[Lavinia's POV]
It's not like Papa doesn't have fans.
He does.
In fact, he has a whole fanbase.
People write songs about his battlefield glory. Poets compare his sword swings to the northern winds. Painters fight each other in alleys to capture his "stormy melancholy eyes" on canvas.
He's basically the Empire's most broody heartthrob.
Except there's one small, teeny-tiny, sword-swinging, vein-popping problem—His. Temper.
And not the cute kind of "Oh no, he's grumpy, teehee!" temper. No.
We're talking about lightning-strike-through-the-courtroom, "did-he-just-glare-a-man-into-resignation" kind of temper.
The kind that makes nobles forget how to breathe. The kind that makes ladies in the court blink, blush, and then run.
So yeah. Despite all the sword-swinging and jawline-chiseling and tragic wind-blown hair moments… most eligible ladies in the kingdom don't even dare to look at Papa.
But that lady?
