Chapter 128: Sword Lessons & Secret Blushes

Chapter 128: Sword Lessons & Secret Blushes [Lavinia’s POV] [Imperial Training Grounds—Early Morning, Way Too Early] I was not ready. I was not emotionally ready. I was not physically ready. I was definitely not spiritually ready. And yet—there I was. In full training gear. A sword in one hand. Sleep still clinging to my eyelashes like a stubborn ghost. And Papa was standing in front of me, looking like he’d already battled ten armies and written a report about it before breakfast. "Are you awake?" he asked, his tone as flat as a scroll. I blinked, still drowsy. "I’ve been awake for exactly seventeen minutes and forty seconds," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "My brain is still loading, Papa. I can barely remember which end of the sword is the stabby part." "Good," he said calmly, completely ignoring the tragic state of my existence. "That’s about as long as it takes for someone to ambush you in real life." I groaned. Seriously—who gave him the idea that early morning swordfights were character development? Who does this? Why does he do this? He woke me up before the sun, saying, "Let’s go check your homework." That was a lie. A brutal, glitter-wrapped lie. Ravick was standing beside us, arms crossed, watching us like we were a drama he regretted buying tickets for. Marshi was blinking blearily from the corner like he deeply resented everyone involved. "Papa..." I whimpered, dragging my feet, "Let’s start with warm-up first. Like... walking in a straight line without tripping?" Papa walked over and tapped the flat of his sword against mine with zero sympathy. "You already know how to walk. Now you’ll learn how to fight." I scowled. "You make that sound so simple." "It is," he said with a shrug. "Defend yourself." "Wait, wha—" Clack! I yelped as our swords collided—barely in time. The shock rattled down my arms like lightning in a teacup. My feet skidded back, barely holding ground. "Papa!" "That was a warning." "That was a declaration of war!" He didn’t even blink. "You have to be ready. Your enemy won’t wait for you to finish yawning." "I’m your daughter!" "And your enemy might not care." I glared at him through sleep-heavy lashes. "You are the worst pillow replacement I’ve ever had." He smirked. Smirked. Like this was funny. Which it was not. It was cruel. Vicious. Barbaric. He took a graceful step back and gestured again, calm as moonlight. "Come. Show me what you’ve learned from the last three years." I sighed with the force of a dying comet and lifted my sword. "This better count as physical education credit." I lunged. Papa parried me again—easily. Too easily. Like he was brushing dust off his sleeve. I stumbled and caught myself just before falling face-first into the dirt. "Again," he said, voice patient but firm. I swung. He blocked. I tried to dodge. He advanced. His strikes were fast but always controlled—never too hard, never aiming to hurt me. Just enough to test me. Push me. Make me stronger. Sweat began to form on my forehead. My arms ached. My feet fumbled over gravel. But I didn’t stop. "Again." He spun away, and I barely saw it coming. His sword swept low, aimed for my knees—not to strike, but to force me to jump. I squeaked and leapt—awkwardly—then tripped over my own foot and landed on one knee with a graceless huff. He didn’t laugh. He offered no sarcastic comment. He simply extended a hand and pulled me to my feet. His eyes—always steel and frost—softened just a fraction. "Lavinia," he said, quieter now. "There will always be knights to guard the gates. Commanders to ride at your side. Generals to lead your armies." I panted, leaning slightly on my sword. "But a ruler," he continued, "must never forget that they are still human. And humans bleed." He stepped back, resting the tip of his blade against the earth. "If someone were to breach the throne room. If every knight fell. If no one remained..." His gaze locked with mine. Fierce. Proud. Unbreakable. "You must still stand. You must still protect yourself. Fight. Live. End it if you must." My heartbeat echoed in my ears. "Strength," he said, "is not about swinging hardest. It’s about being the last one standing." The wind rustled the trees overhead. I stood, breathless, sword heavy in my hand. "I’m... still learning," I whispered. "And you will learn," he said. "Because you’re my daughter. And one day, you’re going to be stronger than anyone." His words sank into my chest like a glowing ember. And even though I was tired and sore and thoroughly done with mornings in general—something inside me shifted. "I’m not letting you win next time," I mumbled, lifting my sword again. He smirked—sharp, proud, and just a little fond. "Good," he said, voice low with approval. "That’s what I expect from you." Then, gently—unexpectedly—he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was warm and grounding. "Remember this, Lavinia," he said, his gaze locking with