[Lavinia's POV — Imperial Palace—One Week Later]
After convincing our fathers, I thought everything would go smoothly. But ofcourse, I forgot...my papa is way more dramatic than me. It took weeks.
Actual weeks.
And Papa—oh, Papa—yes, he agreed, but he did not like a normal father.
He declared war. Not a loud war and not a dramatic war either.
A Petty tyrant war.
It began at lunch. I had barely sat down when the servants placed my plate in front of me. The aroma alone made my eyes water.
I stared at it.
"…Why is my curry glowing?" I asked carefully.
Papa sipped his wine, utterly calm. "Extra spices."
I took one bite.
Instant regret; my mouth was on fire. I coughed. Gagged. Reached desperately for water.
"WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS IS THIS?" I yelled at the maid.
Papa leaned back, watching me with infuriating serenity. "Do you feel the burning sensation, my dear daughter?"
"…Yes," I croaked.
He nodded solemnly. "Good. That is exactly how marriage feels."
. . .
. . .
