Chapter 47: A Sweet Offering

Chapter 47: A Sweet Offering [Lavinia’s Pov] The imperial study was dark. Not because the lights were out. No—torches flickered on the walls, a fire danced in the hearth, and everything was warm and glowing. But the mood? Yeah. The mood was "someone just pissed off a dragon." And that dragon, of course, was my beloved father. Papa looked like someone had personally offended his soul. And that someone... was probably me. He had that distant, stressed expression like he’d just lost an empire, or worse—found out I’d been sneaking out. Again. And Theon? Oh, he looked like he was mentally rearranging his organs to survive whatever storm was brewing. Ahem. "Papa?" I peeked into the room, cradling my slightly tragic basket of half-dead cookies like it was a sacred offering from a tiny war hero. Or a bribe. Take your pick. Marshmallow padded in beside me, his little paws making no sound on the marble floor. His golden fur shimmered faintly in the firelight, divine eyes glowing like starlight. He walked slowly inside with me and then plopped down on the carpet, licking his paws. Whereas both Papa and Theon turned to look at me. Both of them flinched at the same time. Then they froze—like two statues sculpted in terror. Papa’s eyes zeroed in on the basket in my arms like I was holding a baby chimera. "What’s that?" he asked slowly, suspiciously, like I might’ve brought him a bomb disguised in frosting. "It’s cookies!" I walked in confidently, even though the basket smelled like sugar, scorched hope, and a dream half-baked. "I made them myself!" "...You did what?" He asked, his voice dripping disbelief, like I’d just told him I rode a dragon bareback across the western mountains. Before I could answer, he shot up from his chair and—of course—lifted me clean off the ground like I weighed nothing. And once again—I was dangling in the air like a caught kitten. He turned me side to side, inspecting every inch of me. "Did you burn yourself? Cut anything? Where’s the damage?" His gaze cut to the nanny behind me, and his tone went sharp. "Why was my daughter in the kitchen?" I waved my arms frantically. "It was me! I insisted; Nanny didn’t want to let me! I forced her!" His eyes turned to me—sharp, suspicious, and so dramatic—and then he cradled me in his arms again. "...Why?" I held up the basket solemnly. "For Operation Cookie Peace Treaty, to get success." He blinked. "What... what operation?" "I know, Papa, you’re very mad at me," I said seriously. Papa didn’t respond. His face didn’t move. But we moved to a chair and sat down together. He was cold, silent, and stiff. Like he didn’t want to melt. So I launched my final attack. "I made these cookies to say sorry," I went on, pushing the basket gently towards him. "I misunderstood you and Theon. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions." I turned and pointed dramatically at Theon. "But it’s his fault too! You two are always clinging to each other like an old married couple!" Theon coughed. I pressed on. "And Papa isn’t married, so I thought... maybe you love Theon." Theon choked. Papa turned slowly to glare at him like this was somehow his fault. "So," I said, nudging the basket closer, "these are apology cookies. From me. For assuming weird stuff and being annoying." Papa stared at the cookies like they might declare war on the empire. "...Why do they look like they’ve survived battle?" he muttered. I smiled sweetly, resisting every urge to yell. Don’t get mad, Lavinia. This is diplomacy. Be the diplomat. Be the peace ambassador. "Why don’t you taste one, Papa?" I said, tilting my head in my most adorable, innocent-child-who-never-does-wrong way. "I’m sure you’ll love it." He picked one up carefully, like it might explode. Then slowly took a bite. I held my breath. This was it. The moment of truth. I watched him like my entire career depended on it. My eyes sparkled with hope—say it’s delicious, Papa. Say it’s the best cookie in the empire. Say you’ve never tasted anything like it. "...It’s too sugary," he said slowly. "And also somehow... bitter?" My sparkle died instantly. Ugh...seriously? "Then don’t eat them!" I snapped, reaching for the basket. He pulled it away. "But it’s for me, isn’t it? An apology cookie?" "Yes, but you don’t appreciate it!" "It’s still mine," he said, holding the basket out of my