... I never... I never did... I never said such a thing—"
"Regis," Papa called, sharp and simple.
Grand Duke Regis stepped forward like he was walking into a theater, casual and bored, and unfurled a parchnt with the flourish of a man announcing a royal performance.
He began to read aloud:
"The child born under the Blood Moon bears not only imperial blood but also the taint of the forest. Elven blood—cunning and cold. The Empire, forged by the gods of war and order, cannot bend to ancient, selfish magic. Should such a creature claim the throne, divine favor shall fracture. The line will break. And ruin shall follow."
...
The audacity.
The absolute nerve.
Baron Vaun slamd his head to the floor. "I was a fool, Your Majesty! I was a fool... please forgive ... please..."
Papa moved forward. Sword in hand. Silent.
Then—slash—The baron scread, collapsing to the ground, clutching the stump where his other hand used to be.
"rcy, Your Majesty! I beg of you—rcy! Spare ! I have sons, daughters—!"
"So do I," Papa said. "Just one, actually. And I was going to skin you alive for even thinking about harming her."
Papa raised his sword again, poised to swing—
But then the baron’s wide, bloodshot eyes turned to .
"Princess..." he gasped. "Please... have rcy on . I have kids to take care of... please..."
What.Why is he begging ?
Seriously, why do all these traitors commit treason and then turn to with those pitiful eyes like I’m their last hope?
Do they think I’m a nice person or sothing?
(Which I am—but only to people who are actually nice.)
Papa paused. His cold gaze slid sideways to .
"Do you want to forgive him?" he asked.
...I blinked.
Wait.What?
Why was I being asked this? Is Papa Crazy?
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