Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Lavinia's Pov— Dark Forest—Continuation]

"Don't touch his chest wounds, Osric." I peered over the flank of my horse, one manicured finger pointing with perfect boredom at the slick stain on Caelum's upper side from his heart. "There's poison in it."

Osric's hand froze mid-reach. He blinked, then looked at me the way a man looks at a blade: polite, nervous, and unwilling to be the first to test it. "Why—why would you stab him with poison, Lavi?"

His voice had that low, angry-edged concern I was starting to find… adorably protective.

"Ex-actly," Caelum croaked from his awkward perch atop Osric's horse—dangling like a bad ornament—"She is… monstrously cruel. So cruel." He sounded offended by the mere suggestion of it.

Osric, apparently out of ideas, gave the prisoner an instinctive, scandalized thwack across the cheek. "Shut up," he muttered.

I only shrugged, wide and unapologetic.

"What's wrong with that?" I said, tilting my head with that practiced air of a queen explaining arithmetic. "That bastard poisoned me once." I let the memory gleam in my voice like a sharpened coin. "So I gave him a present in return. A poison for a poison."

Osric's jaw tightened. "You could have—"

"Saved the theatrics for dinner?" I finished for him, grinning in a way that looked suspiciously like electricity. "Nah. I prefer my revenge pretty." I tapped the pommel of my saddle with a nail.

"Also, the most interesting part is that...it's a slow poison." I let the words hang, soft and cruel. "It will first gnaw at his insides—nice, slow, delicious—and then it will take him. Eventually. Patiently. Like a storm."

My laugh spilled out—half witchy, half delighted. "Heh—heh—HAHAHAHA…"

. . .

Osric exhaled a long, exhausted sound. "Lavi, please. He must live until interrogation. He's the only one who can tell us who was helping him until now." His voice snagged on the list like a blade catching cloth. He hates being blind. He hates loose ends.

I waved him away, as breezy as someone dismissing a raincloud. "Oh, don't worry." I gave him a look that was equal parts promise and threat. "He'll live. Long enough to squeal. Then? Well… we'll decide if he gets to keep breathing."

Osric's mouth flattened into that impatient line he gets when I'm being melodramatic—and yet he didn't argue. Because somewhere beneath the scolding and the worry, he trusts my cruelty to be precise. Practical. Effective.

Solena circled above us, a streak of golden feathers, and Marshi strode at my side, golden fur smoking with that calm, dangerous patience of his.

The forest slid by in a wash of black and ember, the night holding its breath as we all rode—queen, knight, and divine beast—carrying a sick, sneering man who thought he'd outlived their kind.

Osric's sigh broke the silence. Not weary this time—something gentler. He glanced at me, his eyes catching the faint firelight. "You did well tonight, Lavi."

I glanced at him. He had that warm smile. often, warm enough that I felt it prickle down my spine before his words even landed.

"I'm proud of you." His voice was low, steady, and almost reverent. "You hunted him alone. You cornered him when he thought himself clever. That's not luck—that's strength. The kind an empress should have."

The words hit me harder than any blade.

"…I—" I coughed, fidgeting with the reins like they were suddenly the most fascinating things in the world. "Yes. Thank you. Very much."

The edges of my voice frayed, betraying the heat crawling into my cheeks.

Osric only chuckled under his breath, not mocking, but pleased—like my embarrassment was some secret treasure only he was allowed to see. His hand brushed his horse's reins, steady as ever, yet the curve of his lips lingered on me as though I was the only light in the dark forest.

We rode further into the night, my pulse louder than the hoofbeats, his words burning through the cold like fire.

And I hated how much I liked the way he said it—you'll be a good empress.

***

[Emperor Cassius POV — Imperial Palace—Throne Room]

The murmurs in the throne room cut through the air like blades, soft but incessant. Whispers of disbelief, accusations, and mockery bounced off marble walls.

"I… I can't believe the hidden emperor was Caelum," one noble hissed, voice trembling with awe—or fear.

"I agree…" another chimed, a hint of venom in his tone. "…so the Marquess Everett was involved in this treason as well?"

