Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 294

Chapter 294: The Serpent’s Envoy
[Lavinia’s POV — Grand Audience Hall—Continuation]

The great doors of the Audience Hall swung open with a low groan that rolled across the marble like thunder before a storm.

Gold banners hung from the vaults, flashing in the morning light. Torches guttered as courtiers stilled; the hall held its breath. At the far end, Papa sat on his obsidian throne—all shadowed muscle and command. He looked like a mountain whose shadow swallowed lesser things.

I stepped forward and bowed, smiling. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

He inclined his head. “Come here, my dear.”

As I moved, I noticed Osric and Grand-Duke Regis standing to one side—polished, reserved, and with the air of two men used to being watched. So that was why Osric had not come earlier: today he stood as the Next Grand Duke in the court’s eyes.

I turned, caught sight of Sir Haldor near the door—the captain of my knights—and he was standing like a guard. I paused and called softly, “Sir Haldor.”

He looked up, blade bare, posture perfect. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Follow me.”

A ripple passed through the hall; a few noble whispers rose like a flock of birds. They were surprised—as if a princess summoning her captain were some daring novelty—but Haldor did not blink. Protocol, duty, loyalty: he stepped forward and matched my pace.

I don’t know why it was so shocking for those nobles.

But just like Ravick and Theon standing behind Papa, Sir Haldor has his own position. He is not a mere guard or mere captain…he is my captain. Just like Papa has Ravick. I have Sir Haldor.

I moved to the step beside Papa’s throne and seated myself. Haldor came up behind me and took his place like a shadow at my back, hands folded in the way of men who keep blades and secrets. Ravick remained rigid by the throne—Papa’s own sentry—and the room hummed with the electricity of order.

Papa’s voice was measured, but I felt the steel under it. “This is your first audience with envoys while the nobles are present, Lavinia. You must show authority.”

I met his gaze, the crown’s weight a familiar ache I welcomed. I smiled, low and sure. “Do not worry, Papa. I know the language of authority.”

He smirked, “Good.”

Then, turning toward the hall, Papa voice cut through the air like frost. “Announce them.”

The herald stepped forward, his voice echoing off marble and gold. “Envoys of the Meren Kingdom—Minister Caleth Daran and Lady Auren Lys!”

Two figures entered.

The man—Caleth—was draped in silver and blue, his bow just deep enough to avoid insult. The woman beside him moved like smoke and venom, her face half-veiled, her smile sharp enough to draw blood.

Papa didn’t rise. He didn’t need to. His presence alone filled the hall.

“So,” he said slowly, each syllable deliberate, “the Meren King sends diplomats to a throne he once tried to poison.”

Caleth’s composure cracked for the briefest heartbeat before he bowed lower. “Your Majesty, the Meren Kingdom deeply regrets the… misunderstanding that occurred along the border. We come seeking peace and clarity.”

Misunderstanding? What a joke.

According to the reports Rey smuggled from Meren, their ‘misunderstanding’ included soldiers quietly redrawing our borders—inch by stolen inch. They dammed our rivers, turned the waters black, and nearly starved a dozen of our villages.

I smirked, “A misunderstanding, you say?” My tone was silk—and blade beneath it. “Turning our rivers black, poisoning our land, and sending troops to ‘guard’ our soil—you call that a misunderstanding?”

Caleth opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Lady Auren stepped forward, her tone smooth as glass. “Your Highness, our lands suffered as well. The disturbance in the river’s flow—”

“—was caused by your own dam expansion,” I cut in, voice sharp enough to slice through her excuse. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Lady Auren.”

A ripple of murmurs swept through the nobles. Some looked scandalized, others thrilled. Papa’s smirk deepened—slow, dangerous—like a predator watching his heir bare her teeth.

Lady Auren’s painted lips tightened beneath her veil. “Perhaps, Your Highness, the fault lies on both sides. Nature, after all, cannot be commanded.”

“Nature?” I leaned forward slightly, my voice lowering just enough to make her flinch. “How convenient, blaming rivers when it’s men with shovels and greed who direct their course.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the torches seemed to burn quieter.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the torches seemed to burn lower, their light retreating from the weight of my father’s voice before he had even spoken.

