Chapter 114: A Tyrant’s Promise

Chapter 114: A Tyrant’s Promise [Lavinia’s Pov] It went on the whole day. Nobles arrived in waves—cloaks flaring, boots echoing against marble. Their faces drawn, voices tight with urgency. Grand Duke Regis stormed through the west corridor, and Grandpa Gregor’s cane clicked faster than usual as he muttered something to a red-robed tactician. Advisors. Generals. Strategists. Battle-mages. Messengers with windburned cheeks. All of them surged into the council chamber like someone had set fire to the empire’s map. And honestly? They might as well have. Because the whispers had changed. No longer quiet. No longer speculative. Louder now. Sharper. Clearer. War. Real war. Outside my chambers, the palace buzzed like a hornet’s nest kicked in the ribs. I could hear the difference—the shift. The palace no longer sounded like a place where people lived. It sounded like a place getting ready to defend itself. Through the crack of my half-open door, I saw maids rush past, skirts swishing, hands clutching scrolls and sealed letters like lifelines. "...Gods above, who would’ve thought Irethene would attack us?" one whispered. "I heard they crossed the borders with siege weapons," another hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "They came through the Ironwoods," a third murmured. "No one’s done that in over a decade." And then—the last one, in a voice barely more than a breath: "...They say His Majesty might lead the march himself." Each word cut deeper. I sat motionless by the window, hands clasped together too tightly. The blood had long since stopped flowing to my fingers. Behind me, Marella stood still—unnaturally still. I could hear the rustle of her dress when she shifted, just once, like she couldn’t bear to stay silent but didn’t know what to say. Nanny didn’t speak at all. She stood behind me, arms crossed, face set. Her silence wasn’t indifference. It was fear dressed up in discipline. And I... I couldn’t breathe properly. The air inside the palace was changing. The walls—the very stone of them—seemed to know. Something bigger was coming. Something vast and terrible. And I hated that I couldn’t stop it. Then a soft knock broke the stillness. A maid peeked in, pale and nervous. "Princess," she said, her voice careful, "His Majesty requests your presence." I was on my feet before she’d even finished speaking. Marshi rose with me, his tail flicking as he padded after me like a silent shadow. I didn’t wait for Marella. I didn’t wait for Nanny. I just ran—down the corridor, past startled staff and open scrolls and heavy armor being strapped onto imperial knights. "Princess—slow down! You’ll fall!" Nanny called behind me. I didn’t care. I just needed to see him. I needed to see Papa. I needed him to tell me—him, not some whispering servant or trembling noble—that everything would be all right. That we would be okay. That he would come back. The great palace doors loomed ahead—open now—and through them I saw the chaos of preparation. Dozens of knights lined up in polished rows, shining steel and white capes fluttering in the wind. Horses were being saddled. Supplies loaded. Squires ran in every direction like windblown leaves. Grand Duke Regis was issuing orders. Ravick stood by the barracks, already suited in war armor, his blade sheathed but ready. And at the center of it all... was him. Papa. Standing tall in black and crimson, his cloak billowing like a war banner, his eyes scanning everything with that unshakable fire he always wore before something serious. I ran to him, ignoring every shout behind me. "Papa!" He turned instantly. And when I threw myself into his arms, he caught me like he always did—firm and steady, as if nothing in the world could shake him. "Papa..." My voice wobbled. He knelt before me, his gloved hands warm against my arms. "Were you worried, sweetheart?" I nodded, lips trembling. "Are you going to...?" I couldn’t finish. He didn’t make me. Instead, he reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Lavinia," he said gently, "there is nothing I will ever hide from you. You’ve grown too wise for that." I held his gaze, willing myself not to cry. He exhaled—one deep breath—and continued. "The southern border is under threat. A cowardly kingdom tried to break through our defenses. Our soldiers lie wounded... and some won’t return to their families." My chest tightened. "I have to go. To protect what’s ours. To protect our people," he said. