Chapter 162: Of Cake and Curiosity

Words : 1510 Updated : Oct 3rd, 2025

Chapter 162: Of Cake and Curiosity [Lavinia’s POV—Dawnspire Wing, Royal Chambers, Night] I wasn’t even allowed to glare dramatically at the door as it shut in my face. Mostly because it didn’t shut. It slammed. Loudly. With the kind of finality that felt less like being grounded and more like I’d just been excommunicated from the Empire. Okay—not excommunicated. Just grounded. By my own father. Which, honestly, felt worse. Anyway! Since I, Lavinia, the (currently imprisoned but still stunning) future Empress, had possibly made a minor misstep by sneaking out during an imperial lockdown... I decided to do what any noble, responsible, guilt-ridden daughter would do. I sat down. I picked up my favorite ink—sparkly gold, because if I was going to suffer, I’d suffer fabulously. Pulled out the thickest, most elegant parchment I owned. Stared at it for a moment. And then, with all the grace of a diplomatic goddess, I began to write: "My dearest Papa,Your beautiful, brave, and currently misunderstood teenage daughter is barely surviving in this cold, gloomy, sparkling diamond-infested dungeon you call my room—" I stopped. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t an apology. This was... a luxury complaint. The kind you send from a five-star spa when they forget the lavender in your foot soak. I crumpled the paper with a sigh so dramatic even the chandelier above me looked concerned. And then I yeeted it out the window with the flourish of a scorned poet. "Alright. Next one," I mumbled, grabbing another sheet. I tried again. "Papa, I am deeply sorry. I promise I won’t go out of the imperial palace again and—" I paused. My pen hovered over the page. Then I frowned. "Wait... why shouldn’t I go out?" I muttered. "It’s not like I ran off to start a rebellion or joined a band of pirates." I sighed dramatically, flopping back on the couch like a tragic heroine in a play no one asked for. "Ugh, my brain is not braining today. It’s fried. Fully fried. Like Chef’s honey-butter crispy chicken." I rolled over to stare at the ceiling. "This is the first time Papa grounded me. Like... actually grounded me. He didn’t even shout. That’s the worst part. He just looked at me like I personally stabbed him in the heart and then told me I couldn’t leave the palace." I sat up. "I mean—he was scared. I get it. But still! He could’ve just yelled at me, confiscated my perfume collection, or, I don’t know... banned desserts for a week." That last thought made me gasp. "Wait—did he ban desserts?!" Just then, Marella opened the door. "Princess, it’s time for dinner." The door opened wider, and like an army of tiny culinary angels, the maids marched in with mini carts—yes, carts plural—laden with silver domes and shiny trays. They arranged the meal on my table like I was being honored for saving the kingdom instead of being... grounded. Another cart rolled in, this one entirely dedicated to desserts. Cakes, tarts, puddings, macarons, and an actual chocolate fountain—I blinked. Marella bowed and said sweetly, "Princess, if you need anything else, just call." I raised a hand dramatically. "Yes. Books. Lots of books. Something diplomatic to soothe my brain cells... and maybe a fairy tale or two to remind me that life can still be whimsical." "As you wish, Princess," Marella said, and vanished like a very efficient genie. Ten minutes later, she returned with a whole stack—no, a library—of books. My room now looked like the national archive had exploded all over my couch. I stared at the mountain of books, then slowly turned toward the feast set before me. "...I never knew being grounded came with five-star service, a dessert cart, and mandatory reading material," I muttered. Is this punishment or a royal staycation? Because if this is what grounding looks like... I might start acting out more often. And then—FLUTTER. A gust of wind. A blur of golden feathers. A very entitled entrance. "HUH?" Solena, Osric’s eagle, soared right in through the balcony, did a majestic little loop-de-loop like she was performing for an audience, and then—plop—landed square on the feast table. My feast table. My untouched, beautifully arranged, golden-plattered, mango-dripping, pomegranate-sparkling feast table. And then she had the audacity—no, the gall—to dig into the grilled quail before I even had my ceremonial sniff. "Hey! You overgrown Eagle!" I cried, marching over. "You didn’t even wait for me! That’s my dinner—at least let me stab it with a fork