Chapter 139: Eye Lasers at Dawn

Chapter 139: Eye Lasers at Dawn [Lavinia’s POV] [Imperial Palace—Dawn Training Grounds] CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. Steel met steel in quick succession, sparks flying under the pale morning sun. Caelum spun to the left, and I twisted to the right—our swords locked mid-air, trembling with force. I gritted my teeth. "Trying to outshine me, are you?" Caelum smirked. "Always, your highness." Oh, that smug little snake. We circled again, blades whirling with speed and rhythm, our boots kicking up dust with every pivot. My hair was tied back, and sweat trickled down my brow like war paint. On the sidelines, watching with crossed arms and unreadable expressions, stood Papa and Ravick. "I think the princess shows natural leadership," Ravick murmured, his eyes keen, observant. Papa nodded slightly. "Hmm..." "What do you think, your majesty?" Ravick asked, eyes shifting to the boy I was sparring with like he owed me money. Papa didn’t answer immediately. Ravick studied him closer. "And whereas Caelum, he’s good. Strong. Good balance. His grip is steady. Honestly, he’s on par with the princess in speed and form—" "I don’t want her equal," Papa cut in coldly. "I want her better." Ravick blinked. "She needs to be stronger than him," Papa continued. "Smarter. Sharper. I want no weaknesses left to exploit." Ravick cleared his throat. "Understood, Your Majesty. I’ll tighten her training schedule." Tighten?! What are we—bolts?! "Lavinia," Papa called. We halted mid-combat, blades still up. I panted slightly, sweat dripping down my temple. "Yes, Papa?" "You can stop." I lowered my sword, slightly limping toward him with all the drama of a royal martyr returning from battle. "Do I... need to improve more?" I asked. Papa gave me the same look he gives unruly ministers. "Yes," he said simply. "You’re still clumsy." Rude. "But—!" I pointed a finger at Caelum, who was wiping his brow and catching his breath. "I’m better than him, right?" There was silence. Papa looked at me. Then at Caelum. Then back at me. Without a word, he took the cloth a servant handed him and wiped the sweat from my forehead like I was still five years old. "Better," he said finally. "Not the best." I groaned, my head falling forward dramatically to rest on his chest like I was a tragic heroine from one of Nanny’s bedtime stories.fre/ew.ebnovel.c om "Sword practice is tough," I mumbled into his tunic. "Tougher than life. Tougher than math. Tougher than diplomacy tea parties." Papa smiled. Actually smiled. Then he patted my head like he was comforting a slightly unhinged kitten. "Don’t worry," he said gently. Then came the cruelty. "I’ll make sure it becomes tougher." I stared at him. Absolutely dumbfounded. "That didn’t help, Papa." He turned away with all the subtlety of a smug villain, hands folded behind his back. "The day you beat me in a duel," he said over his shoulder, "is the day you will be the best." Caelum, now standing straight again, nodded seriously. "That’s fair." Ravick added with a shrug, "That’s how the Emperor measures love. Through suffering." I groaned, my sword clattering beside me as I sprawled across the training mat like a fallen knight. "I should’ve just lived as a pretty princess who collects cats." Papa didn’t look back. "Too late," he said. Because, of course. Of course it was. Then, just as I was contemplating faking a fainting spell to skip tomorrow’s torture—I mean, training—Osric walked into the sparring ground. Cool. Calm. Polished as ever. He bowed deeply first to Papa, then to me. "Greetings, Your Majesty. Your Highness, Crown Princess." I gave him a small grin, still lounging on the training mat like a war-torn martyr. "You arrived early today, Osric." He offered a mild smile. "I finished my duties ahead of schedule, Your Highness." And that’s when I felt it. That shift in the air. Like the temperature had dropped. I glanced at Papa—who was staring at Osric like every molecule in his imperial blood had declared this man a personal enemy. Honestly, if looks could set people on fire, Osric would already be ash. Osric, of course, noticed. Everyone noticed. You could feel the brooding through the silence. Papa narrowed his eyes and said, flatly, "Ravick. Let this man guard Lavinia today and you follow me." Ravick blinked. "Yes, Your Majesty." Then Papa turned to Osric—his expression now upgraded to ’murder with patience.’ "I’m leaving her with you today," he said, voice calm. Deadly calm. "If anything happens..." He didn’t even finish the sentence. Because he didn’t need to. The unspoken threat hung in the air like smoke from a battlefield. Osric bowed with the grace of a man who’s used to standing near death. "Understood, Your Majesty." And then—Papa was gone. Like a storm exiting a field. And the moment he disappeared around the corner— SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH. Osric and I exhaled like we’d both just finished holding our breath underwater for seven straight minutes. Even the guards visibly relaxed. I stood up, brushing dust off my tunic with a huff. "I wonder when he’ll stop being this dramatic?" Osric fell into step beside me as we made our way back toward my estate. "He is the Emperor," he said lightly. "I think the drama is... inherited." I shot him a look. "Excuse you." He smirked. I ignored him and looked around. "Anyway, where is my divine beast?" Osric pointed toward the flower garden. "He’s... uh... chasing butterflies." ... ... ... I blinked. Tilted my head. "Sometimes," I said slowly, "I genuinely question if he’s actually a divine beast." Osric didn’t hesitate. "He is." "Really?" "Absolutely." "Trained by the gods?" "Undoubtedly." "Worshipped by ancient civilizations?" "Probably has temples." We both looked over at Marshmallow—a creature so massive he made palace guards nervous—currently bouncing across flowerbeds like an overgrown puffball, his enormous tail wagging like a happy cloud as he pounced after butterflies in utter, childlike joy. At one point, he missed a fluttering one and rolled twice down a slope like a furry boulder. "...He just did a somersault," I said blankly. "On purpose," Osric said seriously. "It’s his... divine warm-up ritual." I squinted. "You’re lying." "I’m being supportive." Marshmallow paused mid-chase, looked up at us from his flower-covered mess of fur, then sneezed. A giant, regal sneeze. That startled the birds in the trees. And maybe shook a bush. I pressed my fingers to my temple. "We have a war beast blessed by the heavens. And he’s currently trying to befriend a butterfly." "Could be intel gathering," Osric offered. I stared at him. He stared back. We both burst into laughter. And somehow, despite Papa’s terrifying aura, my aching muscles, and my eternal sword calluses—I felt light. Because in this absurd, chaotic palace full of pressure, politics, and paranoia... I had my divine beast. I had my best knight. And even if I was currently being trained like the next War God— Maybe... It wasn’t all bad. The sun was shining, the garden was peaceful, and Marshmallow was now lying dramatically in a patch of daisies like he’d just conquered the butterfly kingdom and was taking a well-earned nap. Peace. Sweet, fleeting pea— "Is there something funny?" "GAHHHHH!" I yelped, nearly leaping out of my skin. Caelum had appeared beside me like a shadow with bad timing and worse manners. Osric narrowed his eyes instantly, his hand twitching toward his sword like he was considering justifiable homicide. I did the more reasonable thing, and—BONK! Right on Caelum’s head. He flinched. "Ow! Princess!"f.(r)eewe/bnov\ll.com "You idiot," I snapped, glaring at him. "Make some noise next time you decide to materialize out of thin air! You scared me more than Papa’s ’Let’s Duel’ face!" Caelum rubbed the spot on his head with an exaggerated groan. "Why do I always end up getting hit by you? On the training ground, in the library, now in the garden—" "Because you deserve it," Osric cut in, voice like a dagger dipped in frost. And just like that— Round 438: Osric vs. Caelum. They locked eyes. The air around them crackled. I swear I saw a squirrel flee the scene. "I asked the Princess," Caelum said tightly, lips curled in annoyance. "Not you, Lord Osric." "Oh, I know," Osric said with a perfectly polite smile that somehow felt like it carried a kill count. "But I also know exactly what she’d say, Bast—oh, sorry—Caelum." Caelum’s eye twitched. "Why do you always pretend to know her so well, my lord? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?" Osric tilted his head, smirking coolly. "I’m not pretending. I do know her. We grew up together, remember? Shared years. Stories. Secrets. Tea." He let that word linger like a challenge. Caelum scoffed, "Oh, congratulations. Do you want a medal for being her childhood bookmark?" Osric’s smirk sharpened. "I’ll take a crown, actually." Okay, enough of this testosterone-fueled nonsense. Meanwhile, me—the one they were fighting over like I was some kind of ceremonial sword? I just looked down at Marshmallow, who had rolled onto his back and was now snoring peacefully, his tongue flopped out like a majestic idiot. "Let’s go, Marshi," I sighed, stepping over the simmering testosterone puddle. "Before these two burn the garden down with their eye lasers." Marshmallow blinked awake, stretched, and lumbered after me like a fluffy tank. Behind me, I could still hear them. "She doesn’t even like strong tea." "She pretended to like yours so you’d stop talking." "Oh really—" "Gentlemen," I called sweetly over my shoulder. "If either of you starts a duel right now, I swear I will lock you both in the imperial wine cellar with Theon. You’ll never make it out." Silence. Victory. I smirked and strode back into the palace with Marshmallow marching beside me like the fluffiest bodyguard in history. He was still wearing a flower crown. I didn’t stop him. He looked majestic. And for a moment, it really did feel like everything was in place. Like the empire was steady. Like the sky wouldn’t fall today. But what I didn’t know—What none of us could’ve known—Was that this peaceful day... this perfectly normal, sunny, butterfly-chasing day... Would unravel. That by nightfall, Osric would be thrown into the dungeons.