“You demanded an audience,” Papa said at last, his tone calm but cold enough to make the marble tremble. “So speak. What message does your king send to the Empire he’s been circling like a vulture?”

Caleth and Lady Aurun exchanged a wary glance. Then, with visible restraint, Caleth stepped forward and bowed.

“The King of Meren wishes to extend a hand of cooperation, Your Majesty,” he said, carefully choosing each word. “A peaceful resolution to the matter of the river.”

Papa’s gaze was steady—crimson and merciless. “Peaceful?” he echoed. “Interesting word choice. Go on.”

Caleth cleared his throat. “As Your Majesty knows, the river connecting our borders has been poisoned. Our scholars and magicians have found a method to purify it, to restore it to life. However…” His voice faltered for a heartbeat. “Since Meren discovered the means of restoration, His Majesty merely requests three territories along the eastern bank—land that rightfully belonged to Meren before the border treaties.”

The words hung like smoke. No one moved. Even the guards dared not breathe too loudly.

I tilted my head, offering a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“How generous,” I said softly. “Your king poisons our river, cripples trade for months, and then arrives with an antidote—priced in land he forfeited a century ago.” I leaned forward slightly. “Tell me, Lord Caleth, is this diplomacy… or blackmail dressed in courtly language?”

Papa’s eyes never left the trembling envoy. “Careful, envoy,” he murmured, voice silk over steel. “Because what your king calls a proposal—my generals might call an act of war.”

The silence that followed was no longer diplomatic. It was lethal.

Caleth tried to interject. “Your Majesty, we only—”

“Silence.” Papa’s hand rose like a command of iron. “If Meren believes it can purchase safety with stolen soil, let us see who buys whom. We will not bargain away our subjects. We will not be blackmailed by dams and poisoned springs.”

A murmur rippled through the hall—a mix of fear, awe, and something dangerously close to hunger.

Papa’s gaze swept the room, landing finally on the envoys. His voice dropped to a hard whisper that somehow carried to every ear.

“Tell your king—bring the bird that bears this message back to you. Tell him the Empire will not kneel. If he wishes to cede back the three territories, send men to dismantle every dam under my watch. If he refuses”—he paused, letting the weight settle—”then we will see who takes and who gives.”

The envoys paled. Lady Auren’s gloved fingers tightened at her side. Caleth bowed so low his forehead skimmed the marble.

When they were finally escorted from the hall, the doors slammed shut behind them like the clap of a gauntlet.

The nobles whispered like restless swarms. Faces turned to Papa, to me, searching for the next movement, the next command. Breath in the room felt thicker, charged.

Papa sat down slowly, with the practiced calm of a man who had just moved the world’s pieces exactly where he wanted them.

Grand Duke Regis stepped forward, expression grim. “They clearly want war, Your Majesty.”

Papa smirked, the kind that made even the torches flicker. “Then we shall gladly accept their offer.”

His gaze cut toward Ravick. “Ravick.”

Ravick stepped out of line instantly, his cloak swishing behind him. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Prepare the knights,” Papa ordered. “If Meren cannot stop provoking us, we’ll answer with steel. For now, send a small unit to secure the borders. I want no surprises.”

Ravick bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.”

As the orders rippled through the hall, I suddenly felt a stare boring into the back of my head. Not threatening—just… intense.

I turned.

Sir Haldor stood there, straight-backed as ever, but his eyes—oh heavens—his eyes were practically sparkling. Like a war-hungry puppy waiting for permission to chase a ball made of swords and glory.

For a moment, I just blinked at him, dumbfounded. This man was born for battle and somehow learned the art of begging without saying a single word.

“Sir Haldor…” I began slowly.

He straightened instantly, boots clicking together. “Yes, Your Highness?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Do you… want to follow Ravick?”

He opened his mouth, clearly trying to sound stoic, but his voice betrayed him. “Not until you permit it, Your Highness.”

That restraint, paired with those eager eyes—adorable. Absolutely adorable.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “Alright then, Sir Haldor. You have my permissi—”

And before I could even blink, he saluted sharply, turned on his heel, and bolted after Ravick—like an overly disciplined soldier chasing after his commanding father.

I stared, half amused, half exasperated. “…He didn’t even wait for me to finish the sentence.”

Anyway…this is my first time seeing this side of Sir Haldor.

…How cute.