Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 296

Chapter 296: The Captain and the Crown
[Lavinia’s Pov—Continuation—Lavinia’s Chamber]

I slumped onto my couch with a sigh and waved my hand lazily. “Alright, Sir Haldor… you may start.”

He blinked once, then twice, before asking, very politely, “Should I begin without a map, Your Highness?”

I blinked back at him. “Right. We need a map.”

He straightened immediately. “I shall bring it at once!”

“Wait—no, no! Don’t go running off again,” I said quickly, sitting up. “I have one here.”

He paused, a little startled. “You… have a map in your chamber, Your Highness?”

I nodded as I walked toward my wardrobe. “Of course I do. Papa used to gift me territories on my birthdays. Each time, he’d hand me a map and say, ‘This will be part of our empire one day.’ So yes, I have quite the collection.”

I pulled open the heavy wardrobe, shuffled a few folded fabrics aside, and then—”TA-DA!” I declared, holding up a rather large rolled map triumphantly.

Sir Haldor blinked as though I’d just pulled a dragon out of a drawer. “You… found it.”

“Yes!” I grinned and spread it out on the table. “Now, start explaining.”

He nodded, about to kneel beside the map when I pointed at him sharply. “No kneeling.”

He froze mid-bend. “Your Highness?”

“I hate my people kneeling in front of me,” I said, crossing my arms.

He blinked again—maybe recalling why I said that—and then nodded slowly. I could see the moment he remembered why.

“Take a seat on the couch,” I added.

He hesitated. “But, Your Highness… how can a mere knight sit in front of you?”

“By obeying his Crown Princess’s order. Now sit.”

He hesitated for precisely three more seconds before giving up with a defeated sigh. “As you command, Your Highness.”

He began, steady as a drumbeat. “Your Highness, we have three priorities. Secure the civilians, hold the critical crossings, and deny them any surprise advantage. If Meren refuses to withdraw or acts aggressively, we strike—decisively—before they can consolidate their gains.”

Haldor’s finger found the river on the map and tapped it like a metronome. “Point one: the Lower Kareth Bridge. Meren’s engineers have been diverting flow upstream; if they sabotage the bridge, they cut our grain route and strand the villages to the east. Captain Arden will take a garrison of two hundred men at dawn, fortified with pikes and ballistae. The bridge must hold.”

At the word bridge I saw the market in my mind—the carts, the old woman who sold pies. My chest tightened. “And the people?” I asked. “Evacuation routes?”

“Two lanes.” Haldor swept his hand along the riverbank on the map. “Sir Rey will coordinate magical beacons to guide night evacuations. Sir Ravick takes the western pass to intercept raiding parties. I will command the mobile reserve—mounted knights ready to move where the enemy probes most. Fast enough to plug holes, blunt enough to break a spear line.”

He spoke like a man naming tools in a kit, yet when his gaze found mine, the words carried the thing strategy couldn’t measure: the cost. Lives, faces, villages.

“Second: the irrigation channels,” he continued. “We’ll station engineers to inspect and reinforce dikes nightly. If Meren tampered with the flow intentionally, we cannot let it happen again. The magician will monitor for foreign enchantments. Any anomaly—seal the channel, boil the lines, bring emergency purification.”

I nodded. Practical. Cold. Necessary. “And the third?” I prompted.

Haldor’s jaw tightened. He leaned in, lowering his voice as if the map itself might overhear. “Deny their eyes and their hands. Intelligence is their advantage. We cut it. We root out scouts, destroy forward observation posts, and make every road a risk for enemy spies. False caravans will run the routes—bait to flush their watchers. Every whoops and shout will be a test.”

He tapped another point on the map—small farmsteads, hedgerows, and a thin black dot he labeled engineers’ camp. “We take out the engineering camps first. Blow the supply bridges, burn the stockpiles, and collapse the scaffolds. Make their progress worthless. Then,” his voice hardened, “we strike the logisticians. No supplies, no siege. Without their hands, their walls are paper.”

I let the breath out slowly. “Surgical,” I said. “Targeted. Minimize blood where we can—make the strike mean something and not become a slaughter.”

