Chapter 83: Peace Was Never an Option (Even in a Dessert Shop)

Chapter 83: Peace Was Never an Option (Even in a Dessert Shop) [Lavinia's Pov] WHAT. THING?!?! Did he—did he—DID HE JUST CALL ME A THING?! Excuse me?! I may be five. I may look small and adorable with cheeks like mochi and lashes longer than your future—but I am not a THING! I was ready to scream, maybe even throw a punch with my beautiful, tiny fist, but before I could explode— "Lysandre, hold her." Grandpa Thalein's deep voice rumbled like thunder as he passed me—PASSED ME! Like a doll!—into Lysandre's waiting arms. And Lysandre? That weird, sparkle-eyed second brother was trembling as if he had just touched holy relics. "F-finally... I'm holding you... my sweet little sister!!" he whispered like he'd waited lifetimes for this. Meanwhile— THUD! Soren, my so-called first brother who dared call me "a thing," was launched halfway across the courtyard by Grandpa's foot. He hit the wall with a spectacular grunt. "HOW DARE YOU CALL MY PRECIOUS A THING?!" Grandpa boomed like a furious war god. Soren groaned from the floor. "What?! Why?! Is curiosity a crime now or what?!" THWACK! ACCAK! Grandpa didn't even flinch. He gave him a thunderous boink on the head, then launched him like a football—like he was Ronaldo himself on game day. And we... we were just watching. Silently. "Calling your little sister a 'thing' is a crime, you idiot!" Punches continued to fly, dramatic screams echoed, and then suddenly—my so-called brother froze mid-slap. A beat of silence. Then, a slow, confused blink. "Wait a second," Soren muttered, eyes narrowing. "Little sister...?" There was a pause. A long, awkward pause. Soren, still curled up on the ground like a kicked cat, blinked up at us. "Wait. That thing—I mean, she—is my little sister?" Grandpa's brow twitched. "You didn't know?" "You never told me!!" Soren barked. "You just said there was a weird new thing in the palace and not to visit!" "I said 'precious bundle of joy'!" "I thought that was code for an illegal pet!" "YOU MORON!!" BOINK! A jar from a nearby stall went sailing—right into Soren's head. "ACK!!" Meanwhile, I squirmed in Lysandre's arms, glowering hard enough to set things on fire. "I'm not a thing! I'm a princess. The Devereux Princess! The next empress of the Elarion Empire." Soren, still recovering from multiple blunt-force life lessons, stared at me like I'd sprouted another head. "She talks?" Lysandre beamed like he'd won the lottery. "She does! And walks! And throws tantrums! She's the best!" Soren squinted. "And that's my sister?" "YES!!" Grandpa roared. "...Huh," Soren finally said, looking at me like I was an alien with pigtails. "She's kinda cute... for a tiny rage monster." I narrowed my eyes. "You're ugly for a brother." Grandpa looked absolutely proud. "That's my girl." I pointed my tiny, furious finger with all the righteous wrath of a princess wronged. "Grandpa! Beat him more!" Grandpa didn't even hesitate. "As you command, my precious." "AACKK!! WAIT—WAIT, HOLD ON—I'M SORRY!" Soren yelped as Grandpa grabbed him by the collar. "STOP IT, UNCLE, I SAID I'M SORRRYYYY—!" But Grandpa did not stop. BONK! WHAM! SMACK! *** [Some Dessert Shop] And We're sitting in a cute little dessert shop. Inside the dessert shop filled with the warm scent of caramel and sugar, where sunlight danced through the windows, peace should have reigned. Instead— Soren, he's kneeling in the corner like a medieval criminal, hands raised above his head like he's being held hostage by cupcakes. Me? I'm living my best life, fork-deep in a triple-layer chocolate cake surrounded by colorful priotties (I still don't know what those are, but they sparkle, so I approve). Grandpa sat beside me, casually sipping tea like he hadn't just committed a full-on assault ten minutes ago. Soren whimpered, trying to shuffle his knees. "C-Can I please sit now? My legs feel like noodles..." Grandpa didn't even glance at him. "Dare to move, and I'll kick you out of the family assets. No boats. No horses. No titles. Not even a biscuit crumb." Soren wailed. "WHAAAT?! YOU ALREADY BEAT ME TO A PULP, UNCLE! ISN'T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOUR VENGEANCE ARC?!" Grandpa, completely deadpan: "No. You deserve more." Lysandre, sipping his caramel frappe like he was watching a drama series, nodded seriously. "You do." Everyone nodded solemnly. Even the café waitress. Even the cake. And now that I think about it... My first encounter with both of my brothers was... well, them getting absolutely demolished by Grandpa. And Grandpa? Well, I'd seen a new side of him. A terrifying, dramatic, justice-fueled side. Note to self: never, ever get on his bad side. Especially if you like having kneecaps. Grandpa took a long, elegant sip of his tea. Then he set the cup down with a soft clink. "So..." he said, his