Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Imperial Palace—Lavinia's Chambers—The Next Day—Lavinia's POV]

I was sprawled across the couch like a cat in sunlight, one leg propped up on a pillow, the other dangling lazily off the side. My toes rested on Osric's lap as he sat at the end of the couch, utterly absorbed in the task of painting my nails. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pressed tight as though this were the most important mission of his life.

Solena perched proudly on his shoulder, her golden eyes following every stroke of the brush like a hawk. Between the two of them, I almost felt like I'd hired a professional nail painter and his little assistant.

Meanwhile, Marshi lay curled on the rug near my feet, yawning so wide his big fangs showed before rolling back into a nap. The whole scene felt strangely peaceful—like the world outside with its whispers and executions didn't exist.

"He must've been executed by now, right?" I asked absently, stretching my fingers above my head.

Osric hummed, not looking up. "Who?"

"The Marquess," I replied, my tone casual, as though speaking of someone who hadn't tried to end my life.

"Yes," Osric said evenly. "By now, the Imperial Knights are probably stripping his estates and seizing every property under his name."

I nodded faintly, but the thought slipped away the moment his broad hand brushed against the arch of my foot. I flinched, letting out a small laugh. "Haha...that tickles."

"Stay still, Lavi…" His voice was firm, a faint crease between his brows as he carefully painted the curve of my nail.

I tilted my head, eyeing him with amusement. "You look far too serious for this. I've never seen you so concentrated—not even during sword practice."

Finally, he glanced up, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Because…" His voice lowered like he was sharing a secret. "…I heard if a man paints his girlfriend's nails—both fingers and toes—their bond becomes unbreakable."

I blinked at him flatly, lips twitching. "…And who fed you such nonsense?"

"Grandpa," he said immediately, without a shred of shame.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Of course it was him."

Osric continued, his voice earnest, as though quoting holy scripture. "He told me once that when he proposed to Grandmother, he gave her a bouquet not of flowers, but of rubies and diamonds. He said jewels last longer than roses… and that was how he won her heart."

I smirked, arching a brow. "So jewels and nail polish, hm? That's pretty interesting. Now, I wonder…" I leaned forward slightly, my voice a teasing purr. "...how will my man propose to me one day?"

His hand jerked, the brush nearly slipping. He froze like I had just stabbed him with a dagger instead of words. "…I… I shouldn't have said that."

I laughed softly at his flustered expression, the way his ears turned faintly red. "Too late," I teased, tapping the armrest with my fingers. "Now I'll be waiting with great expectations."

"Show me your hand," he sighed and muttered, avoiding my eyes.

I leaned over the pillow and placed my fingers delicately on it, my lips curling into a wicked grin. "Please… give me your best service, sir."

He sighed but couldn't suppress a small smile as he held my hand gently and began applying the paint, steady and precise. His fingers were warm against mine, far more careful than necessary, as if my skin were porcelain.

For a while, the only sound was the faint brush strokes. Then Osric's voice dropped, lower and heavier, carrying a weight that made the air shift.

"The Divine Benediction is near," he murmured. "After that… you'll officially be recognized as heir to the throne."

I hummed softly. "Mm. Papa says the same."

His brush paused just for a heartbeat, then continued with a strange deliberateness. His tone grew darker and possessive, the kind of voice that wrapped around me like chains. "And when that happens… you'll receive countless proposal letters. Counts, neighboring kingdom princes, heirs of noble families… all of them will fight for your hand."

I glanced at him sidelong, catching the faint tension in his jaw and the way his grip on my fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Ahh," I said, smirking as I reached out with my free hand to pat his head, smoothing back his hair. "Don't worry. Papa will tear and burn every single one of them before I even see them."

His eyes flicked up to mine—quiet, unreadable—but there was a flicker of relief there.

"…He already has," Osric muttered at last, returning to his work.

My eyes widened. "What?"

"Yes," he said calmly, though his lips curved ever so slightly. "I heard that some houses have already tried… and His Majesty replied with threats before burning their letters."

