Chapter 113: Lessons in Legacy (and Lunacy)

Chapter 113: Lessons in Legacy (and Lunacy) [Lavinia’s Pov] I stormed down the marbled corridor with the righteous fury of a girl fleeing a hormonal battlefield she never agreed to star in. Caelum and Osric. Both are annoyingly handsome. Both suspiciously intense. Both giving me a brain cramp and heartburn before lunch. "One smirk. One more smirk from either of them," I hissed under my breath, clutching my skirts like they were emotional support fabric, "and I swear I’m launching myself out the nearest palace window." (Not a high one. I’m dramatic, not suicidal.) "Marshi," I muttered, glancing down at my furry guardian of destruction. He blinked up at me, his eyes glowing with innocent bloodlust. I gave his fuzzy head a reassuring pat and whispered darkly, "Papa was right. I should stay away from pretty boys with tragic backstories and flawless cheekbones. They’re a menace to my blood pressure." Marshi gave a low, supportive growl. The kind that meant, ’I will maul them politely, if you wish it.’ Then— "Princess Lavinia." I turned, only slightly, and it was Ravick: "Teacher Evelyne has arrived. Shall we go?" "Yes," I said dramatically. "Let’s. Take me to the land of knowledge where boys don’t exist." He blinked. "...Right." We arrived at my personal study room, all warm sunlight, polished bookcases, and enough cushions to host a rebellion of sleepy kittens. And standing by the grand whiteboard of doom was— "Good morning, Teacher!" I chirped, dashing in with the unearned enthusiasm of a student who absolutely did not skim last night’s homework. Teacher Evelyne—tall, elegant, always smelling faintly of old parchment and cinnamon—smiled at me like she hadn’t just been summoned to teach a gremlin in a tiara. "Greetings to Her Highness," she said, bowing gracefully. I flopped into my chair with all the grace of a queen and the spine of a jellyfish. Ravick stationed himself behind me, perfect knight mode activated. Marshi plopped down beside me like a sentient loaf of murder bread, tail thumping against the carpet. Teacher Evelyne chuckled softly. "Shall we begin, Princess?" "Yes." She opened her book. "Today’s topic is a fascinating one—" I leaned in. "—the rise of the First Emperor of Elorian, the founder of this very empire." My whole body perked up like a puppy hearing the word treat. Finally. The one person I actually wanted to learn about. My royal ancestor. The man who united the fracturing kingdoms. The original Devereux legend, A.K.A. the Drama King of History himself. Teacher Evelyne opened a thick, velvet-bound tome and set it gently on the table like it was holy scripture—and honestly, in this palace, it probably was. That book was older than half the noble houses in the empire. Possibly haunted. Probably dramatic. She smiled softly, like she was about to begin a bedtime story for royalty. Which, technically... she was. "As you already know, the first emperor’s name was Hadrian Verelith Devereux—the man remembered across the continent as ’The Iron Crown.’" I blinked. "The Iron Crown?" Because of course he had a title. A name wasn’t enough for this man. He, who wore a crimson cloak made from the banners of conquered kingdoms. Who forged peace by first bringing every warlord to heel. Who built the throne I now occasionally eat peaches on. What a legacy. What a drama icon. Teacher Evelyne continued, her voice taking on that airy, historical tone. "He was born during the Year of Falling Stars—" Of course he was. That’s the most Main Character birth year imaginable. "—to a dying queen and a vanished king. He was raised in secret, trained in seven arts, and at the age of seventeen, he reclaimed his empire with only three knights... and a sword forged from star-iron." I stared. Three knights. Seventeen years old. A sword made of celestial metal. I’m about to turn eight, and I can barely lift a practice blade without accidentally smacking Ravick’s knee like it owes me lunch. He sounds cooler than me. Like... way cooler. I absentmindedly curled my fingers against the velvet tablecloth, pouting internally. Teacher Evelyne flipped the page with a kind of sacred silence, then added softly, "And as you already know, Your Highness... He was not alone. He had with him a divine beast. Rakshar." I blinked, then smiled. Marshi. Well. That’s one thing I apparently have in common with the legendary founder of the empire. "The story goes," Teacher Evelyne continued, "that during his early campaigns, Emperor Hadrian found a wounded divine tiger deep within the jungles of