Chapter 125: Before the Parade

Chapter 125: Before the Parade [Lavinia’s Pov] It took an eternity to choose a dress. And when Marella and Nanny joined forces? Oh, forget eternity. We went back in time. There were swatches. There were debates. At one point, I’m pretty sure someone brought out a cape made of enchanted starlight and actual moon thread. Marella cried. Nanny almost fainted. I may have tried to escape through a window. But in the end... we settled on a dress. A glorious, dramatic, everything-a-future-empress-deserves kind of dress. And now? Now I was tired. Slightly glittered. And craving my favorite thing in the entire world. "Ugh," I groaned, flopping onto a couch for a second. "I miss Papa." I jumped up. "Let’s go see him!" And just like that, I dashed out of the chamber, Marshi bounding after me with the enthusiasm of a divine beast who knew there were probably sugar cubes in his immediate future. We reached Papa’s office in record time. And I did what any mature, well-mannered royal child would do. I kicked open the door. "YOUR DARLING DAUGHTER IS HERE, PAPA!" Theon flinched so hard he dropped his quill. Papa didn’t even blink. Didn’t look up from his papers. I just calmly moved a teacup out of Marshi’s landing zone as my beast friend strolled in growling, like he was judging the architecture. I marched straight to the giant couch—already eyeing the delicate plate of perfectly arranged desserts beside the parchment mountain. "Oh look," I said sweetly, plopping onto the couch. "Someone set out snacks just for me." Papa still hadn’t looked up. "I thought you were here for me," he said flatly. I paused, mid-bite, a sugared tart halfway to my mouth. "I am," I replied, munching. "We’re just conveniently in the same room." He finally looked at me—expression so dry it could start a drought. "Mm. How lucky I am." I smiled with full, sugary confidence. "You’re welcome." Without warning, he stood, walked around the desk, and sat beside me on the couch like it was a throne—and promptly snatched the rest of my dessert. "Hey!" I yelped, hands reaching too late. "That was mine!" "That’s enough," he said, far too pleased with himself. "I don’t want my daughter gaining unnecessary pounds." I gasped so hard it echoed. "Are you trying to call me fat?" "I’m trying to call you sensible," he replied coolly. "Which you won’t be if you keep inhaling sugar like a dessert demon." I narrowed my eyes. "So... that’s a yes." He didn’t answer. Just bit into the tart. Rude. I huffed and leaned dramatically against him, arms crossed, voice full of betrayal. "Fine. I won’t eat. I’ll waste away. That’s on you, Your Majesty." He chuckled, brushing a few crumbs off my sleeve with exaggerated care. "My future Empress, always so dramatic." "It’s a talent." "I’ve noticed." For a moment, the room settled into quiet again—comfortable, warm. His arm looped around my shoulder. I let myself melt into the familiar safety of him. Then he asked, his voice softer now, "How was training?" "Good," I said, suddenly perked up. "Very good, actually." He hummed. "I heard you were sparring with Caelum today." I grinned like a cat with secrets. "Yep." He raised a brow. "And?" "And..." I tilted my head with mock modesty. "I almost knocked him flat on his royal backside." Papa let out a rare, genuine laugh and patted my head with quiet pride. "Good. That’s exactly why I let him train with you. Never forget, Lavinia—you have to be better than him. Stronger. One day, you’ll need to face him." I blinked, tilting my head. "You say that like... he’s going to become the greatest swordfighter in the future." Something shifted in his face. The warmth didn’t vanish—it paused. Like a door left open just wide enough to glimpse what was behind it. He didn’t meet my eyes right away. His fingers, mid-pat, went still. Then, soft but steady—like a truth wrapped in steel—he said, "He won’t be. Not this time. We can change the future." I stared at him. Not we will.We can. Like the future had already been written. Like he’d read the last page. And like I... was the ink that could rewrite it. He didn’t explain. And I didn’t ask. I just leaned into him again—let his presence chase away the chill his words left behind. For a while, we sat like that. The soft clink of teacups. Marshi’s rhythmic tail thumping against the carpet. Somewhere far away, the palace bells chimed a new hour. I smiled to myself. Because even if Papa carried some quiet war in his heart... Tomorrow was coming. And it was going to be amazing. "I get to see the city, Papa," I whispered, more to the room than to him. "For the first time. Our city. Our people." He glanced at