Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Lavinia's POV — Imperial Palace, Throne Room]

The doors thundered open, and I stepped inside.

Osric followed, dragging Caelum by the collar like he was no more than a beaten hound. Solena glided above us, her golden wings scattering shards of light across the marble floor, while Marshi padded at my side—fur smoking faintly, divine eyes gleaming with the patience of a predator.

Papa sat upon the throne. His proud smirk curved like the edge of a blade, carved for me and me alone.

The nobles?

They gasped. Whispered. Trembled. Like rats scurrying when the cat enters the room. Shock. Envy. Fear. Awe. The air stank of all of it, and I drank it in.

Osric dragged Caelum forward without hesitation and hurled him down beside Marquess Everett, his chains clattering loud enough to silence every whisper in the chamber. The Hidden Emperor, the "untouchable beast," lay groveling in dirt and blood at my feet.

Osric bowed deeply to Papa, his voice firm and unshaken. "Your Majesty. The traitor has been captured."

And me?

I walked forward, my steps sharp and deliberate, until I stood beside Papa's throne. My hand brushed the armrest, my chin lifted, and Marshi sank down at my feet like a golden shadow—his low growl vibrating through the hall, silencing even the boldest noble's tongue. Solena landed on Osric's shoulder, folding her wings in a halo of firelight.

The message was clear.

I was not just his daughter. Not just the emperor's child. I was the heir who had hunted the wolf and dragged him back alive.

I could feel their eyes, their fear, and their unwilling awe pressing down like incense smoke. And gods, it was sweet.

Papa didn't need to speak. His smirk said everything: My blood. My heir. Look well, for she is the one who will rule you and your kids in the future.

So I stood beside his throne—not as a child seeking shelter, but as a future empress casting her own shadow across the marble.

Papa's gaze flicked down to Caelum, still spattered with river muck and blood, and the tiniest, cruelest smile touched his lips.

"You did well, Lavinia," he said, voice low but rich with approval.

I inclined my head in a formal, obedient bow. "Thank you, Father. I followed your path."

At that moment Rey and Ravick strode through the doors, late but steady; Ravick's face was grim, and Rey's expression was amused as always. Both of them stopped, eyes taking in Caelum's ruined posture before landing on me.

Silence hung—tense, expectant—like a held breath.

Then Papa's voice rolled through the hall, amused and blunt as a sword's edge. "Did you kill him?"

The question was ridiculous. Because...anyone can see he's still alive.

Of course the court's blood-singers wanted spectacle. Of course they hungered for an end.

"I wanted to," I said, voice flat as a blade. "But I was restrained. You wished for him alive—there is interrogation to be done."

Papa's eyes sparkled with something like pride. Then he glanced at me with a smirk.

"Are your hands… twitching to kill him?" he asked, amusement wrapped tightly around the question.

I didn't bother with coyness. I answered without hesitation, letting the weight of the truth fall into the room like iron.

"Yes. Very much."

The words landed hard; a few noble faces paled, and a couple of murmurs gurgled and died. For a heartbeat, the chamber was so still you could hear the chains clink.

Then the Papa rose as slowly and inexorably as a storm and he patted my head—gently.

"Do not fret," he murmured, voice soft but loaded. "You shall have your cruelty, Lavinia. Torture him if you must—slowly, methodically. Grind out his secrets until there is nothing left but the truth." The words were spoken with the casualness of a man sending a servant to fetch a book.

A spark—sharp and unholy—lit behind my ribs.

"I am honored," I breathed, and the smile I gave him was small and surgical. "Thank you, father. I will not disappoint you."

Papa's lips curved into that faint, proud smile that made even the marble walls seem to stand straighter.

"Drag them to the dungeons," he said, voice ringing like a verdict. "Since the Crown Princess is the one who traced them, exposed them, and brought him here… she shall take over this matter entirely."

The imperial knights bowed low. Chains clinked, boots thundered, and the prisoners were hauled away like cattle before the slaughter.

And then—oh, the audacity—Marquess Everett shrieked, his powdered face streaked with sweat. "Wait! No! Princess! I—I have nothing to do with this! I am an innocent civilian!"

I blinked. Slowly.

An innocent civilian? From him? The most corrupted, gold-stuffed, bribe-dripping, back-alley deal-making leech in the capital? My lips curled into a ghost of a smile. If he's innocent, then I'm a saint in robes of pure white.

Then my eyes caught Eleania in the noble crowd. She stood stiff, teeth grinding behind her painted lips, fury and fear leaking through every pore. Beside her, Count Talvan looked carved from stone, and Lady Sirella's expression was as unreadable as moonlight on glass.

