[Lavinia’s Pov]
I still couldn’t believe it.
Papa actually—
actually
—forbade me from going to the Holy Temple.
Me. His
only
daughter. The heir to the empire. Future Empress. Tamer of a divine beast. The reason half the palace staff doesn’t sleep at night.
And he said
no
.
To
me
.
Over
a library
.
"I just wanted to know more about Rakshar," I grumbled, dunking my face beneath the warm water and blowing bubbles like an offended carp. "That’s all. I wasn’t even going to light anything on fire this time."
"Is the water warm, Princess?"
Marella’s voice floated into the room, all soft and sunny like a basket of fresh laundry.
I peeked at her from the edge of the bathtub, cheeks puffed up. "Yeah... it’s warm. It’s good, Marella."
She smiled in that way grown-ups do when they’re definitely up to something. "Good. Now, eyes closed, please."
I sighed with tragic drama—because apparently, even in my own royal bath, I wasn’t allowed peace—and slapped both hands over my face.
A moment later, she poured a cascade of warm water over my hair. It streamed down my back in silky rivulets. She hummed while doing it, like I was a houseplant she was watering.
"There," she chirped. "We’re all nice and clean. Like a shiny gemstone."
"She’s more like a lava stone," Nanny muttered from somewhere near the tower of towels.
"I heard that!" I shouted through the water.
"Of course you did," Nanny said fondly. "Ears sharper than a hawk."
Marella laughed, then turned to her co-conspirator. "I think it’s time, right?"
I paused.
Time? Time for
what
?
I squinted through one eye, still covered in bubbles. "Time for what?"
Nanny beamed like someone about to drop a royal decree on my head. "Time for you to move, sweetheart."
I blinked. "Move? Move
where
? To the stables? Because I’m warning you—Marshi snores, and I don’t share blankets."
They both laughed like it was
hilarious
.
"No, no, Princess," Marella said, wrapping a towel around me like I was a cinnamon roll fresh from the oven. "You’re going to move into your own wing."
I froze mid-step on the bath rug. "...My
what
?"
"Your wing, Princess. The
Dawnspire Wing
," Nanny repeated patiently, smoothing down the corner of the towel like she was fluffing royalty itself. "Your
own
private chambers. With staff. And guards. And study halls. And scroll cubbies. And your very
own
reading room with a glass ceiling and enchanted quills that refill themselves."
I blinked. "That sounds like... a trap."
Marella laughed. Nanny did not.
"You should’ve moved the day His Majesty finished rebuilding it," she added, arms crossed now like she was scolding time itself. "He turned the entire eastern quarter into a wing made of gold and diamond dust, just for you."
"But will his majesty allow the princess to move?" Marella asked.
"Because His Majesty—" she paused, shooting me a meaningful look "—couldn’t bring himself to be separated from
his daughter
."
Ah.
Right.
That tracks.
I huffed, tossing my wet hair over my shoulder with the kind of grace that should’ve come with a royal fanfare. "What can I say? I’m Papa’s heart and soul. His
greatest,
one true joy."
Nanny chuckled under her breath. "You’re not wrong, Princess."
Then she paused, her smile fading into something... thoughtful.
"But I still wonder..." She murmured, folding a towel with a frown, "Will His Majesty
really
let you go this time?"
I stilled.
Hmm.
Nanny was right.
Would Papa
actually
let me move? To a whole wing by myself? With doors, he couldn’t just barge through when he missed me? Would he finally let me grow up... even a little?
I chewed my lip.
And more importantly—
did I
want to go?
The room was quiet for a moment. Peaceful. Wrapped in warm steam and the scent of lavender oils.
I slipped into my fresh nightclothes, hugging the lingering warmth close to my skin, and gave a small, contented shrug.
"Well... I’m only ten," I muttered. "Not twelve. I think it’s
far
too soon to move. I mean, what if I get kidnapped in the middle of the night by library ghouls? Who’ll protect me then?"
Nanny and Marella exchanged a look. I ignored it.
Freshly bathed and bundled in my favorite set of velvet nightclothes—dark crimson with little golden dragons stitched along the sleeves—I stepped out of the bath chamber...
And there he was.
Papa.
Already on the bed, reclined like a bored tyrant, one arm thrown over his eyes like the weight of the empire was annoying him this evening.
I grinned.
Then
dashed
.
