Chapter 144: From Dungeons to Declarations

Chapter 144: From Dungeons to Declarations [Lavinia’s POV—Dawnspire Wing, Her Chamber] I plopped backward onto the absurdly fluffy mountain of pillows with a groan so dramatic, the bards outside probably thought I was dying again. "Thank the gods," I mumbled, "finally alone. Blessedly horizontal. No lectures, no tears, no glowing elf hands on my throat. Just peace... soft sheets... and sweet, sacred silence." I closed my eyes, relishing the moment. It was so quiet I could almost hear the palace breathing around me. "I wonder..." I whispered into the air, "when Osric’s coming ba—" THUMP. Heavy. Very heavy. Too heavy. I cracked one eye open. A giant golden paw flopped across my stomach like an affectionate sack of bricks. Then— SLURP. My cheek was suddenly under siege from a rough, wet tongue. "Marshi!" I yelped, swatting at the massive, glittering furball now sprawled entirely on top of me like a sentient mattress. He chuffed happily, tail swishing like a battle flag in victory. His big, stupid divine beast eyes sparkled with affection. Golden fur shimmered like sunlit flame, and he purred deep in his throat—loud enough to shake my bones. "I—I can see you’re thrilled to see me alive," I wheezed, face smushed under his chin. "But Marshi, darling love of my life, if you keep lying on me like this—I’m going to die again." He responded by licking my eyebrow. I was smothered. This was it. This was how I’d go: flattened by a celestial tiger who loved too hard. "I survived poison for this," I grunted. "Truly poetic." And then— "PRINCESSSS." My head flopped sideways like a defeated pancake. I cracked open one eye again. There he was. Osric. Standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath like he’d run here, eyes wide with too many feelings he’d never say out loud. I raised a single, limp hand in greeting. "Welcome back from the dungeon," I rasped. "I trust you had a lovely vacation." He blinked. And then— That rare thing. He smiled. Not the polite, knightly version. The real one. "I did," he said, stepping forward. "The accommodations were... rustic. But the company—well, the rats were friendly." I snorted. "How are you feeling, Princess?" I gestured dramatically at my situation. "If this divine beast doesn’t get off me soon, please start planning my funeral. Open casket. Embroidered gown. Lots of dramatic sobbing." Osric chuckled, gaze drifting to Marshi—who had not moved an inch, mind you—and then back to me. "He’s missed you." "I can tell," I deadpanned, pinned under four hundred pounds of celestial fluff. "I feel so loved. And also, mildly crushed." Osric stepped closer, eyes warm. Then he crouched slightly and patted Marshi on the head like he was a misbehaving toddler instead of a sacred apex predator. "There, there, Marshi. Your master is alive and well... but if you don’t get off her, I’ll have to resuscitate her again. And she will make me pay for it." Marshi blinked. Then, with the grand dignity only divine creatures possess, he sloooooowly rolled off me and curled beside the bed, tail flicking like he hadn’t just tried to smother me with love. I exhaled dramatically, arms flopping out. "That felt like hiking up a mountain. While wearing three cloaks. And armor." Osric stood again, chuckling under his breath. "Glad to see your spirit is still... lively." I narrowed my eyes. "That sounded dangerously close to mockery, Sir Dungeoned." He didn’t deny it. He just looked at me. And then—he didn’t stop looking. Our eyes met, held, and for a heartbeat longer than normal, neither of us moved. The air between us shifted. Something unspoken passed. Something warm. And heavy. Then softly—he spoke. "Thank you." I blinked. "For what?" Before I could blink again, he stepped closer and reached out—fingers wrapping around mine like a promise. "For not dying," he said, voice quiet. Honest. "I guess." I stared down at our hands, now tangled together in a way that felt... familiar and foreign all at once. We’d held hands before. Of course we had. We’d danced at court balls, we’d walked through palace corridors during winter festivals. He’d kissed the back of my hand like a good knight more times than I could count in the name of greetings. But this? This wasn’t ceremony. His hand felt warm. Real. Unshaking. Like he was anchoring me—not to duty, not to tradition—but to him. I looked up at him and smiled gently. "Don’t worry... I won’t leave you alone. Not until you decide to walk away from me of your own will." His grip tightened, just enough to make my heart hiccup. "I will never leave your side, Princess," he said, firm and steady. "Not even death could drag me away." ...Oh. Well. Now my lungs were doing funny things. There was a beat of silence. Marshi’s tail flicked once beside me. The divine beast, who had been pretending to be asleep, was definitely listening now. (Traitor.) I glanced at Osric again and cleared my throat, trying to will away the strange warmth creeping up my neck. "Well then," I said quickly, pointing toward Marshi without looking away, "you’ve just made a very dramatic promise... and he"—I jabbed a finger at my tiger—"is the divine witness now." Marshi lifted his head, gave a solemn blink, and let out a low rumble that translated to something like: Noted. Sworn. Logged for future judgment. I smiled and leaned back into