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. "Then please... please come back soon, Papa." He pulled me in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Of course." And then—a chill ran through the courtyard. Not from wind. Not from fear. But from him. The Emperor, my Papa. The man the world feared. He stood up, and his voice changed—colder, sharper, wrapped in iron. "...And when I return," he said with a glint in his eye, "I will bring back a gift for your tenth birthday." I blinked. "Tenth?! That’s years away, Papa!" He smiled. Not gently—but like a man ready to wage war for the sake of his daughter’s smile. I stared up at him—stunned, quiet, and unsure whether to be flattered or deeply concerned. He looked down at me, eyes softening just enough to let the warmth show through the steel."And maybe then," he added, with a dangerous kind of tenderness, "the world will finally understand exactly who we are. And who you will become." There it was again—that silent, weighty promise he kept pressing into my palms. That one day, I wouldn’t just be his daughter. I would be someone. And just when I thought we were done with the epic declarations, he pivoted straight into Papa Mode. "Until then..." he rumbled, adjusting my hair, "I hope my dearest daughter will learn how to wield a blade. When I return, we’ll duel." My mouth opened.Closed.Then opened again. Oh great. Fantastic. I just got assigned a war as homework. I stared up at him—this towering, maddeningly powerful emperor I call Papa—and realized there was no room for negotiation. None. So I nodded solemnly, spine straight like a tiny soldier. "I’ll do my best, Papa." He smiled, the kind that warmed and terrified in equal measure, and gently patted my head."Good." Then he pulled me into one of those rare, world-shielding hugs again—the kind that made me feel like nothing could touch me as long as he stood. "Your cousin’s brothers will be here in my absence," he murmured into my hair. "And... you remember what to do if anyone disrespects you. If they defy you. Or try to tarnish your name." I stepped back, looked up, and let the cold settle in my eyes. "I can throw them in the dungeon." He chuckled, proud."Good. That’s my girl." And for a moment, just a heartbeat of one—we were no longer emperor and heir. Just Papa and daughter. Preparing for two very different kinds of war. Then, Nanny stepped forward, clearing her throat, and handed me a silk-wrapped handkerchief. "For His Majesty," she said. "A token from the princess." I took it. My fingers tied the ribbon carefully around the hilt of his sword, and I looked up into his eyes. "Then come back," I whispered. "Before my tenth birthday. I want to celebrate with you. Together." He nodded, that sharp steel in his eyes softening just a little. "Whatever my daughter commands," he said, cupping my cheek. "That... I shall obey." And then he turned—to the knights, to the gate, to the path beyond the palace that led to blood and battle. And I stood there, clutching my sleeves, watching the man I loved more than anything disappear into the war-touched wind. And just like that, it was confirmed. My papa is an idiot. Someone attacked a southern border—a border, not the capital—and he’s decided to wipe an entire kingdom off the map in return. He’s brilliant. He’s brave. He’s terrifying. And he absolutely has a temper. ...And maybe I’m an idiot too. For loving this terrifying tyrant too much. For clinging to the warmth in his rare smiles, for believing that under all that steel and storm, he’s still just my papa. I stood there, silent, as the gates yawned open and the cavalry thundered past like a rolling storm. I tried not to tremble. Because I knew—I knew—what he said, he meant. He will crush that kingdom. He will conquer it. And somehow, everyone will cheer for him while the world burns in his name. But what no one tells you is that conquering a kingdom doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time. Years, sometimes. Years without his voice. His warmth. His hand ruffling my hair or stealing my peaches when he thinks I’m not looking. And as the last of the military escort crossed through the palace gates—banners snapping, hooves pounding—I found myself running forward. I raised both hands and shouted with all the breath I had left. "I LOVE YOU, PAPA! COME BACK SOON!" He flinched in the saddle. Just for a moment. But he didn’t turn back. He rode forward, straight into the horizon—and vanished. And that’s how I was left behind. In a palace too big, too quiet, and suddenly missing the one person who made it feel like home.