Chapter 86: The Empire Felt Empty

Chapter 86: The Empire Felt Empty [Cassius’s Pov] CLUNK!! It’s been ages since I last had wine, but for some reason, it tastes more bitter than I remember. I used to drink it like water—goblets of it after council meetings, barrels after battles. It dulled the edge and kept the monsters in my head quiet. But I began drinking less when Lavinia started growing up. But now? Now she’s not here, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Why? Why do I feel this... emptiness? She’s just a child. A tiny, golden-haired demon with sticky fingers and an unholy love for glitter. She steals my robes to make forts. She paints my war maps with little suns and flowers. But still. The palace is too quiet without her. Every hall echoes like a graveyard. Every corner I turn, I expect to see her barreling into me, tripping over her own feet, and declaring some absurd nonsense like, "Papa! I am a very serious wizard now; please give me your sword." Damn it. I can’t even sleep tonight. Again. The bed feels too big. The room was too silent. Every tick of the clock sounds like a damn war drum pounding in my ears. My thoughts keep going in circles, and all of them end with Lavinia’s not here. I feel awful.Unbearably restless.Like there are knives beneath my skin—pressing, pricking, begging to be let out. Maybe I should train.Better to bleed on the training field than rot away in these suffocating chambers. So I threw on a cloak, grabbed my blade, and stalked down the palace halls like a storm made flesh—unleashed, unrelenting, and aching for something to cut. And of course, I ran into him. "Oh... where are you going?" Theon asked, eyes blinking blearily. He looked like he’d just crawled out of bed. His hair was a mess. He had a stupid cup of tea in his hand. Comfortable. Rested. I kept walking, my cloak swishing with imperial menace. "Practice sword." "What?! At this time?" he gasped, clutching his cup like it was his last lifeline. "Yes," I said flatly. He gawked. "Did you really go insane?" I didn’t answer. I just kept walking, jaw clenched tight enough to break bone. He trailed behind me like an annoying little duckling, muttering, "You know, normal people sleep at night. You could just read a book. Take a warm bath. Drink warm milk. Mediate or something." "Warm milk?" I repeated, halting mid-step. I turned slowly, eyes gleaming with murder. "Do I look like a toddler?" "Well, you are throwing a tantrum," he muttered. I drew half my sword. Theon immediately raised his hands. "Okay, okay, Your Imperial Rage—no need to decapitate your loyal attendant and lifelong friend." I held his gaze for a long second, then slowly slid the blade back into its sheath. He exhaled in relief. Then squinted at me. "...You miss her, don’t you?" I glared. "I do not." "You really, really do." "Shut up." He sighed, rubbing his eyes like a long-suffering nursemaid. "Cassius, the princess is coming back tomorrow." "I know that," I growled. "Then why are you acting like she was kidnapped by sky pirates and sold to a traveling circus?" I stared at him. Cold. Unmoving. Then I turned on my heel, cloak billowing, and muttered, "I’m still going to practice sword." "Of course you are," he said, trailing after me again like a pest with a death wish. "Need someone to supervise so you don’t accidentally stab a ghost of your own spiraling paranoia?" "If I see your face one more time tonight, I will stab you," I said flatly. *** [The Next Day] It’s been more than half a day. She should’ve arrived by now. What’s taking her so long? I sighed—as I walked down the hallway, and everything was irritating. The sunlight was too bright. The marble floor was too loud. Even the curtains swayed like they were mocking me. "...And I think," Regis was muttering something, "we need to address the Grain Tax Reformation in the eastern provinces before winter arrives. Their nobles are threatening rebellion again." "Yes," Theon said, rubbing his temple. "And the Viscount of Helmar sent another letter protesting the new magic commerce routes. Says they’re affecting his monopoly on enchanted paper." I was not listening. I heard nothing. Politics. Rebels. Paper. Whatever. My mind was elsewhere. A familiar, golden-crowned void in my soul. Tiny. Laughing. Radiant. Loud. Where is she? My daughter. Why isn’t she back yet? I feel like killing something. And