CHAPTER 181: THORNS BENEATH THE CROWN

[Lavinia’s POV—Morning Tea, Imperial Garden]

I took a dainty sip of my tea, my eyes skimming the dramatic, ink-smeared newspaper sprawled before me.

"The people from the newspaper companies are so dramatic," I muttered under my breath.

Across from me, Osric leaned lazily against the chair, his gaze flicking over the dark, bold headline:

"TAX INCREASED—NOBLES ARE CRYING OVER THEIR BELLY."

I squinted at it and tapped the page. "I mean... I’ve never actually seen anyone cry over their belly. What’s next, nobles wailing that their ankles are too oppressed?"

Osric’s lips twitched, the corner of his mouth curving as he murmured, "Maybe they’re just reflecting your words. You know—like how you always do."

I blinked. "...Excuse me?"

He looked up from the paper, eyes locking onto mine with that infuriating, deliberate steadiness. Then—slowly, shamelessly—he smirked.

Saints save me. I really needed to build immunity to that face. My poor heart couldn’t keep breaking into song every time he looked vaguely handsome, which was always.

I tried to hide my fluster by gulping more tea. And that was when—

THUMP!

Something slid across the table.

A velvet jewel box.

I stared at it like it had personally insulted me. "What is... this?"

"Earrings," Osric replied smoothly, as if the answer were obvious.

"I—yes, Osric, I can see that." My voice cracked as I flipped the box open to reveal sapphire teardrops that sparkled in the sunlight like captured ocean. "...But why are you giving me this now? You already gave me a birthday present."

That damned smirk deepened. He reached across, his fingers brushing mine before he gently—too gently—took my hand.

"It’s not a birthday gift," he said. "It’s... a confession gift."

My brain short-circuited. "A... a what?"

"A confession gift." His voice dropped lower, silkier, his thumb stroking lightly over my knuckles. And then—oh saints—he leaned down, brushing his lips against my hand. "The day you wear those earrings, Lavi... I’ll take it as my answer. That you love me too."

...

Blink.

The world went fuzzy at the edges. My cheeks betrayed me, heating faster than boiling tea. I yanked my hand back, stammering like a complete idiot. "I—I get it, alright! Don’t just say things like that so casually!"

He only smiled—innocent, angelic, as if he hadn’t just detonated my heart in broad daylight.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, his expression shifted. His hand curled into a fist, his jaw tightening.

"...And I’d like to apologize."

I froze, caught off guard. "...Apologize? For what?"

His gaze sharpened, shadows sliding across his face. "For not being there. When someone tried to kill you."

The words were heavy. Honest. They sank into me, quiet and unpolished in a way his usual confidence wasn’t.

I blinked at him, then gave a small smile. "...It’s alright. No one could’ve predicted that would happen. I just wanted to be myself for a moment... and I wasn’t in the right mind to drag anyone along."

My voice faltered, softer. "...And it’s not like I wanted someone to see me like that."

He studied me. Too intently. Then, voice low, he asked, "But... you didn’t sense who it was, did you? Man or woman?"

My stomach twisted. I let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with the edge of the newspaper. "No. I wasn’t exactly... in the right state to notice."

His confession made my brain crackle—I didn’t even notice someone standing behind me.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t find the traitor.

Rey, that useless guild master, had better uncover something soon. Still... my gut whispers I already know who it is.

Because during the entire party, one pair of eyes followed me—brimming with venom sharp enough to spill blood.

Eleania.

Every step I danced with Osric, every word I let slip—she glared at me with a hatred so sharp it could have carved through skin.

My lips curved, though my heart felt like steel. "Perhaps," I murmured, almost to myself, "I should hold a tea party."

"Tea party?" Osric echoed, brows furrowing, his deep voice laced with suspicion.

I tilted my head toward him, reclining lazily against the chair as if the very idea amused me. "Yes," I drawled, letting the word stretch, "it’s time I mingled with society, don’t you think, Osric? A harmless gathering... lace and porcelain, smiles and poisoned words."

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "You mean to lure the traitor out."

I smirked, eyes flashing. "Oh, I never said that." My voice dropped to a whisper, silk laced with thorns. "But if that person comes... I won’t let them leave with their mask intact."