reach. "Papa!" I groaned. Then I pouted, lips wobbling like a sad little puppy. "Seriously? I made them with my whole heart. Why didn’t you taste my heart?" He gave me a look—tired, done, utterly unimpressed. "I didn’t know hearts were on the dessert menu now." I stared at him. Then sighed dramatically. "You’re impossible." And then he ruffled my hair. "You did well, sweetheart." I blinked. "Huh?" "...and I wasn’t angry with you," he added. I blinked. "...Wait. So you’re not mad?" "No," he said, softer this time. "I’m not angry." "But you didn’t come visit me today," I muttered. He sighed, casting a sharp glare at Theon. "I’ve been stuck with officials all day. I didn’t even get to breathe properly." "Really?" "Yes," he said, nodding. Then I hugged him tightly. "Thank goodness. I really thought you were ignoring me on purpose." He hugged me back. And then, with the most casual cruelty— "Still... thank you for these absolutely awful cookies." "UGH! You’re so annoying, Papa!" Marshmallow growled softly, as if he was tired of the people around him. *** [Emperor Cassius’s Pov] She had fallen asleep faster than usual. I pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, my movements precise, deliberate. No wasted effort. No fuss. Just enough to ensure she wouldn’t catch a chill. Her breathing was slow and steady. Golden strands of hair clung to her cheek, and one small hand was curled loosely against Marshmallow’s warm flank. The divine tiger had made his usual spot beside her. "She fell asleep quickly today," I murmured. Behind me, a quiet voice spoke. "It’s because she baked cookies for you, Your Majesty." I turned slightly to find Nerina still standing beside me, her hands folded neatly in front of her, a fond smile on her face. My gaze shifted to the small table beside the armchair. The basket sat there like a half-forgotten offering, still exuding that strange scent of sugar and... something burnt. I had to admit—she truly tried. "Was she upset all day?" I asked, my voice low so as not to wake the little whirlwind beside me. Nerina’s expression softened further. She nodded. "Yes... she was. She thought you were angry with her. She didn’t say much, just sat by the window most of the time, mumbling to Marshmallow and poking her cookies like they’d betrayed her." I looked down at Lavinia again, her small hand resting against Marshmallow’s thick fur. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I sat down beside the bed, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. There was a time when silence in my chambers felt like solitude. Cold. Empty. But now... Now, the silence felt warm. Because she existed. Because she laughed, stomped through the halls, tried to broker peace with half-dead cookies, and looked at me like I was her whole world. "I think I should thank her," I murmured. Nerina blinked. "Huh? Thank who, Your Majesty?" "The lady who gave birth to her," I said quietly. Nerina smiled. Her voice was soft—gentle in that way only someone who truly loved a child could speak. "I always thank her too, Your Majesty. For making you a father." I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I leaned in, brushed a kiss against my daughter’s forehead, and whispered, "Rest well." And beside her, Marshmallow blinked his golden eyes at me, then yawned lazily and went back to sleep. The protector. The tiger. The companion. And now... part of this strange little family I never expected to have. Yes. I think I should thank her. For this gift. For this peace. For letting me become someone I never thought I could be. A father. I looked at Nerina. "I need you to find out about her." She blinked. "You mean...?" My eyes returned to Lavinia, asleep beneath the soft blanket I’d just tucked in, her tiny body curled beside Marshmallow, her divine guardian. "Yes," I said quietly. "The girl who made me a father." Nerina didn’t ask again. She only smiled gently and bowed her head. "I’ll speak with the head maid at first light, Your Majesty." I gave a slight nod. No records. No name. No face. Just a maid entered my chamber one day, cradling a newborn in trembling arms and whispering, "Your Majesty... a princess has been born." No one knew who the mother was. No one dared ask. I never cared to find out. But now... perhaps I do. Perhaps it’s time I finally learned the truth about the woman who gave me her.