Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Imperial Palace—Dungeon—Lavinia's POV—Continuation]

I stepped back, letting the cold stone floor press firmly against the heels of my boots, eyes fixed on Caelum as he struggled to swallow the soggy, fungus-ridden bread. He coughed violently, each breath shaky, and his wide, glassy eyes—brimming with a mixture of pain and defiance—made a small, wicked thrill curl in my chest.

"Gosh… it's filthy," I murmured, tossing my glove onto the stone floor with a soft thud.

My bare hands hovered over the array of instruments laid out neatly on the table, each one glinting in the flickering dungeon torchlight.

"You know…" I continued, my voice deceptively gentle, dragging the words like fine silk over broken glass, "since I have a very timid heart… I gave you food, after all your… betrayal." My fingers lingered over a set of gleaming tools, letting my eyes roam over each one as if admiring them.

"Or else…" I tilted my head, letting a small, sinister smirk curl on my lips, "if it were Papa… you would've already been fed alive by wolves."

His body trembled, each breath shallow. I picked up a lash adorned with cruel, sharp thorns, holding it delicately yet with menace. "But still… since I am a very good person, with a big heart…" I stepped closer, letting the thorns glint under the dim light. "I am giving you… one more chance, Caelum."

My gaze locked onto his, unblinking. "Tell me… tell me, Caelum… which Houses were involved in your… schemes?"

His eyes, wide and fearful, flickered to the lash in my hand. "Don't tell me you're… you're… going to…" His voice broke.

I smirked, dragging out the words like a cat toying with its prey. "Oh… isn't it… beautiful?" I turned slightly, letting the torchlight catch the razor edges. "All new instruments… freshly picked."

I glanced at Sir Haldor, who stood rigid and attentive. "You did very well picking this one," I said, voice dripping approval.

Sir Haldor bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Highness."

I returned my gaze to Caelum, leaning just enough to let my shadow fall across his trembling form. "Alright… answer me now. Did Marquess Everett know from the beginning that you were… the Emperor of Irethene? Was he… involved in this treason?"

He remained silent.

Silence stretched; every breath sounded too loud—his, mine, and the scrape of leather on stone. My patience snapped. I rubbed my neck, letting the tension coil tighter in my chest. "You're getting on my last nerve, Caelum. You should have been silenced already—yet you sit and bite your tongue."

My fingers tightened on the lash. I raised it slowly, letting the thorns glint wickedly. Every heartbeat echoed like a drum in my ears. "But no… I cannot take it anymore!"

And then—SLAH!

The thorns bit into his flesh. His scream tore through the dungeon, jagged and raw, reverberating off the stone walls.

"AGHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

I stood over him, chest heaving with a heat that had nothing to do with the torches. The thorns had stung across his back; his skin gleamed with red tracks. He looked up at me—eyes wild, throat working around air.

"Just… JUST KILL ME!" he screamed, voice as raw as ripped cloth.

Kill? The word sounded childish in my ears—too neat, too merciful.

I let a small sound, almost amusement, curl from my throat. "Kill?" I breathed, slow. "My, my… that would be the easy thing."

I leaned in, close enough that he could smell the cold scent of my clothes and the faint tang of iron from the lash. "And I never learned to be easy with people who betray me."

The lash rose again. The thorns found new skin with a hot SLASH; he bellowed, a sound that bounced off stone and faded like a struck bell. Blood ribboned through the gaps in the leather. He dropped his head, gasping.

"Tell me!" I snapped, the question not a request but an augury. "Did House Everett know? Was your marquess father involved in this conspiracy?"

Silence. No answer. Only his ragged breaths and the slow drip of something too red.

"Hah." I let my laugh fall sharp. "Looks like I've been far too merciful with you."

I turned, palm flat on the table where the instruments shimmered malevolently. "Bring the oil," I said to Sir Haldor as if ordering candles. "Pour it into him."

Haldor's face did not change, but his brow creased the faintest fraction. "Right away, Your Highness," he said. He bowed and moved.

Osric stepped forward then, that furious, gentle half-step he always takes when the world tilts too close to blood. "Lavi—" His voice was a growl of worry. "Your hands—"

I glanced down. A thin line of red threaded along my palm where the lash had nicked me when I wielded it. It glittered in the torchlight, insignificant and human.

"Don't fuss," I replied, flat as winter. "They'll heal."

But he still reached as if to take my hand; I let him, just for a heartbeat, enough to feel the warmth of him and yanked away my hand. "Don't."

Sera hovered at the doorway, eyes wide. "Princess… should I bring another pair of gloves?"

"No." I set my jaw. My voice cut the air like a blade. "I am… good."

Osric's hand stayed on my wrist, slow and steady. "Lavi, if this kills him—"

"He won't die," I said, cold as winter iron. "You know that. We will mend him as we must. He will live long enough to sing names. Or—if he prefers mercy—he'll sing them in the dark, and we will burn the memory of his family when we're done."

Caelum's head turned toward me, face wet and raw. He spat through the rasp: "You're… a monster."

The words were meant to wound. They landed like wet leaves.

"A monster with patience," I told him, voice close enough that he felt the breath. "Patience is a craft."

I tilted my chin and met Caelum's eyes—something almost like a dare shimmering in the look. "And today you will confess. By hook or by crook. By hunger, by lash, by oil—whatever it takes. Because I had shown too much mercy on you."

Meanwhile, Osric's jaw worked. For a second the protector of mine in him wanted to step between the girl he loved and the man who gasped on the floor. But the man who had promised to stand with me against the world tightened his hand around my wrist instead.

"Let me do it, Lavi. Your hands will be ruined."

"No." I wrenched my wrist free, not because his touch annoyed me but because this was mine. "Not today, Osric. Not this one." My eyes didn't leave Caelum's. They were the only thing in the room that mattered now. "He is mine to take apart. Only I will unpick him."

Sir Haldor stepped forward with a bowl of oil, his voice low. "Your Highness—"

"Pour it," I ordered without looking at him.

He hesitated, then obeyed, the liquid glistening as it ran down Caelum's torn back. His body jerked at the contact, but I only stepped closer, the thorned whip coiled in my bloodied hands.

"So," I murmured, tilting my head, crimson eyes boring into him. "Still not ready to confess?"

Caelum only let out a ragged huff, teeth clenched against the pain.

My lips curved into something cold, almost amused. "Then endure."

The whip cracked again. Flesh split. Oil seeped into the wounds, and his strangled cry echoed through the dungeon.

I did not stop. Every second, another slash. The walls trembled with his agony, the knights shifted uneasily, but no one dared speak. My palms burned, torn by the thorns, yet I tightened my grip and struck harder.

"You think silence will save you?" I hissed, voice sharp as the whip. "I will tear the truth from your very bones if I must."

Blood sprayed, the air heavy with the iron stench of it.

From the corner, Sera stumbled back, hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened with terror as she whispered, "This… this can't go on. I have to tell His Majesty."

But I heard her. And she rushed out of the dungeon to papa.

And that day, as I surrendered to the storm of my rage, two sounds bled through the halls of the Imperial Palace: Caelum's screams of agony… and the relentless crack of my whip against his back.