CHAPTER 172: THE THING HE WANTS MOST

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Palace—Training Ground]

Eleania.

Why... why in the name of all the saints would she apply to be my lady-in-waiting?

I blinked. Once. Twice. As if that might somehow make the name vanish from the parchment. But it didn’t. The letters stayed—black ink curling with elegant malice, mocking me from the page.

My fingers tightened until the parchment crackled in protest. The air in the ground seemed to thicken, pressing hard against my ribs, making each breath feel like it cost something.

"What name did you say again?"

Osric’s voice cut through the silence, low but edged.

I looked at him. His face was a strange mask—surprise first, then something darker seeping through. Anger. Not the loud, roaring kind. The deep, coiled kind. The kind that burned quietly and dangerously.

He stepped closer, his hand outstretched, palm steady even as the tendons in his wrist were taut. He took the parchment from my hand without a word.

His eyes moved over the letters.

Once.

Twice.

Then his jaw set, and with a sudden, violent motion, he crushed the paper into his fist. The sharp crumple echoed in the stillness.

"Osric...?"

His gaze didn’t meet mine, but I could see the way his knuckles blanched white around the ball of parchment.

A beat of silence. Then, a sigh—long, controlled, the kind you take before you decide not to break something in half.

"I’m sorry, Princess," he said. His voice was calm, but it was the kind of calm that sits atop a storm.

He rose up in a single, decisive movement and reached for his sword. "I need to train."

I frowned. "But you just trained with me."

"It’s not enough."

The words came clipped, almost bitten off. He didn’t look at me when he said them, but his shoulders were rigid, the air around him hot with unspoken fury.

I watched as he walked out—his boots heavy on the floorboards—and disappeared toward the training field.

It’s strange. Why? Why would Osric, who has never even met Eleania, react like this? What was it about her name that could turn his eyes into molten steel?

There was only one reason I could think of, one thought that slithered into my mind like a warning I didn’t want to hear.

Is fate trying to drag Eleania and Osric together?

But... why now?

It’s too late. Everything’s already shifted—splintered into something unrecognizable. The plot I thought I knew? Gone. The story’s rails? Broken.

And yet... no one can truly stop two people who are destined from finding each other, can they? Not meddling nobles. Not shattered timelines. Not even me.

If she’s his destiny, they’ll meet—no matter what I do.

I let my head fall back against the tree trunk, eyes tracing the restless dance of leaves overhead, and whispered to no one in particular, "I suppose... Some threads are tied too tightly to cut."

Pushing myself to my feet, I brushed off my dress. "Come on, Marshi," I said.

Marshi immediately rose, his quiet footsteps trailing behind me, while Solena spread her wings, landing on a nearby branch before gliding from tree to tree above us. I began walking toward my chamber, each step steady and deliberate.

Maybe I can’t stop fate from binding two people who are meant to be together. Maybe Eleania and Osric will find their way to each other no matter what I do.

But my destiny?My bond with Papa?

That’s something fate will never be allowed to sever.

I may be the so-called "forced villainess" in their sweet little love story, the obstacle fate tosses in their path—but if anyone dares to meddle with my father and me, if anyone so much as thinks of tearing us apart...

Then I will stop being the villainess they whisper about in scandal.

I will become the kind of villainess they fear.

Because no matter what twists this story throws at me—I will not lose my family.Not now.Not ever.

***

[Dawnspire Wing—Lavinia’s Chamber—Later]

I stretched my arms until I could practically hear my joints filing a complaint.

"Gosh... My arms feel like jelly," I groaned, dragging my feet toward my chamber.

Marshi trotted beside me, tail swaying lazily. The guards outside my door bowed.

"Alright," I announced to Marshi with the seriousness of a royal decree, "let’s take a very, very long nap today. I’m talking about the kind of nap where you wake up and have to check the calendar to know what year it is, Mar—"

I froze. My words died halfway down my throat.

There, sprawled across my couch like he owned the place, was Rey—legs kicked up, one hand holding a newspaper, the other resting dramatically like he was posing for a ’lazy cat of the year’ award.

. . .

. . .

"Why the hell is he here again?" I muttered to myself.

I let out a long, weary sigh and closed the door with a loud thud. Because of course he was here. Why wouldn’t he be?