“Exactly.” Haldor’s eyes softened a fraction—approval, not praise. “Precision is our armor. We hurt their ability to hurt us.”

A corner of my mouth twitched. “And what if they respond with force greater than what we expect? A calculated escalation?”

“Then we scale,” he said simply. “Call the levies, open the southern holdfast, and put Sir Ravick’s banners at the passes. We will cull their advantage piece by piece until they can no longer wage a campaign without bleeding for it. But we do not burn whole towns to make a point. We punish the hands that made the wound.”

I leaned back and studied the map as though it were the face of a stubborn child I had to coax into truth. The plan fit together—evacuation lanes, beacons, engineered defenses, bait, surgical strikes. Practical and terrible. Necessary and just.

I leaned back, studying the map as if it were the face of a stubborn child I had to coax into telling the truth. The plan fit together—evacuation lanes, beacons, engineered defenses, bait, surgical strikes. Practical and terrible. Necessary and just.

“Very good, Sir Haldor,” I said at last, letting the approval sit between us like a small warmth. “For now—watch them like a hawk. Keep eyes on Meren’s supply lines and staging posts. And send magicians to purify any water that still runs into our lands—only the streams that belong to us. No cross-border siphons unless we know exactly why they run black.”

He inclined his head. “It’s already underway, Your Highness. Sir Rey has the geomancers tracing the contamination; Sir Rey’s aquamancers are setting portable wards at our intakes. They’ll flag any foreign enchantment and scrub the flow.”

Something about the blunt efficiency of his answer made me smile—a tight, grateful thing. “You’re really good at this, Haldor.”

He gave the faintest of bows, the kind a knight gives when words are cheaper than loyalty. “Thank you, Your Highness. Our priority—right now—is your people.”

The words landed like an anchor. I let out a breath that felt like it had been waiting in the room.

He is right.

I had been letting my personal life—Osric—pull at me with the insistence of a child wanting attention. But the crown did not care for private affairs. The crown kept watch for mouths to feed and roofs to mend.

“I should focus on them,” I said, almost to myself. “More than on…on us.”

I rose from the couch, smoothing the folds of my gown as resolve settled in my chest like a blade cooling after fire. “You may go now, Sir Haldor.”

He straightened instantly, his expression composed but his eyes faintly curious.

I added, “If there’s any news—anything at all—come to me. No matter who I’m with. No one is more important to me than my people. Do not hesitate. Ever. Do you get it sir Haldor?”

He blinked, then nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Highness. I understand.”

I studied him a moment longer. Haldor was a man of few words, but until now, I had seen enough to know—he was the most disciplined captain the Imperial Knights could have asked for. Steadfast, precise, and unshakably loyal.

“And one more thing,” I said, as he turned to leave.

He paused mid-step. “Your Highness?”

“Start preparing yourself. You’ll accompany me to Osric’s coronation ceremony.”

His brows twitched ever so slightly—a hint of surprise, quickly masked. Then he bowed low, hand pressed to his chest. “It will be my honor, Your Highness.”

“Good,” I replied softly, allowing a faint smile. “You may leave.”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, as if he wanted to say something more—but then thought better of it. With a final bow, he turned and strode out, his footsteps echoing down the marble corridor until only silence remained.

I exhaled, the quiet pressing against me. My gaze drifted to the rolled-up maps on the table, the ink still gleaming faintly in the candlelight. For the first time in days, my heart felt steady—not because it was light, but because it was anchored.

Osric was a part of my world, yes—but my people were my world. And whatever storms came from Meren, from politics, from love itself—I would not falter again.

I turned toward the tall windows, the cool night air brushing against my skin. Outside, the empire lay bathed in two kinds of light—moonlight painting the roofs in silver, candlelight setting them aglow in gold.

My empire.My people.

If the day ever came when I must choose between my love and my people… Then I would choose this kingdom.

Always.

And just like that soon—too soon—the day of Osric’s coronation arrived.

“Your Highness!” Sera’s voice struck like a whip. “You should start getting ready right now!”

I blinked at her reflection in the mirror, deadpanned. “She’s… getting scarier by the day.”

From his cushion near the fireplace, Marshi gave a low rumble of agreement—something suspiciously close to a nod.