[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Ballroom—Later That Night]
The ballroom had not changed.
The music still flowed. Laughter still rose and fell like practiced waves. Chandeliers still burned bright, scattering gold across marble and silk.
And yet—everything felt different.
I stepped back into the ballroom with my head held high, my expression composed, and my steps measured and imperial. To anyone watching, I was the same Crown Princess who had left moments ago.
Only I knew the truth.
Only I knew my lips still tingled. Only I knew my heart was beating too fast. Only I knew that the air itself felt heavier—charged with something fragile and alive.
I felt him before I saw him.
Haldor.
He stood near one of the pillars, posture perfect, shoulders squared, eyes forward. A captain carved from discipline and restraint.
Except his jaw was tight. Except his hands were clenched just a little too hard. Except his gaze flicked to me the moment I re-entered the room—then away, as if looking for too long would betray us both.
But the space between us felt... altered. Like a thread had been tied quietly and invisibly, and now every movement tugged at it.
Papa was surrounded by nobles—listening, judging, and pissed. Theon and Ravick stood nearby, amused and watchful. Osric lingered on the opposite side of the hall, his expression unreadable, his gaze flickering between me and Haldor more than once.
I ignored it all.
I accepted greetings. I smiled when required. I danced when duty demanded it. But every time I moved across the floor, I felt Haldor’s presence like gravity.
Not possessive.
Not demanding.
Steady.
As if he were standing beside me even when he wasn’t.
The orchestra swelled into another waltz—slow, elegant, intimate. Nobles paired off quickly, eager to be seen, eager to whisper behind gloved hands.
Papa glanced at me.
Just once.
Papa’s gaze flicked to me across the sea of silk and jewels.
And I knew that look.
You’re bored. You’ve done enough. You can leave.
I sighed inwardly, schooling my expression into calm obedience. I inclined my head—just enough to acknowledge him—then turned away from the ballroom doors.
The music swallowed my retreat almost instantly. I hadn’t taken more than three steps when I felt it.
Footsteps.
Measured. Silent. Familiar.
Of course.
Haldor followed me without question, his presence steady at my back like a shadow that had learned my shape by heart.
"Your Highness," he murmured softly, close enough that only I could hear. "Are we leaving?"
"Yes..."
And then—
"Your Highness."
That voice.
I stopped completely. Haldor stopped too.
We turned.
General Luke stood a few paces away in the corridor, torchlight catching the sharp lines of his face. His posture was straight, his hands folded behind his back, his expression carved from ice.
His eyes landed on me.
Cold.
Assessing.
Ruthless.
Then—just for a breath—they shifted to Haldor. And the change was unmistakable.
The cold receded. The sharpness dulled. Something warm—something dangerously human—flickered there.
Then his gaze returned to me.
Cold again.
I felt it settle in my chest like a stone.
He really is like Papa. Papa’s eyes only ever softened for me. For everyone else, they were iron and judgment.
Luke inclined his head. "I was informed you were leaving the ballroom."
"I am," I replied evenly. "The celebration will continue without me."
"As it should," he said.
Then—silence.
Not the awkward kind.
I lifted a brow. "Do you want something, General?"
His gaze shifted—briefly—to Haldor. Not hostile. Not dismissive. Calculating. Then he looked back at me. "I would like to speak with you privately, Your Highness. If you allow it."
Haldor stiffened beside me. I felt it without looking. A quiet, instinctive tension—protective, restrained.
I turned slightly. "Follow me."
The words were calm. Final. And just like that, the corridor changed. Haldor fell into step behind me immediately. Luke followed a pace back, his footsteps precise and unhurried, as though he already knew where this conversation would end.
We moved through the quieter passages of the palace, away from music and candlelight, until the air itself felt cooler—sharper.
Dawnspire Wing.
My chambers.
The guards straightened as we passed. The doors opened.
Inside, I stopped.
"Haldor," I said without turning, "stay here."
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied instantly.
I faced Luke. "Follow me, General."
We stepped inside.
The door shut behind us—SHUT.
The sound echoed—clean, decisive. I moved to the couch and sat, crossing my legs with deliberate ease. Power did not always need to shout. Sometimes, it simply waited.
"Take a seat," I said.
Luke did. Smoothly. No hesitation. No false humility. I studied him for a heartbeat—his posture, his breathing, and the way his eyes never quite stopped assessing the room even while focused on me.
