Chapter 273: Crown and Desire
[Eleania’s POV—Talvan Estate—Morning]
"...I feel betrayed," I whisper, voice small in the sun-blanched salon.
Sirella lifts her teacup without looking. The porcelain breathes steam like a secret. She doesn’t blink. She only flips the newspaper with the casual cruelty of someone folding up other people’s lives.
"And what made you feel betrayed, Eleania?" Her tone is sugar over steel.
My hand curls into a fist so tight the knuckles ache. "You promised—you said you would help me get closer to Lord Osric—"
She doesn’t even bother to hide the contempt in her smile. "I said I would help. I never promised, Eleania."
Her eyes find mine at last and the room chills. Dark light pools in the irises—cold, calculating. "Know your place before you dare to raise that filthy voice at me." Her voice is a blade sheathed in velvet. "You like Lord Osric, yes. But because of your foolishness? He doesn’t even look at you. So do not blame me for your mistakes, Eleania."
The word "foolishness" tastes like ash in my mouth. Heat floods my cheeks; I swallow it down. This woman—Sirella Talvan—looks like a porcelain doll the court fawns over, but she is glass sharpened to a thousand edges. Her politeness is a trap set with honey.
She taps the paper with one manicured finger, the headline splintering the quiet: OSRIC & PRINCESS — ENGAGEMENT RUMORS SWIRL. Her smile widens into something beautiful and terrible.
"Did you see the headlines today?" she asks, standing so slowly it feels like the world has fallen out of rhythm.
"I—" My voice catches. I have no words for this sudden, bright ruin. I watch her carefully. She is a season you only think will pass quickly and then never does.
She steps forward, the distance between us charged with the memory of everything she has made me do. And then—SLAP.
Her hand lands on my cheek with the sound of a page being torn from a book. I taste metal, panic, and heat. The whole room tilts.
"You imbecile," she hisses, cupping my chin with fingers that are both cruel and exquisite.
"We brought you here to take him—to seduce him, to pull him away from that throne, to make him useful to our cause. We planted you into their orbit. We covered your every mistake. We orchestrated the balcony incident and the poisoned maid and even I have to bow to that damn princess—each scandal patched, each whisper swaddled in plausible lies so the Talvan name would shine brighter in the dark."
My throat closes. The room narrows until only her face exists—beautiful, patient, and deadly.
"And now," she continues slowly, each word wrapped in contempt, "if Princess Lavinia and Lord Osric bind themselves together—our plans collapse. Your incompetence is a contagion. Did you know because of you...all our fucking plans collapsed? And here you dare to raise a voice at me."
She withdraws her hand, and I suddenly feel like something she’s inspected and discarded. Her eyes flick to the maid standing rigid nearby.
"Take her," Sirella orders, voice cool as winter air. "Put her in the old storage room beneath the east wing. Let the rats remember her name while we fix the rest of the chessboard."
The maid’s face is blank but obedient. She steps forward, fingers trembling as she grips my wrist. Panic flares hot and awful in my chest.
"No. No—Sirella, please—" The plea sounds foreign in my own ears. "I was wrong; I will do anything you say... Please...."
The maid drags me toward the corridor.
They shove me into the storage room and slam the door. Darkness swallows me whole. The air is thick with dust and the stale ghost of clothes that have not been worn for years; the small, animal-cold scratch of something behind a crate makes my skin prickle.
"It’s all because of her," I rasped into the black, voice ragged. "That damn princess... if she hadn’t taken what was mine... I wouldn’t be here. I—" My hands curled until my nails bit my palms. "I shall kill her. I WILL KILL THAT PRINCESS."
***
[Sirella’s POV — Same Time—Outside the Storage Room]
"...I WILL KILL THAT PRINCESS!" Eleani’s shriek ripped through the corridor, thin and desperate.
I lingered in the shadow outside the storage room and let the sound curl through me like a pleasant toxin. A slow smile cut across my face as Father stepped forward, voice careful. "What are you planning, Sirella?"
I turned, eyes cool as winter glass. "Preparing the perfect way to end her, Father."