Nefirath. The beast had been pierced by a hunter’s spear... And yet, it lived. Emperor Hadrian tended to its wounds himself—and from that moment, Rakshar never left his side." I nodded slowly. Yeah. I knew this part. I’d heard the rumors when Marshi hatched—how Holy Temple nearly fainted. How the royal beastkeeper locked himself in a prayer closet for three days. How nobles whispered about omens and destiny and reincarnation like we were all in some kind of cosmic prophecy soap opera. Rakshar... was no ordinary beast. He was divine. Blessed by the gods. Connected to something greater—something older than thrones and empires and snack budgets. They said he stayed by the emperor until his last breath. And then... he vanished. No grave. No remains. Just gone—like the wind took him back to whatever divine corner of the world he came from. I turned toward Teacher Evelyne, frowning slightly. "What happened to Rakshar?" I asked, even though I already sort of knew. She gave a small smile. The kind of smile adults give right before they drop a cryptic riddle and ruin your peace of mind. "After the emperor’s death... some say Rakshar returned to the jungle from which he came. Others believe he lies buried beneath the palace itself—deep below the stone and marble—guarding the empire even in death." Guarding the empire... Even in death? I looked down at Marshi, sprawled beside me like a furry puddle of judgmental royalty. My divine tiger. My majestic companion. My... extremely spoiled, highly dramatic, eternally hungry celestial roommate. He sneezed. And then yawned. Wow. Ferocious. Teacher Evelyne folded her hands gracefully. "When your Marshi appeared," she said gently, "many believed Emperor Hadrian had sent his divine companion’s spirit back... to watch over the empire once more." I smiled at that. I mean—come on—it sounded cool. Like something out of a legend or a bedtime prophecy. But deep inside... Questions stirred. If that was true—if this lazy fluffball was the second coming of Rakshar—then... Why wasn’t he in the original novel? I mean, I’ve read it. Twice. Cover to betrayal-filled cover. And I remember everything. There were no divine beasts. No glowing tigers. No reincarnated guardians sent by long-dead emperors. Not once. No prophecy scrolls. No "Oh look, a mystical creature is here to protect the heir" plot twist. Nothing. So why did Marshi come to me? Why now? And what kind of power does he actually possess? Because so far, I’ve only seen him eat fruit, nap in increasingly ridiculous positions, and once—just once—growl at a noble who tried to glare at me. Which, okay, was appreciated. But that hardly screams divine weapon of the gods. Unless the gods were very into dramatic naps and overripe plums. I leaned back in my chair, frowning as Marshi softly kicked in his sleep like he was chasing divine butterflies or celestial pigeons in a dream. I was deep in thought—halfway down the rabbit hole of "what if I’m actually part of some rewritten divine prophecy and the novel forgot to inform "me"—when— "SIR RAVICK!" The shout cut through the study like a sword through silence. A young knight burst into the room, breathless, his armor clinking, panic clear on his face. "It’s an emergency!" he huffed. I blinked, my heart already dropping like a stone. Ravick stepped forward instantly, his entire posture changing from calm knight-mode to battle-ready commander in under a second. "What happened?" he snapped. The knight swallowed. "A scout just arrived. There’s been an attack on the northern border outpost. A large force. Trained. Armed. Possibly from beyond the Ironwoods. They—" Ravick didn’t wait. "Stay with the princess," he ordered curtly, already halfway out the door. I stood up so fast my chair nearly toppled. "Wait—what? What do you mean, attack?" The knight looked at me, clearly torn between protocol and panic. "Forgive me, Your Highness. The emperor will be briefed shortly... But if this is what it seems—he may ride out by sundown." I stared. The words barely made sense in my head. Papa. Going to war. I wanted to run to him—grab his cloak, cling to his arm, and beg him not to go. But I couldn’t.I knew I couldn’t. My heart thudded. A quiet, aching echo in the vast silence of the room. I pressed a hand to my chest, willing it—pleading—for this to be nothing. Just a border scuffle.Just drills.Just bravado. Just... nothing. Please. Let it be nothing. But deep down—in that strange, shivering part of me that always knew when things were about to change—I felt it. This wasn’t a drill.It wasn’t nothing.It was huge.