"HEHEHE—It’s been
forever
since I hugged you like this!" I squealed as I leapt onto the mattress, landing with a thud beside him and immediately snuggling into his side like a koala.
Papa blinked—clearly ambushed—and stared at me like I was some unsolvable riddle that had just tackled him.
"My personal warm heater is back," I chirped smugly.
He muttered, "I wonder when you learned to say things like that."
I grinned and tucked myself under his arm. "Obviously from
you
," I said sweetly.
He chuckled under his breath—one of those rare, soft chuckles that only happened when no one else was around—and patted my head with a fond sigh.
"So..." he asked, his voice quieter now. "Do you feel good? Rested?"
I nodded. "I feel
blessed
."
That made him pause.
Then smile.
He brushed a strand of damp hair from my forehead. "You still want that book about Rakshar?"
My eyes sparkled. "I do...
But
you won’t let me go to the temple," I said with exaggerated suspicion, narrowing my eyes at him like I’d caught him in a lie.
"It’s like you’re
hiding something
, Papa..."
He
flinched
.
It was subtle—blink-and-miss—but I
saw
it.
"That place," he said slowly, "is not... not good for you. Not yet."
He looked away, a little too quickly.
"I’ll have someone fetch you a book," he added. "From the Temple archives. You’ll have what you need."
I nodded. But something still itched at the back of my mind. Something didn’t sit right.
He
was
hiding something.
I could
feel
it.
"Papa..."
He hummed, still stroking my head gently.
I stared up at him with the most serious face I could make.
"I want to take over the throne."
There was a beat of silence.
And then—
"
WHAT?
" he twitched, like I’d just told him I was planning to marry a pirate.
"I’m serious!" I said, puffing up like a noble hen. "You said
only the ruler
is allowed to enter the Holy Temple Library. Well—if I become empress
now
—then I can go."
He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.
Then he reached out...
Flick!
"OWWW!" I yelped, clutching my forehead. "That
hurts!
"
"
Good
," he muttered. "That was the point."
I groaned, pouting like my future empire had just crumbled.
"You could’ve used
words,
you know..."
He smirked. "As if
you’d
listen."
"I
might
have!"
He raised a royal eyebrow.
"...Okay, fine, I
probably
wouldn’t."
"Exactly."
He ruffled my hair again—because he knew I hated it—and said, "You won’t inherit the throne until I find you... fit to rule."
"And what if I
am
?" I challenged, poking him in the ribs. "What if I’m a
brilliant
future empress and you’re just scared I’ll outshine you?"
"Oh, I’m
certain
you will," he said dryly. "That’s why I plan to retire in the mountains with no letters, no advisors, and no screaming children."
"Can I come?"
"Absolutely not."
I blinked. "Rude."
Without waiting for permission, I wiggled closer and wrapped my arms around him like a sleepy vine. "You’re not allowed to leave me, Papa. It’s against royal law."
He chuckled, soft and warm, then kissed the top of my head. "Then I suppose I’m bound by your decree, Your Royal Highness."
"That’s right," I murmured, my voice muffled against his chest, already melting into the comfort of him.
Silence followed. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled—soft and heavy, like a blanket woven from breath and heartbeat.
Papa’s hand stroked gently through my hair, his warmth sinking into my skin like sunlight through a frost-laced window. He exhaled slowly—one of those long, quiet sighs that told me I was his whole world, even if he never said it out loud.
Then, I heard him.
A murmur, almost too soft to catch.
"I will protect you... no matter what comes."
And then...
Another whisper.
Fainter. Quieter.
A secret meant for no one.
"...I won’t repeat the same mistake twice."
My eyelids were too heavy to lift. My thoughts too tangled in sleep to chase the meaning.
But I heard it.
I
heard
it.
And deep in my chest, it curled and pulsed like a question unanswered.
What mistake?
What mistake, Papa?
Sleep claimed me before I could ask. But somewhere deep inside me, a quiet voice stirred—a whisper not unlike his.
One day
,
I’ll find the answers.
And maybe... maybe that’s why I didn’t ask.
Not tonight.
Because if Papa didn’t want me to step into the Holy Temple Library, then I wouldn’t. I’d wait. I’d honor his silence.
Not out of fear. But because I trust him.
Because the things he’s hiding—the truths buried deep in gold halls and sacred shelves—they won’t stay hidden forever.
One day, they’ll come to me.
Like dust stirred by wind.
Like locked doors remembering how to open.
And when they do...I’ll be ready.