Then I spoke.
"What is it," I asked calmly, "that you wished to say in private?"
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, hands resting on his knees, eyes lifting to meet mine fully.
"Your Highness," he said at last, "I will speak plainly."
"Good," I replied. "I don’t like twisted words."
A corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. Almost.
"I have served tyrants," he continued. "Men who wore crowns and believed fear was loyalty. Men who mistook silence for obedience."
My gaze didn’t waver. "And?"
"And you are not like them," he said. "Which makes you far more dangerous."
I smiled faintly, slow and measured. "That’s not a complaint, I hope."
"No," Luke replied. Then—after a pause far heavier than the words themselves—"It isn’t."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he spoke again, carefully. "I have a request, Your Highness. One I would not place before just anyone."
Ah.
I studied him—really studied him this time. The way his shoulders remained rigid despite the softness creeping into his eyes. The way his breathing betrayed him, just slightly.
I leaned back against the couch, smirking. "Let me guess," I said mildly. "This request involves Captain Haldor."
He flinched.
Actually flinched.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "...So you knew."
I smirked. "Of course, General." My gaze sharpened, voice lowering. "There is a difference between a general’s eyes... and a father’s eyes when they look at their child."
He stiffened.
Then—slowly—a faint, rueful smile touched his lips. "You would recognize that difference," he said quietly. "You have a father who watches the world burn before letting it touch you."
I didn’t respond.
Because that silence told him enough.
How interesting.I never expected General Luke to open himself like this. How... amusing.
He glanced at me again, hesitation bleeding through his composure. "Just as the Emperor is protective of you," he said, "I am protective too."
His fingers curled slightly.
"...Of my son."
There it was.
Finally.
The truth, spoken aloud.
I didn’t widen my eyes. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t soften.
I only tilted my head. "So you are saying," I replied evenly, "that Captain Haldor is your son."
Luke nodded once. Then hesitated. "It’s just..." His jaw tightened. "...I am not certain. Not yet."
I frowned slightly. "Explain."
"The moment I saw him," Luke said, voice low, stripped of rank and pride, "I knew. In my bones. He looks exactly like me. The build. The eyes." His gaze darkened. "And those tender expressions—those belong to his mother."
My chest tightened—not with shock, but with clarity.
"And yet," I said, "you hesitate."
"Yes." His voice turned rough. "Because I received news from Astreyon."
"What news?"
"They claim," Luke said slowly, "that they have found my son."
Silence.
I stared at him. "You believe the report is false."
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "Or incomplete. Or manipulated. Because everything in me says Haldor is the child I have been searching for all my life."
His fists clenched. "But that message... it has shaken me."
I exhaled slowly.
"So," I said, voice calm, cold, and imperial, "you want confirmation."
He met my gaze. "Yes."
"In other words," I continued, tapping my finger lightly against my knee, "you wish to test whether Haldor is truly your son."
A test.
In another world, they would call it blood verification.
DNA.
Here—it would be fate, magic, lineage rites, truth spells, or priestly relics.
Luke nodded once. "I do."
I went quiet, my thoughts moving fast.
If anyone could untangle bloodlines that kingdoms tried to bury, it was Rey.
"I will speak with Rey," I said decisively. "Until then, you will not respond to that letter from Astreyon."
Luke’s eyes widened slightly. "Are you certain?"
I smiled. "Yes, General, because...I am curious to know who is Haldor for you."
. . .
"Thank you, Your Highness."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," I said.
He stopped at once.
"I have many questions," I continued, my voice dropping—harder now. "And once it is confirmed that Haldor is your son..."
I rose slowly from the couch, each step toward him measured and deliberate.
"...you will answer every single one of them. Not just to me, but to Haldor too."
The air grew heavy.
"That boy," I said, eyes burning, "has suffered enough in ignorance. If he is your son, then you do not get to choose silence anymore."
Luke inhaled deeply.
"I know," he said, voice tight. "That is why I came to you first."
I studied him for a long moment.
Then I nodded once. "Good."
He bowed—deeply this time. "I will wait for your word, Your Highness."
And then he left.
The door closed softly behind him. I remained standing, staring at the place he’d been.
Father.
Son.
Astreyon.
And a man who had no idea that his entire past was standing one revelation away from shattering—or finally becoming whole.
I exhaled slowly.
"This," I murmured to the empty room, "is going to change everything."