mine. "You must become the strongest. So strong that no coward, no traitor, no would-be assassin dares to even think of harming you." His voice grew quieter—heavier. "That’s how a ruler survives. That’s how a ruler reigns. Strong. Unyielding. Feared when necessary... but tender—if only to a chosen few." I stared at him. It was strange... the way he said it. Like he wasn’t just telling me what to become. He was confessing what he already is. Cruel, yes. The world calls him a tyrant. But I’ve also seen the laws he enforces. The ones that shield the poor, protect the weak, and punish the greedy nobles who once bled the people dry. The way the citizens cheered for him during the parade... They didn’t just fear him. They believed in him. And in that moment, I realized something. No matter how cold Papa acts. No matter how terrifying he looks on the battlefield. There’s a reason his empire stands stronger than any other. Because he carries it—every inch of it—on his own two shoulders. I smiled up at him, soft but certain. "I’ll make sure I become like you, Papa," I said quietly. "Maybe even better." For a second, his expression faltered. Just a flicker. Barely there. But then he smiled—genuine, rare, and quiet. The kind that made the morning sun feel a little warmer. "...Shall we have breakfast?" he asked. I grinned, slinging my sword over my shoulder like a true warrior princess. "Only if there’s jam." He chuckled, saying, "Sure." *** [Imperial Palace—Study Room, Later] After breakfast, I barely survived two full hours of royal history, political geography, and what I can only describe as "The Art of Sitting Still Without Losing Your Soul." As soon as the lessons ended, I stretched my arms like I was reaching for another dimension. My spine cracked. My soul wept. My brain leaked out slightly. Teacher Evelyn gave me a gentle, knowing smile. "You look tired, Princess." I groaned and flopped forward dramatically onto the table, cheek smooshed against my notes. "Papa woke me at the crack of dawn for sword practice," I mumbled. "Now I’m sleepy... but also weirdly too annoyed to nap. What kind of pathetic emotional contradiction is this?" Teacher Evelyn chuckled. "Sounds like His Majesty is making sure our future Empress is diligent, not drowsy." I cracked one eye open and scowled playfully. "But I am responsible." She raised a single elegant brow. "Mmm. Responsible, yes. But only about... twenty percent. The other eighty percent?" She leaned in. "Gloriously lazy." Tch. Rude. And tragically accurate. "...I can’t even argue," I mumbled into the desk. Teacher Evelyn laughed softly. Then she gave a formal bow. "Well then, I’ll take my leave, Princess. Do rest well." I gave a sleepy salute. "Take care, Teacher." She exited gracefully, the train of her robes whispering behind her like petals in the wind. I sighed and slumped into Marshi, who was lying curled up beside the bookshelves like a fluffy cloud with teeth. "Let’s go, Marshi..." He groaned in protest—probably because I was using him as mobile furniture—but stood anyway. Loyal and grumbly. As we stepped into the hallway, Ravick was already standing outside. He fell into step beside us. "Where are we headed, Princess?" I yawned. "To my chamber. I’m going to read that dusty old book Papa brought me. The one about divine beasts and tea stains." Ravick nodded, expression unreadable as always. But as we passed the arched corridor facing the garden... I stopped. Paused. Squinted. "Wait... didn’t Teacher Evelyn just leave?" Ravick followed my gaze and frowned slightly. "She did." "Then why is she in the garden?" I asked, pointing. "And more importantly... why is she blushing so hard she might explode?" Her usually porcelain face was now brighter than strawberry glaze. She had her hands tucked behind her back and was smiling—shyly—at someone out of view. "...Is she talking to someone?" I whispered. "She is," Ravick muttered, narrowing his eyes like he was assessing a security breach. "But I can’t see who." I gasped. "Ravick." "Yes?" "She’s blushing like she’s talking to her boyfriend." Ravick blinked. Then his eyes widened. Then we both ducked behind a nearby pillar with military-level urgency. Even Marshi crouched—poorly—trying to blend in despite his giant, glowing body being the exact opposite of subtle. I peeked around the marble. Still couldn’t see. "Too many roses," I whispered. "We need a better angle," Ravick said, all spy-mode now. "If we move behind that tree, we’ll get a clearer view." I nodded solemnly. "Operation: Forbidden Garden Romance is a go." We shuffled like elite squirrels across the lawn, hid behind a bush, then moved again—finally ducking behind a wide cherry blossom tree just ten feet from Teacher Evelyn. I slowly—dramatically—peeked around the trunk. And that’s when we saw him. Tall. Smirking. Looking just as hopelessly charmed as she was. Me and Ravick gasped at the exact same time, eyes wide, voices barely above a horrified whisper. "THEON."