"Soon," I whispered to myself, voice low, the promise sharp as steel, "I'll have you kneeling here too, Eleania."

Then Papa's voice thundered again, and my spine straightened instinctively.

"Now—" he began, chin lifted, chest swelling with imperial pride, "since the Crown Princess has shown such brilliance in hunting down traitors…"

I stiffened. Theon stiffened too, like a hound catching the same scent of danger.

Oh no. I knew that tone. I knew exactly where this was going.

Papa's voice rolled out, grand and booming, "I shall declare this day henceforth as—"

"No! No, no, no—" I darted forward and seized his hand before he could unleash the horror.

The entire court froze. Silence. Gasps. A crown princess interrupting the emperor?

"Papa…" I trembled, forcing my eyes wide and soft, like a poor little girl suddenly breaking under exhaustion.

He blinked in confusion. "Did something happen, my child?"

"Papa.... I—I haven't slept. I'm so tired. I can't even stand anymore. May I… sleep in your chamber tonight?"

For a moment, he blinked at me, thrown off balance. Then, as always, his pride softened into indulgence. His hand came down to pat my head. "Of course, my little star. Rest. You've earned it."

I exhaled like I had just wrestled a dragon.

Papa turned to the stunned nobles, his voice carrying authority and finality. "The court is adjourned."

And just like that, the impending twenty-fifth national holiday of the year was strangled in its crib. Theon and I sighed in unison.

Crisis Averted.

As Papa and I turned to leave, the heavy echo of boots rang against marble.

"Your Majesty…"

Papa halted mid-step, shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned, and so did I.

Grandpa Gregor stood at the center of the hall—still strong, still sharp, his presence commanding as ever. And yet, when he bowed, it was with the kind of elegance only centuries of service could forge.

"Yes, Lord Gregor?" Papa's tone was clipped, edged with warning.

Grandpa straightened, his voice steady—measured—but carrying a weight that silenced even the boldest whisper among the nobles.

"Since the Crown Princess has proven her worth—beyond doubt—as heir to this empire… it is time." His gaze lifted, sharp as an unsheathed blade. "It is time she undergo the Divine Benediction."

The words struck the chamber like a dropped blade.

My breath stilled.

Papa's eyes narrowed—dangerous, unreadable. "You presume to tell me," he said, voice velvet over steel, "when my daughter is ready for the blessing of the gods?"

Grandpa Gregor did not flinch. "I presume nothing, Your Majesty. I merely remind the court of tradition. The Benediction is no vanity—it is the mark of legitimacy. It has always been so. It must be so."

The chamber stirred with unease—nobles shifting, whispering, calculating.

Papa's lips curled, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. He stepped closer, the weight of his presence bending the air itself. "Do you think I need gods, Lord Gregor, to tell these worms who rules?"

Grandpa's gaze flicked to me then, softening for just a heartbeat before returning to iron. "No, Majesty. You need no gods. But tradition binds even emperors. From the First Emperor until now—the Divine Benediction crowns the heir before the gods, as before the people. Break it, and you hand your enemies a blade."

Rey stepped forward, voice even but firm. "Your Majesty… I believe Lord Gregor speaks truth. Tradition should be honored. It shields as much as it binds."

Papa's stare cut into Rey, long and merciless, before sliding back to me. He sighed, low and dangerous.

Then he turned fully, red eyes narrowing—not as a father now, but as the emperor weighing his heir.

"Lavinia," he rumbled, his voice filling the chamber like thunder, "what do you say? Do you crave the gods' blessing? Or do you believe your steel and your poison alone are enough?"

Every noble leaned forward, breathless.

I lifted my chin, heart thrumming like war drums, and let a slow, cruel smile curve my lips.

"Father, I already rule with poison and steel. But if the gods themselves wish to kneel and bless me…" My eyes swept the room, drinking in every watching face. "…then who am I to deny them?"

The silence that followed was absolute.

Papa's expression shifted, slow and deliberate. He nodded once, a verdict handed down. "If my daughter wills it… then it shall be done. Prepare for the Divine Benediction. Summon the High Temple."

Gasps rippled through the court like wind over a field of wheat.

And just like that, Papa turned, his cloak cutting the air like a blade. I walked at his side—no longer the child at his heels, but the heir who had dared the dark and returned victorious.

The doors thundered shut behind us, sealing the nobles with their whispers.

The empire had been given its answer.