The faint flickering glow of the oil lamp cast soft shadows against the walls, and I lay curled beneath a blanket with Osric, half-asleep, half-awake, like a slightly microwaved croissant—soft in the middle, crisp at the edges, and not entirely sure what dimension I existed in.
My head was warm. My eyes were heavy. Brain... buffering...
Then—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, steady. They entered the room with a kind of quiet confidence, and even in my sleepy haze, I could tell—this wasn’t a servant or a nursemaid. It was someone who didn’t need to rush.
That voice. I knew it.
I blinked slowly, lashes fluttering like the wings of a tired bird trying to fight gravity. The world swam back into shape through the syrupy haze of half-sleep, and I saw him.
"Theon..." I mumbled, still floating somewhere between dreams and reality.
He looked at me and smiled—gentle and warm, like moonlight on snow. "Did I wake you, Princess?" he asked softly, walking toward me.
I didn’t answer with words. I just smiled and gave a small nod, still wrapped in sleep’s lingering haze. Then he bent down, brushing a hand gently over my hair.
"Did you... encourage our little lord to sleep?" His gaze flicked to Osric, still peacefully snoring beside me, lips parted slightly and one arm tossed dramatically over his head like a tiny, exhausted poet.
"No... I stayed with him," I mumbled.
He smiled again, that kind of proud, knightly smile. "Good. That’s what he needed, my Princess."
I nodded like a very wise owl. A very sleepy owl.
Then he said it. "Would you like to meet His Majesty?"
My eyes opened wide, sleep vanishing like mist in the sun. "Can I?"
"Yes," Theon said, his tone gentle yet formal. "His Majesty requested your presence."
My heart beat a little faster. It’s not was the first time Papa wanted to see me—but in this situation? With the castle still tense from what happened?
Something fluttered in my chest. Not fear—not quite. But something. Nervous? Maybe. Excited? ... Maybe.
I held out my arms. Without another word, Theon scooped me up effortlessly. I rested my head on his shoulder as he stepped into the cold, torch-lit corridor. The halls were dim and quiet, save for the echo of our footsteps and the soft crackle of torches. But that silence didn’t last long.
We were getting closer to the meeting hall.
Wait... Meeting hall?
Wasn’t this supposed to be a private moment? Just me and Papa?
Then I heard it. Grown adults yelling like someone insulted their family crests on noble Twitter.
"...too skilled to be mere mercenaries—those assassins fought like trained knights—!"
"It could be the neighboring kingdoms. They’ve always eyed the western territories—"
"Nonsense. This reeks of internal betrayal. A noble’s hand, surely—"
Theon’s steps didn’t slow, but his arms tightened slightly, like a silent promise: Don’t worry. I’ve got you.
The doors swung open. The moment we entered the hall, I blinked at the battlefield in front of me. Nobles. Everywhere. Talking over each other like they were paid per word.
"Your Majesty, I believe it was premeditated. Possibly orchestrated by a neighboring kingdom—"
"But the Grand Duke was drugged, and the attack took place during the absence of the former Lord of Everhart!"
They were flinging accusations like toddlers with finger paint—and twice as messy. And then there was him.
Emperor Cassius Devereux.
Sitting on the throne like a storm trapped in human form. His posture was straight, his shoulders were squared, and his expression was carved from ice and tempered rage. He wasn’t yelling, but somehow he was still the loudest presence in the room.
He looked... Pissed. Like very pissed. I guess...he is a step away from swinging his sword and beheading them, but he is controlling.
Let’s just say, if looks could kill, this room would be a graveyard and I’d be planning a royal funeral bake sale.
"It’s a declaration of war, Your Majesty—!"
"But we cannot declare war without knowing who the real culprit is—"
Then bam—Papa slammed his hand down on the armrest. Everyone shut up so fast you’d think someone muted the world.
"Isn’t that why I ordered you all to investigate?" he growled, low and terrifying. "You all must have a collective death wish, since you’re still standing here squawking instead of doing your damn job."
Oops. There it is. The full Dragon Dad experience.
