Chapter 58: Birthday of the Empire’s Sun

Chapter 58: Birthday of the Empire’s Sun Ignoring the creepy feeling, we walked closer to the Emperor’s throne, the red carpet stretching beneath our feet like a path of silk fire. Murmurs quieted. The chandeliers cast a golden glow on Papa’s dark robes. And then— "RISE." Papa’s voice rang through the grand hall like warm thunder, smooth and commanding all at once. At once, the sea of nobles obeyed. Skirts rustled, boots tapped, and heads lifted in perfect unison. It was like someone had pressed a magic button called Respect the Emperor. Papa stood at the top of the dais, cloaked in black and gold, the imperial insignia shining at his shoulder. He held me in his arms — securely, protectively — as if I were both treasure and crown. His expression remained composed, but the way his fingers rested gently at my back told me everything. But...Papa is so cool~~~ So shiny~~~ I peeked up at him. He didn’t smile — Papa rarely does — but his arm held me tightly and warmly, and his thumb gently brushed over my back. That was his secret smile. Just for me. "Thank you all," he began, his voice calm, deep, and rich, "for gathering here to celebrate the fourth birthday of my daughter, Imperial Princess of the Elarion Empire Lavinia Devereux." I puffed out my cheeks proudly. Papa always sounds like a storybook hero when he talks like that. A ripple of clapping followed — polite and proper — as expected from a hall full of peacocks in lace and ruffles. I beamed like the sun and gave a little princess-curtsy in his arms. "Today," Papa continued smoothly, "we do not simply celebrate her birth but also the unity and peace that bind us together — humans, elves, and beyond." Ooooh~~~ Then, with a casual flick of his hand, he added, "This banquet also marks a new Chapter — the official welcome of the Nivale Kingdom into our imperial family tree." Gasps. Whispers. More clapping — louder this time. Someone in the back muttered, "Did he say family tree? As in, our emperor acknowledges that maid as our princess mother?" "Shh! Don’t you dare start uttering nonsense during a child’s birthday!" "Yes, but—Nivale?! That frosty elf kingdom? Really?" Papa ignored them all like a pro. "Now..." he said, lowering his voice just a little, "...enjoy this day of joy." With that, he sat on his golden throne — tall, polished, regal. And me? Naturally, I plopped down right onto his lap like it was my personal golden cushion. Look, I know there’s a tiny, sparkly throne next to his that technically belongs to me, but... it’s always empty. I mean, why sit alone when I can sit in lap luxury? I guess you could say Papa’s lap is my permanent seat. It’s warm. It’s high. And I get the best view of the dessert trays from here. But just as I was getting comfy, I caught some juicy whispers floating through the crowd like perfume. "Our princess really is the sun of this empire, isn’t she?" "Sun? She’s more like a whole solar flare! Did you see how she waved at the elven healer? No fear!" "She tamed a divine beast, for heaven’s sake. At three." "And she’s a quarter elf! Did you hear that? Quarter. That’s why her eyes sparkle like that!" "A divine beast and elven blood? What’s next? Is she going to sprout wings and declare herself a goddess?" "Honestly... I’d believe it." I blinked. Wow. I was just trying to wave at Grandpa Thalein, and here they were practically planning to build me a temple. Should I correct them? ...Nah. Let them worship. Papa shifted slightly on his throne, one arm still curled protectively around me. And from my elevated lap-seat, I saw him. Grandpa Thalein. He stood near the front — calm, poised, every inch the dignified elven monarch. Robes perfect. Back straight. Expression neutral. But his eyes? Oh no. His eyes were screaming "LET ME HUG HER." His elegant hands twitched ever so slightly at his sides. His shoulders leaned just a little forward. Barely noticeable. But I saw it. If I blinked, I might’ve missed it — but I knew. Grandpa Thalein was this close to ignoring centuries of decorum, bulldozing through nobility, and scooping me into his arms like I was a frosted cupcake he hadn’t tasted in decades. But instead... he stood straight. Graceful. Hands clasped behind his back. Like a statue carved out of elf pride, protocol, and a lifetime of self-control. Poor Grandpa. He looked like he was in physical pain. The man was suffering. Papa leaned down and murmured dryly, "He’s been vibrating like that since morning." I stifled a giggle. "Should we let him hug me before he explodes?" "He’ll survive," Papa replied, but I noticed the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth — the imperial version of a dad chuckle. Then the moment arrived — the grand start of the Gifting Ceremony. Theon stepped forward and announced in his most booming, over-the-top voice,"Let the offerings of goodwill and blessings commence! Step forward with your tributes to His Majesty, Emperor Cassius Devereux, and Her Highness, Imperial Princess Lavinia Devereux!" Oh boy. Here we go. The line started forming. Nobles in glittery hats. Elves in robes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Foreign envoys with gifts wrapped in embroidered silk and embroidered ego. But first — the inner circle. Grandpa Gregor stomped forward like thunder in velvet. His boots boomed across the marble like someone had declared war on the floor. He carried a massive chest under one arm like it weighed less than a feather. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOUR MAJESTY AND MY PRINCESS!!" he bellowed. Definitely not indoor volume. Everyone flinched. I lit up. "Grandpa Gregor!" Papa raised a single eyebrow. "You are not supposed to yell at banquets." Grandpa Gregor patted my head with a big, calloused hand. "It’s okay, Princess. we haven’t seen each other in a long time." I giggled. Then he dropped the chest with a thud, popped it open with dramatic flair, and—sparkle explosion. Inside was a tiny sword. Glittering. Gold vines wrapped around the hilt. Red gems. My size. I blinked. ...Why do I always get tiny swords? "For the day she learns to duel!" Grandpa gregor declared proudly. "Start her early!" "I’m four," I reminded him. "You tamed a divine beast. I think you’ll manage." Sigh...growing up around men is mostly about strategy and weapons. Next came Grand Duke Regis. Polished, elegant, and for once — smiling warmly. "Happy birthday, Princess. And to you as well, Your Majesty," he said smoothly. He handed me a velvet box. When I opened it, I audibly gasped. Inside was a crown. Tiny. Elegant. Shaped like laurel leaves. Silver and ruby — perfectly matching my eyes. "Woahhh~~~" Regis chuckled. "See? I knew you’d like it." Of course....I love shiny things! He looked a little too pleased with himself. Then came Osric. He walked up looking like he’d just stepped out of a fairytale — refined, sweet, and carrying a neatly arranged tray with two slim, beautifully wrapped boxes. "For Her Highness," he said with a kind smile. "And one for His Majesty." He handed Papa the second box, and gently offered mine to me. I tore it open with the delicacy of a wild raccoon and gasped again. Inside were hand-painted storybooks. One was titled "The Brave Princess and Her Dragon-Dog." I squealed. "That’s me, Papa, and Marshi!" Papa turned the book over, curious. "You painted every page yourself?" Osric smiled modestly. "Of course." I clutched the book to my chest like it was the crown jewel of the empire. "Osric. This is the best. Gift. Ever." He puffed up proudly like a pigeon who’d just won a duel. Even Papa gave him an approving nod. "Not bad." And then...He stepped forward. Grandpa Thalein. Not just my adorable, hug-starved grandfather, but also the esteemed High Representative of the Nivale Kingdom, Ambassador and the healer of the Elven Council, bearer of a hundred titles, and master of standing like a painting. The hall went quiet. Even the nobles with the loud fans and peacock capes hushed themselves. A whole group of tall, elegant elves followed behind him — moving like wind through silk — but honestly, I only had eyes for Grandpa. He looked calm again. Graceful. Timeless.But the second our eyes met... His eyes sparkles stars. Oh, he was suffering. But he was hanging on. "Your Majesty," he said with a bow to Papa, his voice smooth like moonlight, "and my beloved granddaughter, Her Highness Princess Lavinia... Happy Birthday." "Grandpa Thalein!" I chirped. He smiled — full proud-grandpa mode activated — and gestured gracefully behind him. "The Nivale Kingdom comes bearing gifts." And then... A group of elves brought forward a strange, floating crystal — glowing faintly blue — in a glass case. The nobles leaned in. A few gasped. The glass opened with a click, and the crystal began to hover out on its own, gently circling in the air. Sparkles of soft blue light floated around it like snowflakes. It drifted over to me and slowly settled into my hands — warm and cool at the same time. "What... is it?" I whispered. Papa narrowed his eyes slightly. "That’s—" "The Heart of the First Frost," Grandpa Thalein said calmly, with an infuriating amount of elven flair. "A rare magical relic said to be formed from the purest snow in the Nivale Peaks. It grants protection, clarity of mind... and glows brighter when it senses happiness." The crystal shimmered softly in my hands — and the moment I grinned, it sparkled brighter. "WOAH!" I shrieked. "It glows when I’m happy?! That’s amazing! Papa, look! It likes me!" Papa blinked. "Of course it does. You’re... very glowing." I squinted at it. "Does it also explode if I’m angry?" Grandpa Thalein coughed delicately. "Ideally not, but... we shall monitor that." The nobles began whispering again. "Is that real elven magic?" "She’s only four!" "Who gives their granddaughter a First Frost Heart?!" "Do you think it works as a nightlight?" "I LOVE IT!" I announced, hugging the crystal carefully to my chest. And then — finally, blessedly — Grandpa Thalein broke character. Just for a second. He stepped closer, bent low despite all the eyes watching, and whispered softly, "Can I hug you now, or must I wait until the glitter nobles leave?" I whispered back, "Five seconds. Make it count." And then — arms! I was scooped up in a graceful whirl of green robes and frosty cologne. Grandpa hugged me like he’d waited all year for this moment. My face was smushed into his soft, fancy scarf. He sighed dramatically. "Ah... finally. Warmth." Behind us, Papa grumbled, "That’s enough. You’ll smash her." Grandpa shot him a frosty glare. "She is not a cupcake." "But she is delicate." I giggled — half-squished, half-thrilled. They both glared at each other like overprotective wolves arguing about who gets to carry the pup. But honestly? I was happy. Really happy...not knowing that danger was coming. Because happiness never lasted long in stories like mine.