Chapter 131: Dance Floor Diplomacy (And Other Disasters)

Chapter 131: Dance Floor Diplomacy (And Other Disasters) [Lavinia’s POV] [Imperial Palace—Practice Room, a.k.a. Dance Floor of Doom] "OUUUUUCH!!!" Theon let out a very dramatic, very manly yelp as I once again landed my heel squarely on his foot for what had to be the fifth time. "Princess," he groaned, hopping slightly on one leg like a limping knight, "are you... Are you trying to stab my poor legs with your heels?!" I gasped in mock horror. "How dare you accuse me of such villainy!" He pointed accusingly at his now-wounded pride (and toes). "You aimed for it, Your Highness. That was a precision strike!" I quickly turned to Lady Evelyne, who was watching us with that serene teacher expression that said: I’m too elegant to get involved in this chaos. I jabbed a finger toward her like I was exposing a traitor at court. "It was HER. She’s teaching me wrong!" Theon blinked. "Wait—what?!" "She’s deliberately setting me up to fail!" I declared, arms crossed dramatically. "Look at those moves! Too spinny! Too swooshy!" Lady Evelyne blinked, still graceful, still unreadable. Theon looked scandalized. "Princess! You can’t just... accuse her!" I turned to him slowly, raising one brow like I was about to recite a royal decree. "Why can’t I?" "Because—because—" he stammered, already regretting everything. I leaned forward with a dangerous grin. "Don’t forget, Theon, I’m the Crown Princess. I can do anything." Behind him, Ravick let out a low, choking laugh he tried (and failed) to disguise as a cough. Theon wailed like an emotionally betrayed potato. "That’s a power misuse! You’re—you’re turning into the Emperor!" I flipped my hair and said flatly, "Because I AM his daughter, duh." He stared at me, horrified, like he just watched me set democracy on fire with a tiara. "Goddess above," he whispered. "There’s two of them now." I smirked. Lady Evelyne finally spoke, ever so gently, "Your Highness, perhaps we should try the waltz without pointy threats to your partner’s feet." "Agreed," Theon groaned, rubbing his toes like a wounded soldier. "But this is your fault," I added sweetly. "HOW?!" he cried. "Because," I said, spinning away with a swirl of skirt and sass, "you agreed to help." Ravick, now leaning against the pillar, was shaking with silent laughter. The only reason he hadn’t completely lost it was probably because Marella and Nanny were watching with very deeply concerned expressions. Bless them. They still didn’t know the full story. The secret rose bush scandal. The hidden blushing. The tucked hair. Theon’s protective instincts. Lady Evelyne’s poetry sighs. Oh yes. Only Ravick and I had witnessed the forbidden imperial romance blooming like spring behind the cherry blossoms. Just as Theon was still nursing his tragically bruised pride—and his even more tragically bruised foot—the grand double doors creaked open with the ominous elegance of a thundercloud crashing an afternoon tea. Everyone in the room froze. Except for me. Because in stepped— Papa. His Majesty. The Emperor. Ice King Supreme. Professional Mood Killer of All Romantically Chaotic Activities. Every person in that room instantly straightened up like marionettes on royal strings. Bows happened. Curtsies happened. Even Marshi, who was not technically in the room, somehow sensed the shift in power and sneezed in solidarity from two corridors away. Papa’s gaze swept over us with that sharp, glacial calm that could silence an orchestra. His voice was cold velvet as he asked, "What’s going on here?" I twirled dramatically—like an over-caffeinated fairy at a kingdom ball—and sang sweetly, "I’m practicing dance, Papa~!" Papa twitched. Like, visibly. And then, under his breath—but not quiet enough—he growled, "I can’t believe that bastard will be holding my daughter’s hand." Ah. There it is. He’s still in a full emotional tailspin over my upcoming dance with Osric. A+ parenting, honestly. Unbothered, I floated over to him like a diplomatic cherub and said with the sweetest of grins, "Papa... Do you want to practice with me?" He blinked. Stared at me. His mouth twitched like he was trying not to combust. Before he could answer— "DON’T, YOUR MAJESTY!!" Theon wailed from across the room like a knight who’d just witnessed a tragedy. He limped toward us like an injured war hero, one hand on his heart, the other dramatically pointing at me like I’d committed a high crime against his person. "Your Majesty," he said, with the most betrayed voice in the empire, "with all due respect, your daughter just... stepped on my foot." He paused. Then added, in the most heartbroken, soul-destroyed, Shakespearean way imaginable: "Deliberately." The room fell silent. Even the curtains stopped swaying. Time itself took a polite step back. I didn’t react. I just stared at him. Like, really? We’re doing this? And Papa—he didn’t blink. He didn’t twitch. He didn’t even flinch. He just coldly replied in that deathly calm emperor tone that made warlords tremble and diplomats reconsider their life choices: "Perhaps your foot should learn to move faster." Dead. Silence. Theon’s mouth dropped