Chapter 282: Kneeling Before Fate
[Lavinia’s POV — Irethene Forest—Continuation]
The forest stilled as I stepped from the saddle. Every movement was measured and deliberate—a predator uncoiling. Sunlight glanced off my sword, but it was the weight behind my stare that cut the clearing. Leaves shivered. Shadows seemed to shrink away. They all knew, as I did, who owned this place.
Eleania clung to Osric, pale and streaked with blood, eyes darting to me with that same thin, calculating smile. A viper in silks. Her fear flitted across her features for the barest instant. And yet she dared to cross the boundary.
Should I kill her?
The thought rose as easily as breath—sharp, delicious.
Of course I could. I am the crown princess. My hand could fall and no voice here would raise a question. She had tasted my man once before; I would never let her be so bold again. She snatched my man from me in my previous life; not again.
A small, almost private smile curved my lips. There would be time for retribution. There would be spectacle. I liked the spectacle.
I slipped from the horse, boots meeting loam with the softest authority. Sir Haldor and Marshi were behind me, two living extensions of my will. I did not hurry; I did not need to. Power walked slowly.
"Osric." My voice was silk that cut. I stepped closer until the air between us thrummed. "My love."
He held her—careful, unwilling. There was that tightness in his jaw I had watched for years: honor, duty, or whatever foolish thing bound him. It made him handsome. It made him mine.
"Put her down." The command was casual, as if I were asking for tea. "I will handle the rest."
There was no plea in the words. No room to bargain. It was an order wrapped in a promise: obey, and I would be merciful; defy me, and mercy would be the last sound you ever hear.
Eleania’s fingers tightened in a vain, wet hope. Her eyes begged, not for Osric, but for my mercy—a small, pathetic thing. I let my smile deepen. Let her beg. Let her learn humility on her knees.
Osric’s fingers faltered. He glanced at me, the man torn between a gentleman’s instinct and the lie of his heart. He obeyed.
He set her down.
I stepped closer, letting the world narrow to three figures: the trembling viper at his feet, the man who could not quite be blamed, and me—the thing that had returned to correct foolish mistakes. Osric opened his mouth, voice rough with an apology he wanted to give and a defense he wanted to hide.
"Lavi... you need to calm down—"
A laugh like a blade. "I am—very—calm, Osric." Each word was measured. My smile was small and precise, and it did more harm than a shout.
He exhaled, defeated. I crouched, close enough that the scent of her sweat and blood was sharp. The wound on her leg was furtive and ugly, a smear of red on silk. Deliberate or convenient? It hardly mattered; the spectacle existed, and spectacle was a language I spoke fluently.
"Is this why you lifted her?" I asked, voice soft as velvet and edged like steel. I let the suggestion hang between us. "To make it look... intimate? To make a gentleman appear complicit?"
Osric’s eyes widened, honest shock raw on his face. "Lavi... I really didn’t—"
"Oh, Osric." I straightened, amused. "Do not muddle truth with the kindness you can never fully afford. I have trust in you..." I let the clause dangle. He felt it: the compliment and the caveat, both as binding as a chain.
Then I turned to Eleania. She was small there, still clinging to bravado like a bad cloak. Her stare was a flicker of the old defiance—enough to be noticed, not enough to matter.
"But some people," I said slowly, eyes cold and absolute, "think themselves white flowers—delicate, untouchable, safe beneath polite hands." I stepped around her and the light fell across her face. "And as crown princess, I teach white flowers what happens when they forget they grow in my garden."
Her breath hitched. The clearing inhaled with her.
Eleania opened her mouth, voice trembling, "Princess... you cannot harm me. I... I am Count Talvan’s daughter—"
"ADOPTED DAUGHTER!" I snapped, the word a steel slap that echoed through the trees. I leaned in close, so close she could feel the chill from my armor. "Do not forget your place, Eleania."
She swallowed, eyes frantic. "No matter... what... I am still his daughter. He—he could ruin you. He could—he could topple your throne—"
A wet laugh escaped me, low and incredulous.
"Pffttt." I wiped a single mock tear from my cheek. "Oh, Eleania. You believe threats are like toys to be waved about. How quaint."
I let the mockery hang in the air, then, slowly, I crouched. My fingers found the ragged wound on her leg. For a heartbeat I seemed... tender. A lie. Then I closed my hand and felt the brittle snap beneath bone—not with a surgeon’s care but with deliberate, crushing pressure. She cried out, a sound half-plea, half-scream.
"This is my empire, Eleania," I said, voice soft enough to be intimate and sharp enough to carve stone. "I rule it. No one—no pawn, no bargain, no petty lineage—crumbles my throne. Those who try?" I pressed until she flinched. "They find death waiting at the edge of my patience."
Her eyes widened, horror turning her face pale. "W-what—?"
I rose like a shadow uncoiling and drew my sword with a whisper of metal. The blade caught the sun, a thin, cold smile. "That’s right. Today I will show the world what happens when someone dares to stain my heart with their filthy manipulation."
"Lavi," Osric’s voice was a choke of alarm. He stepped forward, hands raised. "You’re being impulsive—this is not the solution—"
My smile cut him off before the next desperate word could form. "SHUT UP, OSRIC. OR ELSE..." The threat hung, cold and simple. "THIS WILL BE THE END OF US."
He flinched. Sir Haldor moved forward, armored bulk stepping between my will and my blade.
"Your Highness," he intoned, measured and steady, "Lord Osric speaks true. You cannot execute a noble without cause. Treason must be declared—"
I did not listen.
Rules were parchment; I was the flame. Everything I had swallowed over and over—the theft of a past life, the plots whispered behind curtains, the poisonings and provocations—all swelled into a single, suffocating rage.
Watching her in his arms, miming a kiss, made the old wound open again.
"Treason?" I echoed, voice low and venomous. I felt the low hum of power at my bones. "You call seduction and manipulation ’games’ harmlessly. But attempting to corrupt the loyalty of a royal’s sworn man—using a betrothal to twist honor—is treason enough in my court."
I raised my sword, the steel gleaming like cold fire, ready to end her.
"AAAAAAHH!!!" Her scream tore through the clearing.
I brought the blade down—and then—THUD!
"Your Highness, the Crown Princess..." Osric knelt, head bowed, hands trembling. "Please... spare her life, Your Highness. Please... reconsider your decision."
My sword froze mid-swing. I stared at him, disbelief tightening my chest.
"Are you... kneeling to save her, Osric?" My words hissed like a serpent.
"No... Your Highness," he said, voice low and urgent. "But as an heir of Everheart... as your loyal protector, I beg you—not to act impulsively."
Impulsively.
The word cut sharper than any blade. For a heartbeat, I forgot the sword in my hand. All I saw was the man who had once sworn his life to me kneeling for another.
I turned away, hiding the ache that burned like wildfire in my chest. My voice was steel, unbroken.
"Sir Haldor... send word to House Talvan. Their daughter has been caught poisoning nobles with her words against the Crown Princess. Either they disown her... or they will be stripped of all titles."
Sir Haldor bowed, dutiful and steady.
I walked away, Marshi at my side, each step a shard in my heart. Osric’s image—kneeling, pleading—burned into my mind. Even in this life, even now, it feels like someone has stolen my fate again.