voice dropping low, almost too casual. "Who were they?" Soren, still kneeling like a scolded dog, glanced up and answered reluctantly, "...Just as you guessed. They were hired." "To do what?" Grandpa asked, although his tone already held grim certainty. "...To kidnap the children," Soren muttered. The mood shifted. I felt it. Even though I didn't quite understand what was happening, the air suddenly got heavy. The laughter and lightness from earlier faded like smoke. The sugar in my cake suddenly didn't taste so sweet. Lysandre's usual spark dimmed. His voice was sharp and steady. "And the children?" Soren's jaw clenched. The mood turned heavy—like a thundercloud pressing on the ceiling. "I could only rescue half of them," he said quietly. There was a long silence. Grandpa rubbed his temples slowly, letting out a deep sigh that felt like it came from his soul. "...That means we failed." Soren slumped lower. "Yes... miserably." I tilted my head. Who's kidnapping children? Why are there only halves? What's going on? Then again, maybe I shouldn't ask. I am a kid here. But then—Soren straightened up slightly, his brows furrowed. "...There's something weird, though." Lysandre turned to him immediately. "What is it?" Soren hesitated. His eyes flicked to me... and then away. Huh? What's wrong with him? Then Grandpa's tone sharpened like a knife. "Speak. Up." Soren swallowed. "...I saw a family emblem." Lysandre's expression lit up. "That's great. Then we can track them! With that, we can catch the culprits and rescue the rest of the children!" Soren shook his head. "It's not that simple. The emblem doesn't belong to anyone from our kingdom..." A pause. "...It's from the Elarion Empire." WHAT! ELARION EMPIRE? The room froze. Even the cake seemed to stop crumbling under my fork. Our guards, Nanny, and everyone else froze. Ravick's eyes went wide. His eyes snapped to attention. "What are you saying?" His voice was tight. "Are you accusing our empire of trafficking elf children? Do you know how serious this accusation is?" His words hit like a dropped glass. "It's not just serious," Lysandre muttered. "It's dangerous." Ravick's voice tightened. "You're accusing a noble house from Elarion of trafficking elf children. That's not just a scandal; that's a political firestorm. That's enough to shake the alliance between kingdoms." I stared at them, my little heart thumping faster. Because... Ravick's right. That kind of accusation? It's dangerous. Not just royal-court-dangerous. We're talking international-explosion dangerous. Elarion and Nivale might be friendly kingdoms now, but this? This could ruin everything. Also, hello—me! I'm tied to both kingdoms. If they start flinging arrows and treaties at each other, I'm probably going to be somewhere in the crossfire. Soren didn't back down. He looked up, his face serious and worn. "I know exactly what I'm saying. And I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't have the investigation and proof to back it up." Silence. Heavy, dreadful silence. Even Grandpa didn't speak for a moment. Then he let out another deep sigh, rubbing his forehead like this headache was here to stay. "...Then we need to talk to our king," he finally said and continued, "...We'll need to inform Cassius, too." The way he said Papa's name... It wasn't just formality. It was a concern. "Best we handle this carefully," Grandpa murmured, eyes sharpening. "Before it becomes something no one can undo." His words hung in the air—sharp, final, and heavy with meaning. Everyone was quiet. Even the air seemed to sit still, waiting. Something big... was coming. I could feel it. Like the way you feel a storm, not from thunder, but from the silence that comes before it. And as I sat there, swinging my little legs under the table, fork frozen halfway to my mouth, a strange chill crawled down my back. Elf trafficking. A noble family from our empire. Dangerous secrets. And somehow... Somehow it felt like everything was circling back to me. First, that snobby baron who looked at me like I was dirt beneath his boots—who sneered that my elf blood would ruin the empire. And now this—this horrifying mess of missing children and foreign emblems. Why... why do I feel like I'm the one being targeted? Why does it feel like this isn't just some dark coincidence but a string of shadows all leading back to me? ... No. Maybe I'm just thinking too much. Right? I mean—I'm five. (Okay. Transmigrated, ancient soul and all. But still. Five!) Besides—Papa's still out there. And Papa will handle it. I know he will. He's smart, scary, serious, and always thinking ahead—and he'd never let anyone hurt me. So yeah... I trust him. But still... "...Can't I spend my two days of vacation peacefully?" I muttered under my breath, slumping forward. No one heard me. But I swear the cake wobbled in sympathy.