open like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Lady Evelyne gasped into her fan and then snorted. Yes. Snorted. She tried to cover it with a cough, but the damage was done. Nanny looked horrified. Marella looked like she was internally screaming. Ravick? Ravick looked like he was trying not to laugh so hard he’d pull a muscle. Even the harpsichord in the corner might’ve wheezed. I folded my arms and turned back to Theon with a perfectly royal blink. "Well. That settles that." "You—you really are turning into the Emperor," Theon muttered, completely offended and absolutely terrified. I smiled up at Papa sweetly, lacing my voice with just the right amount of mock offense. "Is that a compliment?" Papa didn’t even hesitate. "It is," he said flatly, folding his arms. Then, tilting his head toward poor Theon, he added coolly, "And I can confirm it directly... from him." Theon looked like someone had just publicly declared him the founding member of the National Defeated Knights Association. He blinked. Twice. Then dramatically limped to the corner like a wounded war hero retreating into exile. "I am done," he announced mournfully, plopping onto a bench like it had personally betrayed him. "I am not practicing anymore. Not until I have protective footwear and a signed letter of apology from the crown." I chuckled, folding my arms smugly as I watched him curl into his grumpy little foot-hurt cocoon. Then I turned to Papa, eyes glinting. "Papa... shall we practice?" He blinked at me, surprised. "We?" I held out my hand with all the royal grace of a fairy-tale heroine preparing to charm a reluctant ogre. "Yes. You. Me. Dramatic music. Imperial bonding. Come on." Papa sighed—but there was a tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes as he took my hand. And then— WHOOOOSH. He twirled me. Hard. The wind screamed past my ears. My braid nearly took flight. I spun so fast I saw my own past lives. "PAPA—!" I yelped. "You’re twirling me like I’m a battle axe!" He smirked. SMIRKED. "It’s not too fast. You’re too slow." "I—what?! How dare—!" I stumbled mid-spin, catching my balance just in time to glare at him with maximum wounded drama. "Are you trying to injure your dearest, most beautiful, most charming daughter? The future of the empire?" Papa raised one brow. "If that’s how you dance in public, I may reconsider the future part." I gasped. Gasped. Loudly. Like I was in a court play titled ’Betrayed by My Own Father: A Lavinian Tragedy.’ "I will have you know I am the epitome of ballroom elegance," I declared, huffing. Then pointed firmly to my left, "Ravick. You’re dancing with me. Let’s show the emperor what grace actually looks like." Ravick, who had been watching all this with his usual barely-suppressed amusement, bowed low. "As Her Highness commands." He stepped forward, hand outstretched, expression composed. But I caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, he knew this was going to be fun. I placed my hand in his with the elegance of a girl who absolutely hadn’t just spun like a confused flamingo. We began to move. Slowly. Gracefully. Our steps were light, practiced, and in sync. One-two-three. One-two-three. No crushed toes. No tragic yelps. No dying knights in corners. Lady Evelyne clutched her fan with delight. "She did it!" Marella blinked. Papa... was watching. Closely. His arms were folded. His expression was unreadable. But his eyebrow? That royal brow of doom? It twitched. Oh, yes. Victory. I turned my head slightly and whispered to Ravick, just loud enough for Papa to hear: "See? I can dance. Just needed a better partner." Papa exhaled. Long and slow. "I’m rewriting the ballroom laws." I let out a tiny, victorious giggle. Ravick smirked behind his professional poker face. And then—A sigh. A deep, soul-weary sigh echoed from the corner. Theon. "Finally," he muttered, flopping back dramatically against the wall. "Now I can have time with Lady Evelyne." ... ... The room froze. Like literally froze. I swear the temperature dropped five degrees. Even Marshi stopped snoring in the hallway. Lady Evelyne blinked like someone had just thrown cold water on her tea. I blinked. Ravick blinked. Even Marella dropped her fan. I cleared my throat. "Uhh... he slipped out." Ravick said without blinking. "I agree, it was... a slip." Papa’s glare intensified. Like solar-flare levels of intensity. His voice came out low. Dangerous. "What... did you just say?" Theon’s eyes widened in real-time horror. He looked like a man who had just remembered he was standing on a minefield. "I—I didn’t mean—what I meant was—I was talking about—uh—tea! Time! With—uh—books—" Papa stood straighter. Theon panicked. And then—He blurted. Loud. Clear. Bold. "I AM GONNA MARRY HER IN THE FUTURE!!" Silence. Total. Utter. Silence. Then, the shuffle of his boots as Theon bolted out of the room like a man escaping his own execution. Lady Evelyne stood frozen. Marella gasped. Ravick blinked twice. Papa’s soul momentarily left his body. And I? I smiled like a little chaos gremlin who had just been served the spiciest gossip of the decade. Oh. This was so going into my journal.