Marshi’s warm side, snuggling into golden fur. "Alright, I’m going to sleep now. If anyone tries to kill me again, tell them I’m off-duty." Osric straightened a little. "Oh... then I should take my leave." He hesitated. Just for a breath. Like he didn’t want to go. (For the record, I didn’t want him to go either.) But he turned anyway. His footsteps were light, respectful. But halfway to the door, I peeked open one eye and watched him. "...You know," I mumbled into Marshi’s side, "he’s looking way too handsome after coming from the dungeon." Marshi blinked, expression clearly judging me. I nudged him with my elbow. "What? It’s suspicious! Does the dungeon have some kind of enchanted beauty mist in the air? Is that where he’s been hiding all this glow?" Marshi snorted, then dramatically rolled over so his back was to me, tail swiping across my face like a shush. I laughed softly and buried my smile against his fur. Outside the door, I heard Osric pause for a second. Maybe he heard me. Maybe he didn’t. But either way... I was still smiling when sleep pulled me under. *** [Osric’s POV – Palace Corridor, Outside the Princess’s Chamber] Did... did she just— Did she call me handsome? I froze at the threshold like some rookie cadet hearing his crush compliment his armor. No, wait—she did. I heard it. My ears aren’t broken. And now my face—my stupid, treacherous face—was burning like a damn forge. My hand flew to my hair, ruffling it in some pathetic attempt to hide the fact that I could probably cook an egg on my own cheeks. Handsome, she said. I cleared my throat, hoping the guards hadn’t noticed me grinning like an idiot just moments ago. They had. Of course they had. Their faces were blank—but a little too blank. That dangerous brand of guard poker-face they use when watching nobles make fools of themselves. I composed myself. For correct content, please visit Straightened. And then the fire in my chest settled into something colder. Sharper. I glanced at the two knights stationed outside Lavinia’s chamber. My tone dropped an octave. "No one leaves this hallway," I said, voice low and lethal. "Not even to breathe. If anyone so much as blinks suspiciously, I want to hear about it." Both men straightened like they’d been struck by lightning. "Yes, Lord Osric!" I turned, cloak sweeping behind me as I stalked down the corridor. She was resting now. She was safe—for the moment. Which meant it was time. Time to find the rat. The one who dared to touch her cup. The one who dared to try and kill her. I clenched my jaw as I walked, boots hitting marble with clipped precision. This wasn’t just an assassination attempt. It was a declaration. Someone had sent a message right into the heart of the empire—and they’d used her as the parchment. Unforgivable. Unsurvivable. "Where is the maid?" I asked, voice flat, as I passed two more palace guards. "The one who poisoned the princess." The younger one flinched like I’d struck him. "She—she was taken to the throne room, my lord," he stammered. "The Emperor is about to pass judgment." I stopped walking. Let the words sink in. The throne room. That meant Emperor was already preparing to end it. No. That’s not enough. Judgment? A royal decree? That was too clean. Too simple. Too merciful. I pushed open the towering doors of the throne room, and the cold hit me first. Not a physical cold. A silence—so sharp and biting it could cut flesh. The nobles were already gathered. Their robes glimmered, their eyes wide and wary. Not one of them dared whisper. Not with him seated on the throne. The Emperor. He wasn’t shouting. He didn’t need to. He simply stared—and the world seemed to shrink. His gaze was fixed downward. Cold. Merciless. Like a predator deciding which bone to snap first. And at his feet— The maid. The girl who had dared to touch what was not hers. The girl who had served poison to a goddess and called it tea. She knelt there, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm, her hands bound, face streaked with sweat and tears. And yet... I felt nothing. Then, the Emperor’s gaze flicked toward me as I stepped forward. His voice rang across the hall—calm, but glacial. "She’s the one." I didn’t answer. I was already looking at her. Down at her. As if seeing through her skin, past her tears, past the pathetic apologies no doubt forming on her tongue. He spoke again, quieter now, and somehow more terrifying for it. "What should I do with her?" He was asking me. Not the council. Not the nobles. Me. I stepped closer. And when I stood just a breath away from her—close enough to see the pulse fluttering at her neck, the horror etched into her face—I let the mask drop. I saw Lavinia in my mind again. Her body limp. Eyes shut. Skin drained of color. Lying in that bed like she was already halfway gone. The poison hadn’t just tried to kill her. It had tried to unmake her. And in my nightmares—it always succeeded. But not this time. This time... "I would like to execute her," I said, my voice low and steady, "with my own hands." The nobles gasped. I heard it. A ripple of scandal. Shock. But I didn’t care. Because my eyes never left the maid’s. And my voice didn’t waver. "She didn’t just attempt to murder a royal," I continued. "She touched something sacred. Someone I swore to protect. She struck at the very heart of this Empire." . . . ...And something that’s mine.