then—then—I saw it. A maid. Touching the vase. The vase. Her vase. The one Lavinia stuck thirty-seven dried dandelions into and proudly declared, "This is the royal flower of our empire now, Papa." I stopped. Stared. The maid froze mid-lift. I took one slow, dangerous step forward. The vase had been moved some inches to the left. My daughter will be upset. How dare she! "D-Do forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty—!" She gasped, already trembling, already lowering herself to her knees. I reached for my sword. But before the blade could sing from its sheath, Grand Duke Regis placed a firm hand on my arm. "Cassius," he said calmly. "It’s a vase. Not Lavinia’s beating heart. It can be put back." I glared at him. He ignored it, turning back to Theon as if he hadn’t just defused an imperial homicide. I clenched my jaw. The entire empire felt like it was out of balance. Like something essential was missing. Because something is. I turned sharply to Theon. "Did we get any message from Nivale?" He blinked. "Huh... what message, Your Majesty...?" ...What message? What do you mean, what message? I took a deep breath. My voice came out like winter: "...When. Is. My. Daughter. Coming. Back?" "Well, uh, Your Majesty—according to the latest official report, her tour is meant to last approximately... two days. Depending, of course, on fairy sightings, seasonal moonlight rituals, spontaneous woodland tea parties, and... you know, meeting her elf brothers," Theon said and continued, "So, she might... possibly... maybe stay a bit longer? It’s all up to the princess." Something snapped in me. That old elf ggeezer. That stupid healer, Thalein. I knew it. I knew he was trying to take her away from me. He was always jealous of me that my daughter loves me more than him. With his elegant robes, smug nature magic, and condescending ancient wisdom. He probably fed her some elven cookies and brainwashed her into thinking he was better than me. He kidnapped her. Officially. Legally. Publicly. Right in front of me. And now he’s keeping her. Holding her hostage in his flowery forest kingdom with twinkling lights and starry air and those tree-hugging bastards who call themselves her brothers. How dare he. How dare he take my daughter and— I am going to annihilate his entire elf kingdom. I’m going to burn down every tree. Level every forest. Poison their tea. And then drag him by his long, sparkly hair to the imperial court, where he will beg for forgiveness and say, "I was wrong, Your Majesty; please take your daughter back." I was ready. Ready to conquer another stupid kingdom until— "PAPA~!!" The world stopped. My heart lurched. That voice. That unmistakable, high-pitched, chaos-laced declaration of imperial dominance. I turned on instinct. And there she was. Bursting out of the magic portal like a miniature goddess of war and glitter, hair windswept, cheeks rosy, eyes sparkling with victory. Her golden curls were full of dried flower petals—who even lets that happen?— and her five-year-old face wore the smug grin of someone who had won an empire. She sprinted toward me at full speed, her little boots thudding across the marble, cloak flapping behind her like a dragonet about to take flight. And then—like a cannonball of chaos and joy—she launched herself into my arms. "PAPA~~!!" she squealed, wrapping herself around me like a koala. "Your gorgeous, brilliant, breathtaking daughter is back~" I barely caught her in time, instinctively holding her close. She leaned back just enough to flash me that sunshine grin and added with a proud puff of her cheeks, "Did you miss me? Be honest, Papa. I bet you cried. I bet you sobbed into your royal pillow!" ...I stared at her. Something in me just... unclenched. The rage, the anxiety, the irrational itch to burn down an entire elf kingdom—it all just... disappeared. Like snow melting in spring. "...You’re back," I murmured. She giggled like wind chimes. "Mhm! I missed Papa so much—when the elf maid begged me to stay, I said, ’Sorry! I have a very handsome father waiting for me.’" I lifted her up, one arm steady beneath her legs, the other across her back, and pressed my forehead to hers. "Welcome back," I whispered. She beamed, and for the first time in days, I breathed. The world was loud, cruel, and exhausting. But my daughter was back in my arms. And for now... that was enough.