I blinked, then broke into laughter. "Hah! I suppose it's not surprising. Papa can be scarier than the devil when it comes to me."

Osric nodded faintly, his focus never wavering. "The other hand," he said softly, extending his palm toward me.

I sighed as though indulging him, but my smile lingered—bright, sharp, and just a little dangerous. "You'll make a good husband one day."

His lips curved, a rare smirk tugging at his composure. "You mean your husband."

I blinked, caught off guard for only a heartbeat before my smile softened, sly and certain. "Of course. Who else would dare?"

He gave me a proud little smile, lifting my hand into the light as though to show off his work. "It's done… look how beautifully I painted them."

I tilted my head, studying the delicate sheen on my nails. They gleamed perfectly, every stroke neat. "You're really good at this," I admitted, surprise slipping into my voice.

Before he could gloat, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, resting my head against the solid warmth of his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, grounding me in a way words never could.

"Paint my nails often in the future," I murmured, my voice soft but laced with certainty.

He chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest as his arms came around me, holding me close with a gentleness that made the world fall away.

"Sure," he whispered into my hair, his breath warm. "As many times as you ask. Always."

For a moment, there was no throne, no court, no whispers of power—just the simple, quiet weight of his embrace and the unspoken promise we both understood without saying.

***

[Imperial Palace—Living Chamber—Later—Lavinia's POV]

"Papa, I would like to check the properties of the Marquess—" I stepped into the living chamber, only to pause mid-sentence. Papa was not alone.

Across from him sat an old man with a cane, his back curved with age but his presence still steady. At the sight of me, he pushed himself up with care and bowed, voice warm despite its frailty.

"Greetings, Your Highness, the Crown Princess."

My eyes widened slightly. "Oh… High Priest?"

Yes, I remembered him well—though perhaps not as he saw me. He was the very same man who once gave Papa a panicked "tutorial" on how to hold a baby. Except now, time had carved deeper lines into his face, his hair as white as snowfall.

I walked in fully, inclining my head politely. "How are you doing, High Priest Calvian?"

His smile was gentle, touched with the softness of memory. "I am well, Princess. And to see you grown and healthy brings me more joy than I can put into words."

I moved closer, slipping gracefully into the seat beside Papa. "Please, don't stand. Take a Seat."

He lowered himself back into his chair, cane leaning against the armrest. His eyes lingered on me as though measuring how much time had passed since the last time. "It has been ages since I saw you, Princess. The last time, you were only a baby in his majesties arms."

I returned his smile. "I see. Then I suppose it's long overdue."

My tone shifted slightly, curiosity blooming. "But… why are you here today? Is there something wrong with the preparations for the Divine Benediction?"

Before he could answer, Papa spoke instead, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. "No. He is here to inform us that your Divine Benediction will also mark his last day as High Priest."

I blinked, tilting my head. "Oh… are you retiring?"

Calvian's wrinkled face lifted with a serene smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had long accepted the passage of time. "Yes, Princess. I have grown too old, and the gods have already chosen another to take my place in service. After your Divine Benediction, I will step down."

My brows furrowing slightly. "Oh, I see."

Then High Priest Calvian smiled gently and rose with care, leaning lightly on his cane. "Now, I shall take my leave."

I nodded politely, watching as he turned toward the door. Yet, just before stepping out, he paused and glanced back at me, his aged eyes warm but carrying something unspoken.

"Oh… Princess," he said softly, "I've heard you have a fondness for reading. If it pleases you, I would be honored by your presence at the Temple Library."

The Temple Library?

I had heard of it before—said to be vast, ancient, and filled with countless tomes untouched by common hands. But Papa once told me only the Emperor and Empress were permitted within its halls.

Then why… why was the High Priest inviting me, a crown princess, to enter? Does he not know the rule?

I turned to Papa to ask but his eyes were wide with shock. As If I was never supposed to hear that from the high priest.