Chapter 284: One Less Corpse for Today
[Osric’s POV — Irethene Forest, After Lavinia’s Departure]
The silence after she left was unbearable. Her footsteps faded down the path, but her voice—her fury—still echoed like a curse I’d carved into my own soul.
She said she’d cut off my legs. I almost wished she had. It would have hurt less than the way she looked at me—as if I were a stranger wearing the face of the man she once loved.
Eleania’s ragged breathing filled the emptiness between us. She sat on the ground, trembling, her wrists still bound by the restraints Lavinia’s magic had conjured moments earlier. A faint burn marked her skin—the same flame that had once devoured an empire.
And yet, I knelt for her.
Not because I forgave her. Not because I pitied her. But because if Lavinia had struck her down now—without knowing why—everything she had fought for would have turned to ash.
The Crown Princess of Elorian cannot be seen as a woman who kills for jealousy. A tyrant who slays the corrupted is feared—and respected. But a tyrant who kills for love and jealousy is hated. Forgotten. Rewritten as madness.
That was what I wanted to save her from.
But how do you explain that to someone whose heart you’ve already broken once before?
I looked down at my hands—the same ones that had sworn loyalty to her, that had once held her and loved her. And now, they had touched the earth for another woman. For Eleania—the one who once ended Lavinia’s first life.
Marshi’s growl still lingered in my memory, a low, divine warning that I’d crossed a line no mortal could return from. Perhaps he was right.
"Lord Osric..." Eleania’s voice trembled, her throat raw. "She’ll kill me next time."
"She won’t," I said quietly, though the words tasted like lies. "Not until you provoke her and not until I can stop her."
Her eyes darted to me—jealousy, fear, and something that looked too much like understanding. "Lord Osric, the rumors say you love her. Do You really love her?"
"Yes, I love her and I always will," I said. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll let her destroy herself for me."
The forest swallowed my confession whole.
I rose slowly, every joint heavy with the weight of my choices. Blood still stained the dirt where Lavinia’s boots had been—crimson prints, half-moons fading into the path toward the capital. They looked like the ghosts of steps I’d never catch up to.
I followed. Not too close, not too far. Just enough to see her—her figure wrapped in that royal cloak, shoulders trembling beneath its weight. She stopped near the clearing where Sir Haldor stood waiting, the carcass of the beast laid aside.
And then... I saw it.
She turned to him. No crown. No command. Just a girl—small, broken, human. When she spoke, her voice was so faint I almost thought the wind had imagined it.
"It hurts, Sir Haldor... it hurts to live again."
Those words cut through me deeper than any blade ever could. To live again.
Haldor hesitated, then pulled her close, his armored arms folding around her with the kind of strength I had once sworn was mine to give. My chest constricted; jealousy burned, ugly and raw, but even worse was the pain beneath it. Because I knew—she didn’t need a knight right now. She needed peace, and I had stolen that from her.
Her soft hiccups carried across the still air, muffled against steel. I had heard her cry once before—in another life, when her palace burned and I couldn’t save her. That sound had haunted me through death itself. Hearing it again now... it shattered everything I had rebuilt.
"Lavi..."
The name escaped me before I could stop it—quiet, desperate.
She stiffened. Slowly, she stepped out of Sir Haldor’s hold and turned. Her eyes were swollen, rimmed red beneath the gold of her lashes. For a moment, her lips trembled—like she wanted to say something. Like she almost forgave me.
Then her hand went to her sword.
"Do not follow me," she said, her voice steady now—cold, royal. "Or else I will not threaten. I will do it for real."
The sound of steel left its sheath, sharp and final.
I stopped where I stood. My throat felt tight, my body frozen in that awful distance between us—the kind that no step could close.
She turned away, her cloak whipping behind her as she walked toward the stage, toward the crowd, toward a world that would never let her weep without consequence.
And I—I didn’t follow.
I should stop here. I had to.Because if I took another step, she would strike me—not out of hate, but out of the pain I caused her.
So I stayed behind, surrounded by the silence of the forest and the echo of her sobs still clinging to the trees.
I didn’t return to the hunt. I returned to the stage instead—where duty waited, cruel and patient, just like fate itself.
***
[Lavinia’s POV — At the Stage—Later]
...God, it was hard to convince Papa that nothing happened.
The moment he saw my eyes—puffy, red, traitorous—his hand flew straight to his sword. Not even a word, just that look that said someone’s about to die for this.
If I hadn’t stopped him, there might have been a royal execution before the next horn sounded.
"Papa, I’m fine," I said quickly, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Something just... fell into my eyes."