me, his eyes soft again. "Yes." "I want to remember everything," I said, wide-eyed. "Every sound. Every smile. I want to wave so much my arm falls off." He chuckled. "Let’s aim for a sprain at most." I giggled, then curled close again, half-asleep, half-on-fire with the thought of what tomorrow held. Because tomorrow wasn’t just my birthday. It was our birthday. And finally—finally—I would step into the empire. Not just as a child.But as the girl who would shape its future. *** [Imperial Palace—Grand Banquet Hall, Before the Parade] The imperial banquet hall looked like someone had challenged the stars to a beauty contest and won. Every chandelier sparkled like a constellation. The long tables were dressed in silk so fine I was afraid to breathe near them. Candles floated midair, flickering with golden light, and enchanted instruments played soft melodies in the background—even though there were no musicians in sight. And in the center of it all? Me and Papa. Wearing a crown of moonlace and a dress woven from shimmering silk that shifted colors with every step I took—I felt like a walking rainbow with imperial authority. I was ten years old now. Double digits. Basically ancient. Papa... was as handsome and as tyrannical as ever. The banquet hall sparkled around me, filled with nobles, silk, and enough desserts to collapse a lesser kingdom. I wanted to stand on my chair and raise my goblet of sparkling cider like a war horn. "To me!" I almost shouted. But I didn’t. I remained dignified. Mostly. Papa had arranged the banquet early—hours before the official post-parade madness began—because, in his exact words: "I will not be greeting a single bastard noble after the parade. They can toast the air if they like. I’ll be in my chambers." Truly, the man radiated birthday cheer. Then—like a storm in the middle of a sunbeam—Grandpa Thalein barreled through the guests with a goblet in one hand and a silk napkin he’d been using to wipe his tears in the other. "OH MY GOSH!" he wailed, his voice cracking like thunder over sugar. "LOOK AT HER! MY PRECIOUS GIRL! SO BEAUTIFUL! SO ELEGANT! SO... SO... TALL!" I blinked. "I grew an inch." "AN INCH CLOSER TO ADULTHOOD!" Grandpa sobbed, dramatically clutching his heart. "SOON! OH, SOON—SHE WILL BE OF AGE—AND THEN—THEN SHE’LL GET MARRI—" "NO," Papa cut in, so sharply it felt like the entire room tilted. Grandpa froze mid-rhapsody. "...Huh?" All eyes turned to Papa—regal, chilling, and supremely unimpressed—with a glass of red wine dangling lazily from his fingers. "She won’t," Papa repeated, calm and clear, like he’d just said the sky was blue and the earth spun at his command. Grandpa blinked. "But—but—marri—?" "I won’t let any bastard wander near her," Papa said, his tone as dry as the southern desert and twice as dangerous. "Not one." There was a beat of silence. Then Grandpa sniffled and lowered his goblet with a quiet, thoughtful nod. "That... is the wisest decision you’ve made in ten years." "I agree," said Brother Soren, chewing a macaroon with deep sincerity. "Bastards are the worst." "Truly," added Cousin Lysandre, adjusting his monocle with great solemnity. "Nothing good has ever come from letting men near beautiful girls with thrones." I blinked. "Um... I’m literally sitting right here." Papa sipped his wine, eyes still on the horizon like he was plotting assassination via glare. Grandpa Thalein dabbed his eyes with his napkin again. "Don’t you worry, darling. If any wretched, lily-livered, sharp-jawed fool so much as breathes in your direction—your Papa will murder him." "...Great," I muttered. "That’s exactly what every ten-year-old girl dreams of. Unmarried forever, living in a tower, surrounded by guards and weeping family members." Papa raised a brow. "You say that like it’s a bad thing." I groaned. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Osric staring at him with wide, stunned eyes, like he’d just heard the Emperor renounce gravity. I frowned, nudging Marshi beside me. "Why does he look like Papa just declared war on common sense?" Marshi let out a low growl, as if to say, "How would I know?" Then Theon leaned forward, ever the picture of composed panic. "It’s time for the parade, Your Majesty," he said gently to Papa. Papa rose without delay, cloak settling like a thundercloud around his shoulders. His eyes met mine. "Come," he said, offering his hand. "It’s time." I blinked up at him. Then I smiled. Because it really was. I took his hand, standing tall, the moonlace crown shimmering on my head. My heart thudded louder than any trumpet could ever sound. It was time to see my city.My people.My empire. For the very first time.