"Who knows…" a third voice murmured, glancing at the chained man on the floor. "…just look at him kneeling like that. His dignity must be completely shattered."

The laughter started next. Quiet at first, then growing—mocking, cruel, thoughtless. "He walked like a king, a leader even… and now?" another sneered. "Look at him! Pathetic!"

Chains clinked against stone as Marquess Everett knelt, his family shackled beside him. The man's words rang weakly through the room. "Your Majesty… please… believe me… I did not know the son I was adopting… was… the Hidden Emperor…"

I didn't answer. My mind was elsewhere—on her. Lavinia. My daughter, out there somewhere in the dark, hunting the bastard who had poisoned her body, who had dared to betray her.

I had left her to face him alone. Alone. And yet, my chest tightened at the thought. I could not be there to shield her, to cut down the men who dared even glance at her the wrong way. Not this time. A parent must, at some point, allow their child to walk into danger—to carve her own path… but the thought did little to ease the fire of worry coiling in my gut.

"She isn't hurt," I whispered under my breath, almost a prayer. She isn't hurt. She's strong. She's… Lavinia.

The Marquess's voice clawed its way into my focus again. "…Your Majesty… please believe me…"

The words snapped me fully back. My hand clenched into a fist. My voice cut the murmurs like steel. "Regis! Shut his mouth before I separate his head from his damned body!"

Marquess Everett gasped, his jaw locking, and silence fell like a blade dropping onto marble.

Regis exhaled softly, almost knowingly, and muttered, "Osric is with her, Your Majesty."

The tension in my chest eased a fraction. Osric. That boy… a steady blade in the darkness. I knew Lavinia was not alone. She was alive. My daughter's fury was matched by his watchful presence. Good.

I can trust that boy with this.

I glanced at Regis, then Theon, seeking more reassurance. "And Rey? Ravick?" My tone was rough, almost harsh, but underneath it… anxiety clawed at my words.

"They… have not arrived yet, Your Majesty," Theon replied, voice tight.

I exhaled slowly, heavily. My gaze shifted back to the chains, to the trembling man kneeling before me, and then… my thoughts raced again to Lavinia. She's out there, somewhere in the dark. Hunting. Surviving. Beating him at his own game.

And still, a part of me ached. I should have been there. I should have guided her hand and kept her safe.

But I could not. Not yet. This… this was how she would become the queen she was meant to be. And for that… I had to bite back the part of me that wanted to run from this room, mount my horse, and ride into the darkness after her.

Instead, I leaned back into the throne, eyes narrowing, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to strike. My finger drummed once—twice—against the armrest, each tap echoing like the strike of a war drum.

The chamber doors creaked open, the sound slicing through the whispers. An imperial knight strode in, armor glinting under the torchlight, and dropped to one knee.

"Your Majesty…" his voice carried across the hall, trembling with the weight of the moment, "they have arrived."

My chest clenched. For one fleeting instant—just one—I felt the impulse to rise, to storm down those steps, to push aside every gawking noble and see with my own eyes whether my daughter breathed, whether her hands shook, and whether the forest had left a single scratch upon her.

But no.

Not today.

I forced myself deeper into the throne, fingers curling over the armrest until the wood groaned in protest. My eyes burned, sharp as blades, as the knight's words unfurled in the room.

She was coming.

My daughter.

Not as a child clutching at my robes. Not as the playful shadow forever tugging at my sleeve. No—tonight she returned as a hunter, as the heir to my empire, as the girl who would be queen.

And the nobles, the parasites, the whispering carrion who laughed at treason as though it were theatre—they would see. They would see what it means to be blood of Cassius. They would see the cruelty of her vengeance, the precision of her will, and the fire she carried within her veins.

I did not stand. I did not move. I became the mountain.

Let them look at me and remember this moment,The day my daughter carved her place into the empire with blood and poison.

My jaw flexed, my voice emerging low, rumbling, and dangerous.

"Open the doors. Let them all witness what it means… to be born of my blood."