Papa didn’t look convinced. His gaze flicked to Sir Haldor like a blade drawn midair. "Haldor," he said, voice low and heavy, "is she lying to me?"
Poor Sir Haldor. He looked like a man trapped between two guillotines. His eyes darted from the Emperor’s glare to my silent, pleading stare.
He hesitated, swallowed hard, and said, "Her Highness speaks the truth, Your Majesty. It was, ah... the dust. A rather aggressive bit of dust, it seems."
Papa narrowed his eyes. "Dust?"
Sir Haldor nodded too quickly. "Yes—yes, Your Majesty. The kind that... stings."
I could’ve hugged him again for that lie. A loyal knight indeed.
Papa stared for another long, terrifying moment, then slowly sheathed his sword—but not without grumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, ’Next time, I’ll kill first and ask later.’
I exhaled quietly. "Thank the gods," I muttered. "One less corpse for today."
Papa’s eyes swept across the stage—and landed squarely on Osric.
Oh, no.
His jaw clenched, and that dangerous gleam returned to his eyes.
"Papa..." I warned softly.
"I’m not doing anything, Lavinia," he said too calmly.
"Yes, you are," I sighed. "You’re shooting deadly daggers at him. He’s going to drop dead from guilt before you even swing that sword."
Papa scoffed, folding his arms. "As if I care."
I rolled my eyes. "You really should. Dead fiancés make poor headlines."
That earned a faint twitch of his lips—a near-smile, if I dared call it that. But his gaze didn’t leave Osric.
"Still..." he murmured darkly, "if he made you cry, I will hang his bones over the palace gate myself."
"Papa," I said, forcing a laugh that came out a little too high-pitched, "please, there are children here."
The nobles in front of us pretended to admire the hunting trophies, pretending very hard not to overhear the Emperor casually plotting murder.
I risked a glance at Osric. He stood among the knights, posture rigid, eyes fixed on the ground—but when our gazes met, guilt flickered across his face like a confession he couldn’t voice.
And then my eyes shifted to her.
Eleania. Sitting gracefully beside Lady Sirella, her posture perfect, her expression sweetly composed... except for that small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
Of course. The girl who had once taken my life was now smiling as if she’d won another round.
I turned away before the rage could flare again, my lips curling into the faintest, coldest smile.
Let her smirk.
The stage might be hers for a moment—but the crown, the throne, and the power to burn her whole world down?
Those were mine.
And then—THUD!!!
The entire stage jolted. The nobles gasped. Even Papa’s eyebrow twitched.
"What in the name of the Twelve was that?" I muttered, turning—and froze.
Standing proudly at the edge of the stage was Rey, looking far too smug for someone who had just dropped three enormous wild boars at our feet as if he were delivering firewood.
Three. Enormous. Boars.
The ground practically shook.
"Hah!" Rey declared, planting his hands on his hips. "I guess we can all clearly see who the winner is here!"
The crowd murmured in awe, nobles clapping politely, some too afraid to look unimpressed.
Sera, of course, clapped the loudest, her eyes sparkling. "Wow, Rey! I didn’t know you were this strong!"
Rey puffed out his chest. "Now you know, darling."
I stared at him flatly. "Did you use your magic again?"
He blinked, then looked offended. "Excuse me? Are you—are you underestimating the power of me? A Supreme archmage of the century?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"...Did he just casually call himself a supreme archmage, casually?" I said.
Behind Papa’s throne, Ravick sighed without looking up from polishing his gauntlets. "Yes, and with too much arrogance at that, Princess."
Papa muttered something that sounded very close to, "By the gods, why do I tolerate this boy?"
I folded my arms. "Rey, you nearly caused a tremor with that entrance."
He grinned, unbothered. "A grand entrance for a Supreme mage, Princess."
I rolled my eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "Grand ego, you mean."
Papa finally rose, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, and said dryly, "Well, Lavinia, I suppose it’s fair to say the competition has found its victor."
I sighed, crossing my arms. "Yes, yes, I know. Rey wins. He brought three boars. I only brought two."
Rey smirked. "Ah, don’t be jealous, Your Highness. I’ll share the victory feast with you."
"Share it with your ego," I muttered under my breath.
Papa chuckled and raised his hand. "By royal decree, the winner of this year’s Great Hunt is Rey Morvan." Rey bowed dramatically, one hand over his chest, basking in his glory like a peacock with too much sunlight.
I exhaled, shaking my head. "I swear, I forgot he even existed until now."
Sera giggled beside him. "You always do, Princess."
"Tch," I scoffed quietly, watching Rey soak in the applause. "Maybe I should start hunting mages next year."