Osric gave a half-smile, almost amused at my venom. "Then I’ll sharpen my sword for the occasion."

Before I could retort, the doors burst open. Sera stumbled in, her cheeks flushed, clutching a single parchment as though it burned her fingers.

"Princess... huff—this... this—"

I raised a hand, steady and commanding. "Breathe, Sera. You’ll faint before you finish your sentence."

She nodded frantically, drawing in a shaky breath before forcing the words out. "This is... the document... from His Majesty."

I arched a brow, already guessing. "A tax decree?"

Her lips pressed into a tight line. "Yes... he said it requires your signature as well."

I took the parchment with a practiced calm, scanning the sharp black ink. A sigh slipped past my lips, followed by the scratch of my quill. My signature bloomed at the bottom, sealing the fate of hundreds.

"Let’s see," I murmured, "how much gold the empire can wring from its people this season. The imperial treasury will bleed full, whether they like it or not."

Osric leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs across the carpet. He plucked a macaron from the tray and bit into it lazily, his smirk curling.

"Truly..." he drawled, brushing crumbs from his fingers, "the blood of tyrants runs thick in your veins, my princess."

I set the quill down with a decisive tap and looked at him, lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile."And I will take that," I said sweetly, "as the highest compliment you’ve ever given me."

***

[Emperor Cassius POV—Imperial Palace—Throne Room]

"Your Majesty... please... you must reconsider!" one of the nobles pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

Another joined, "Your Majesty, the Crown Princess must retract her decision—if she continues this path, the Empire will be ruined!"

"History will remember this as a dark age, Your Majesty!"

"The Crown Princess must reconsider!"

Their voices rose and fell like a swarm of buzzing flies. They groveled and begged, their words colliding over each other until the chamber felt polluted with their cowardice.

My fingers curled against the armrest, knuckles pale, nails scraping the carved wood.

Noisy insects...

"Your Majesty, if you do not stop her—we will have no choice but to protest against the Crown Princess!"

That last word—protest—made the chamber fall into a deathly stillness. I felt my jaw twitch, lips curving into a dangerous smile as my voice spilled out, low and sharp:

"...Protest?"

I leaned back, rubbing the edge of my jaw slowly, deliberately. My eyes swept over them like a predator deciding which throat to crush first.

"Protest, and I’ll hang your banners in ash above your corpses."

Everyone flinched. Regis, Theon, and Ravick stood at my side, their faces unreadable—accustomed to this dance of power, almost bored. They knew well enough what was about to happen.

I fixed my gaze on the trembling noble who had dared to speak. "Ravick," I said, my tone cold as steel. "Drag. Him. Here."

Ravick took a step forward, and the noble immediately collapsed to his knees, shaking. "Y-Your Majesty! I—I apologize! Forgive my insolence, but what I said was true! The Crown Princess... if she continues this way, she will lose her reputa—"

"Silence."

The word cracked like a whip. I rose from the throne, each step down the dais echoing with the weight of judgment. My cloak swept the floor as I loomed over him.

"You dare lecture me about reputation?" My voice thundered, filling every corner of the hall. "Do you think... my daughter gives a damn about the petty whispers of worms like you?"

The noble’s forehead slammed against the floor, as if pressing himself deeper into the marble might spare him.

I leaned close, my words dropping to a chilling whisper.

"Remember this—I do not raise a daughter who bends for the approval of insects."

"But... Your Majesty," Marquis Everett ventured carefully, lips curled into that insufferable smugness he always wore. "Do you not think the princess’s decree is... excessive?"

I turned my gaze on him, slow and deliberate, letting silence drag long enough to make him sweat. That face—so practiced, so sly. The very same man who once pushed my daughter toward death’s edge, dressed in loyalty while plotting treason in her last life. My fingers twitched, aching for a blade to silence him forever.

"Excessive?" My voice cut the air like steel drawn from its sheath. "Tell me, Marquis... Was it excessive when someone shoved my daughter off the rail and called it bravery?"

The hall dropped into silence so profound it was suffocating.

His smug expression faltered, just slightly. Enough for me to see the flicker of fear.

"Remember well," I finished, voice low, each syllable edged in steel, "the Crown Princess’s will... is mine. And mine is law."