Honestly, it wasn’t even shocking anymore. Marshi didn’t look entirely surprised either.

But the first time he snuck in, Marshi had launched an all-out, butt-biting war on him so intense that he disappeared for weeks. Apparently, the trauma has faded—because here he was again.

And the worst part?

Rey never brings actual information.

Nope. No secrets, no urgent updates, not even gossip worth my time. He just... hangs out. Like a plant. Except plants contribute to the room’s oxygen levels, and Rey contributes nothing.

Conclusion? He is the most useless guild master I have ever hired.

... But, admittedly, a very sneaky one. Never been caught. Not once.

I stepped inside, glaring at him, and that’s when he had the audacity—the sheer nerve—to peek over his newspaper, squint at me like I was interrupting his peace, and say,

"You’re late."

. . .

. . .

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Wow. Look at you. Talking like I’m a guest in my own chamber. Should I knock next time? Maybe send you a formal request before entering?"

He gave me a wry smile. "It’s okay, princess. I’m already used to being alone here."

"Ohhh, how tragic," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.

I turned to Marshi, raising a brow. He nodded back at me, but there was this mischievous glint in his eyes—like he’d just remembered the exact moment a prank was about to go perfectly.

And then—

ROOOOOOARRRRRRRRRR!

"Aghhhhhh—!" Rey’s scream cracked halfway through, but it was cut short when Marshi pounced, his massive paw landing squarely on Rey’s mouth like a furry silencer.

Now Rey was flailing—arms, legs, dignity—everything struggling under the sheer weight of a beast that could crush him like a walnut. His muffled protests sounded like "Mmmmffhhhhh-mmmfhh!!"

which, honestly, I assumed meant help me, I’m too handsome to die.

And wow. What. A. Scene.

Rey, red-faced and wide-eyed, pinned under a giant fluffy monster... Marshi looking smug as if this was his personal art piece... me standing there like the only sane person left in this universe.

I swear—if I knew how to paint, I’d capture this exact masterpiece. The sheer chaos. The drama. The fluffy dominance.

Frame it. Hang it in the royal gallery. Title it: "A Guild and His Problems."

I lounged back on the couch like I owned the place, tossing an apple in one hand. "Alright, Marsshi..." I drawled, eyeing him. "We don’t have to kill him."

He gave a single, satisfied nod—like I’d just granted him some royal decree—and then plopped down beside me, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.

From the floor, Rey scrambled to his feet, looking personally victimized. "She’s... she’s a monster," he muttered, brushing himself off.

I took a slow, deliberate bite of my apple, crossed one leg over the other, and smirked at him like I was doing him a favor just by acknowledging his existence.

"Why are you even here, Rey? If you’ve come to spit out more nonsense, then save us both the headache and leave. Papa’s waiting for me for lunch."

He groaned, rolling his eyes so hard I half-expected them to get stuck.

"This time," he said, dragging out the words like they were precious, "I actually came with information. Real information."

I arched a brow. "Really?"

He gave me a sly, knowing nod. Then that awful little smirk of his crept up—one that said I was either about to laugh or throw my apple at his face.

"Eleania," he began, savoring every syllable, "that girl, she abandoned her own mother at age ten... and came straight to this city."

"What!" My eyes widened. "She abandoned her own mother?"

"Oh, it gets better," Rey said, leaning in like we were sharing some delicious gossip. "She didn’t just run away. She came here... specifically looking for Marquess Everette."

The apple froze halfway to my mouth. "But... why?"

He scoffed. "How would I know?"

This man—can I just kill him?

I threw the nearest pillow at his smug face. "Then go find out, you idiot! That’s literally your job!"

Rey caught the pillow with one hand, the picture of infuriating grace, and smirked. "I don’t do things for free, princess. You know that."

I sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, you money leech. I’ll pay you. Don’t worry about the payment. I’m loaded, you know," I added with a proud little smirk.

Rey chuckled, tilting his head just enough to make me suspicious. "Oh, but I don’t want money, princess."

I blinked. "Huh? Then what do you want?"

The smirk deepened, and he leaned in close enough that I could see the mischief dancing in his eyes.

"YOU."

The word hung in the air like a lit fuse.