One poor noble, clearly suicidal, squeaked, "But Your Majesty... we can’t begin until the Grand Duke wakes and gives his account—"
I gasped in my brain.
Oh no. He just unlocked the insta-death route.
Papa didn’t blink. He just stood up, and whoosh—there went the sword, right to the guy’s neck. I might’ve gasped. Or maybe I just thought it.
Papa’s voice dropped even lower—calm, but full of venom.
"By tomorrow morning, I want the investigation reports on my desk. Or I’ll tie your worthless bodies to the kingdom gates alive. Understand?"
Yikes. That’s... an extremely creative way to die.
Suddenly, everyone understood. Very quickly. Heads bobbed. Papers rustled. People began scrambling with the kind of desperation only a near-death threat could inspire.
Meanwhile, I was still being held like a tiny princess backpack, blinking at this whole scene and wondering—This is what you called me for, Papa? A live demonstration of "how to scare people into competence?"
He hadn’t seen me yet.
To be fair, he was busy making every noble in the room consider a career change.
Should I wave? Cough? Do a dramatic, "Papa~"?
Nah. I’ll wait until the murder vibes simmer down.
"C’mon, Princess... You should go to His Majesty," Theon said gently as he set me down.
Excuse me?! I gave him a silent scream of betrayal. I gasped—internally, of course. Are you crazy, Theon? At least wait until the murder vibes simmer down!
But it was too late. Papa noticed me, and now I couldn’t pretend to wait anymore.
"Papa~" I stretched out my hands and ran to him.
He didn’t smile—not exactly—but his expression softened the second he saw me. He caught me easily and pulled me onto his lap like I was the only thing in the world that made sense. Which, to be fair, I probably was.
Now here we were—me and Papa—on the imperial throne, which, by the way, had a slightly broken armrest. I think it broke when Papa slammed it earlier. Poor gold armrest.
You did your best. Rest in peace, fancy armrest.
Then he brushed my hair back with his hand, his touch gentle in contrast to the stormy atmosphere around us. "Were you asleep?" he asked quietly.
He said nothing at first, just leaned me against him like a living teddy bear and wrapped his arms around me tighter.
I squinted and blinked up at him. "Papa... are you stressed?"
He looked down, eyebrow arching. "No."
I squinted. "Are you sure?"
"Do I look like I’m stressed?"
I nodded seriously. "Mm-hmm. I can see black things under your eyes."
"...Those are shadows."
"Nope," I said, poking his cheek gently. "That’s stress. You look like a panda, Papa."
Theon, still nearby, chuckled, but Papa just looked at me for a long second.
Then he pulled me into a softer hug, his big hand cradling the back of my head. His eyes closed like he was finally letting himself breathe for the first time in hours.
"Don’t worry," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "It will be gone soon. I will take care of everything."
I hugged him back, pressing my cheek to his chest. Because I knew... he wasn’t really saying those words to me. He was saying them to himself.
He must’ve been stressed after everything that happened at the Eeverhart estate. Even in the novel it was mentioned that, during Osric’s coming-of-age ceremony, when Papa spoke with him, it was clear—Emperor Cassius’s only regret that night was not reaching the Eeverhart estate in time.
Theon then stepped forward, clearing his throat lightly. "I think you should rest for a while, Your Majesty."
Papa didn’t open his eyes. "I can’t."
"You should," Theon said, with the quiet firmness of a man who’s walked into danger more times than he cares to count. "You haven’t slept, and your daughter is starting to diagnose you with animal comparisons."
"I only said panda," I mumbled.
Papa cracked one eye open and gave him a flat look. "I don’t pay you to take her side."
"You don’t pay me at all," Theon replied, deadpan.
Papa stared at Theon longer and then sighed. Then, he ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. I’ll rest. Just a little."
Theon nodded. "I’ll handle the rest here, Your Majesty."
Papa rose from the throne, lifting me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. He turned and walked out of the hall—his steps quieter, slower, but steady.
And just like that, the night full of chaos and tension melted into the soft sound of his footsteps.