before you turn it into mush with your beak!" Solena didn’t even look up. Not even a guilty glance. She just crunched bones like potato chips. And then it hit me. "Ohhh... if you’re here," I narrowed my eyes at her, "then he must be here too..." I spun on my heels and made my way to the balcony, because obviously, Osric must be down there—probably standing dramatically in the moonlight, sword sheathed, cape blowing in the wind, eyes searching the stars for a glimpse of me. Like every tragic, poetic Romeo— Only to turn and— "GAH!" He popped up right in front of me. Literally. Right in front of my nose. Face just inches away. Like, if he blinked, his eyelashes might brush mine. And suddenly the air between us turned suspiciously warmer. Our eyes locked. For a second.Then two.Then possibly eternity. I squinted, suspicious."...I knew it," I whispered. "You’re really seducing me." His eyes went wide. Like, wide-wide. And pink began blooming across his cheeks like someone had splashed him with strawberry jam. And then— THUD. He landed flat on my balcony like a sack of potatoes dropped from the heavens. Arms out. Face first. Just... splat. I blinked, peered down, and squinted."Did you just climb up?" I asked, looking down. Osric groaned dramatically, rolling over like he’d been through a war."Yes. I climbed up, like a thief in the night," he grumbled, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. I stifled a laugh as he got to his feet and flashed me a crooked grin. "Are you doing well, Princess?" he asked, ever so gallant with that ridiculous lopsided smile. I gave a regal nod, folding my arms. "Well... considering I’ve been grounded for exactly half a day, yes. I am tragically surviving." He chuckled, and then—like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat—he produced a small parcel from his coat. "I brought cake," he said dramatically. "Strawberry. The rare kind. Thought you might be suffering... sugar withdrawal." "Oooh," I gasped, genuinely impressed. But then I turned to my table, where a literal feast had been laid out. I mean—pomegranate tarts, lemon drizzle, and tiny cream puffs stacked like royalty themselves. "No strawberry cake though," I said with a shrug, and dramatically plucked a grape from a golden bowl. "Just... everything else from the palace bakery." Osric’s jaw fell open as he stared at the table like he’d walked into a royal buffet disguised as a punishment. "Wait—are you sure you’re grounded?" "The door is locked from out, so yes, I am grounded." He stared at me. Then at the feast. Then back at me. "...Do you think I can get grounded too?" "Depends," I teased. "Are you willing to publicly insult the Chancellor’s wig during council?" "Without hesitation," he declared, placing a hand over his heart. We both stared and then laughed—too loud, too hard for two people hiding a rooftop feast under moonlight and parental wrath. "Shall we eat?" I asked, eyeing the slightly squished strawberry cake in his hand. "After you, Princess," he said, bowing so low it was borderline theatrical. *** [Lavinia’s Chamber, After the Meal] After the meal, I leaned back with a happy sigh, rubbing my belly like a satisfied toad. "I’m so full I might roll off this balcony and start a new kingdom downhill," I groaned. Osric chuckled softly, but his eyes—those annoyingly intense, never-blinking eyes—never left me. And then out of nowhere— "What kind of man do you prefer, Lavi?" I froze. Mid-belly rub. Even Solena, the giant golden eagle currently attempting to rob my wardrobe blind, froze with one talon in my jewelry drawer and the other in my tiara. "Wh—what?" I blinked at him. "Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?" Osric’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice was calm and casual. Too casual. "Just curious." Just curious? I’d never even asked myself that question. I wasn’t ready for a sudden psychological ambush while nursing a food baby and watching my accessories get stolen by a feathery criminal. I opened my mouth to respond, but before a single syllable escaped—THUD! "What the—?" I whipped around, looking towards the balcony. Osric was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn, eyes scanning the shadows with the cool fury of a knight ready to decapitate danger. He stood in front of me like a human shield. "Stay behind me." "Is that an assassin?" "Don’t worry, I can protect you." "I should’ve brought my own sword too," I mumbled.

Chapter 162: Of Cake and Curiosity

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