He glanced at the heavy door, then let out a soft, disappointed sigh. "I always knew she was useless... Marquiess brought her here, and now she’s nothing but a liability."
My smile widened, teeth barely showing. "Don’t worry. She’ll be useful yet. She’ll learn her place at the princess’s birthday."
Father watched me for a long breath, the faintest tremor of hope—or fear—passing over his face. "I hope whatever you’re planning... this time it doesn’t fail."
He walked away before I could answer. I stayed, feeling the darkness press close and friendly, and looked at my aunt’s portrait again—the previous empress, frozen in oil and pride, the crown heavy on her brow.
That crown belongs to me, I thought, tasting the word like iron. Not to the soft fool who smiles for crowds. Not to her.
I traced the painted jewels with one fingertip, as if I could lift the metal from the frame. "Soon," I whispered to the portrait and to the empty hall, "I will take what is mine. And when I sit on that throne, every breath she draws will belong to me."
***
[Dawnspire Wing—Lavinia’s Chamber—Afternoon—Lavinia’s POV]
I rested my head against Osric’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer as sunlight slipped lazily through the curtains.
"What do you want for your upcoming birthday, Lavi?" he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I smiled, eyes half-closed. "Hmm... something I’ll never forget."
He raised a brow. "Should I give you a diamond mine?"
I laughed softly. "I already own three."
"Then... a piece of land?"
"I’ve got continents, Osric," I teased, tracing idle circles on his chest.
He looked mock-serious now. "A rare gemstone, then? Something no princess has ever worn?"
I pointed toward my wardrobe, where Solena was trying to steal my mountain of glittering jewelry. "My jewels are already rebelling, Osric. They’re running out of space."
He huffed, pretending to think deeply. "So, you’re bored of gold, gems, palaces, and adoration. That must be exhausting."
I grinned. "Terribly. Being spoiled is such hard work."
He chuckled, eyes dancing with mischief. "Then what does a spoiled princess desire, if not treasures?"
I tilted my head up to him, my lips just a breath away. "Something rarer than gold..."
"Oh?" he asked, voice low, curious.
"A kiss," I whispered. "Preferably from a certain idiot who still hasn’t given me three kisses since he became my boyfriend."
Osric laughed quietly. "An idiot, am I?"
I smiled sweetly. "My favorite one."
He leaned down, his breath brushing my lips. "Then, my princess," he murmured, voice melting into a smile, "let me give you a gift worthy of royalty."
His lips met mine—soft at first, tender and unhurried. It felt like the world paused to watch us breathe in the same rhythm. My fingers found the collar of his shirt, curling into the fabric as his hand slid up to cradle my face.
The kiss deepened.
What began as warmth turned into fire. His lips moved against mine with growing hunger, tasting, claiming, and breathing me in as though he’d been waiting for this moment far too long. The space between us disappeared—his body pressed against mine, his breath tangled with mine.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his voice a whisper against my lips.
"That," he said softly, his smile brushing against his words, "should be a decent start to your birthday gift, don’t you think?"
I looked up at him, my chest fluttering. "Why... did you stop?"
His smirk was slow, deliberate, and darkly amused. "Do not provoke me, princess... or else what was meant for our wedding night might... happen now."
My pulse spiked. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I couldn’t resist. I pressed my lips to his again, murmuring against him, "I... don’t mind."
And just like that, the restraint shattered.
Our kiss became a storm—fierce, desperate, and hungry. Hands roamed freely, claiming, clutching, and exploring. Teeth brushed, breaths mingled, hearts slammed against one another as if trying to merge into one. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the heat of our bodies, the electric tension that pulled us together with no thought, no pause.
Every touch, every gasp, every whisper was charged with want, desire, and something far deeper than mere longing. I felt him everywhere, inside every inch of me, and I wanted it all—every moment, every shiver, every heartbeat.
When we finally parted, flushed, gasping, and trembling, our foreheads pressed together, I realized—this was only the beginning. The hunger was far from sated, but for now, it was perfect. Dangerous, intoxicating... and entirely ours.