Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 297

Chapter 297: The Coronation & The Captain
[Lavinia’s POV – Dawnspire Wing, Afternoon of the Osric’s Coronation]

I had faced war councils, sleepless negotiations, and a near diplomatic collapse once… but none of those horrors compared to Sera and her army of maids.

They were waiting for me like predators circling their prey—armed not with blades, but with brushes, pins, and fabrics that gleamed like armor in the morning light.

“Your Highness,” Sera said in the tone of someone about to wage holy war, “you are not leaving this chamber until you look fit to outshine the entire court.”

I blinked. “You make it sound like I’m going to battle.”

“You are,” she replied grimly. “Against wrinkles, messy hair, and your own impatience.”

Marshi, lounging near the window, gave a lazy growl—low and disapproving. I swear he was enjoying this.

I took one slow, cautious step back, eyeing the line of maids advancing with fabrics and combs. “You all look… disturbingly determined.”

Sera raised a brow. “Determined? Your Highness, this is Lord Osric’s coronation. Tonight they might announce you as his fiancée. You will not walk into that hall looking like you’ve just finished drafting war plans.”

I froze. “…But I did just finish drafting war plans.”

Every maid in the room paused mid-step. Sera inhaled slowly through her nose. “Exactly my point.”

Before I could argue, they descended. Someone grabbed my arm, another tugged my hair loose, and suddenly I was surrounded by a flurry of silk, gold thread, and the faint scent of rose oil. My poor dignity vanished under layers of fabric faster than I could protest.

“Easy! You’re going to dislocate my shoulder—” I started, but Sera cut in.

“Beauty requires sacrifice, Your Highness.”

“I’m fairly certain so does torture,” I muttered.

Sera gave a tight smile. “Exactly.”

Marshi huffed, tail flicking as if to say, You brought this upon yourself.

By the time they were done, the mirror reflected a stranger—a golden and red gown cascading like liquid dawn, jeweled clasps at my shoulders, and a crown circlet glinting faintly on the vanity beside me. My hair, usually rebellious and untamable, now shone in intricate braids threaded with pale red ribbons.

I stared at my reflection for a long moment before saying softly, “If the empire loses this war, Sera, I’ll have you lead the army.”

She smirked, utterly unfazed. “Gladly, Your Highness. I’d win within a week.”

Marshi snorted. I think even he agreed.

Anyway… as usual, I was beautiful.

I turned toward the door, smoothing a stray ribbon from my braid. “Has Sir Haldor arrived yet?”

Sera gave a prim nod. “He’s been waiting for you, Your Highness. And he’s been standing there for quite some time, if I may add—refused to sit.”

Of course he did. That man could probably stand guard for a century and call it ‘discipline.’

“Alright,” I said, straightening my posture. “Let’s go, then.”

Marshi yawned wide enough to show his fangs and padded after me, tail flicking lazily. The heavy door creaked open—and I stopped dead in my tracks.

Sir Haldor was waiting just outside, posture perfect as ever, but—Saints preserve me—he looked… different. The crisp black uniform was edged in gold thread, polished insignia gleaming faintly in the morning light. A ceremonial sword hung at his hip, and a single golden brooch fastened his cape. Even his hair looked sharper somehow.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. He bowed low, voice steady. “Greetings, Your Highness.”

I blinked, trying not to sound too surprised. “You look… very handsome today, Sir Haldor.”

He froze—just for a fraction. Then, in a tone that was much too composed to be casual, he said, “I did my best to look good beside you, Your Highness.”

… What? That was surprising to hear from him.

For a man who rarely used more than five words at a time, that was practically a confession. I almost dropped my fan.

“You—” I cleared my throat, because apparently I was the one flustered now, seeing the handsome face again, forgetting that I have a fiancé out there. “Well… you succeeded.”

There it was—a tiny flicker at the corner of his lips. Barely a smile, but enough to make my day suspiciously brighter.

“Shall we go now?” I asked, smiling faintly. “Papa must be waiting.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” He stepped aside smoothly, gesturing toward the corridor. “After you.”

I lifted my chin and walked forward. The sound of my heels echoed against the marble as I walked down the long hallway, Marshi padding silently at my side, and Sir Haldor following close behind—steady, silent, unshakable.

And maybe… just maybe… he was a little too handsome for his own good today.

“Sir Haldor,” I said lightly as we walked.

“Yes, Your Highness?” His tone was as crisp as ever—alert, formal, and utterly unaware of what was coming.

“When a noble lady smiles at you during the coronation ceremony, it means she wishes to dance with you. So, when that happens, you should go and ask her to dance.”

He blinked, visibly processing that. “…Your Highness, forgive me, but—why are you telling me this? Is this… some kind of coded warning for an assassination attempt? Should I be prepared?”

I nearly tripped on my gown. “What? No! Saints above, no, Sir Haldor!” I turned to look at him, half laughing, half exasperated. “It’s just a social custom, not a battle tactic!”

He blinked again, genuinely puzzled. “Then… why would you need to warn me?”

Because you’re hopeless, that’s why.

I sighed dramatically, continuing forward. “Because, Sir Haldor, any noble lady might approach you today. And I’m telling you beforehand—so you don’t stare at her like she’s an incoming siege tower. You smile and approach her properly.”

He frowned faintly, still baffled. “But why would any noble lady approach a mere imperial captain like me, Your Highness?”

I stopped walking and turned to face him fully. My gaze trailed up and down—black and gold uniform, polished boots, sharp jawline. “You never know, Sir Haldor. You might attract someone today… or perhaps even find your soulmate.”

His brows drew together slightly. “…Soulmate?”

I smiled softly. “Yes. Who knows? You might meet the person destined for you—so you should be prepared, Captain.”

For a moment, he looked like he was about to laugh, but instead, he said quietly, “I don’t believe in love, Your Highness. And even if I did… I don’t think I’d be capable of loving someone.”

The lightness in my chest faltered. His voice wasn’t cold, just… tired. A quiet, worn kind of sadness that made my heart ache for reasons I didn’t understand.

I wanted to ask why. What happened to make him say that? But no—that wasn’t my place. There were walls even I wasn’t meant to cross.

So I simply turned away, forcing a small smile. “As you say, Sir Haldor. Let’s go.”

He bowed slightly. “As you command, Your Highness.”

We walked the rest of the corridor in silence, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. When the grand doors opened to the courtyard, I spotted Papa already waiting beside the carriage, sunlight glinting off his Crown.

Marshi bounded ahead, tail swishing, while I took a deep breath and stepped forward—ready to face the coronation and whatever else this day might bring.

***

[Everheart Estate—Day of the Coronation Ceremony—Later]

The royal carriage came to a slow, graceful halt before the grand gates of the Everheart Estate. Trumpets blared, silks fluttered, and petals rained like a blessing from the balconies above.

I stepped down carefully, one hand in Papa’s. His grip was steady, grounding, and warm against the chill that hung in the morning air. The crowd bowed in a wave, courtiers shimmering in jewels and pride.

For a moment, everything felt almost perfect. The gold banners, the scent of lilies, and the solemn echo of the bells announcing the coronation of my fiancé, Grand Duke Osric Everheart.

I turned to Papa with a small smile. “Shall we?”

But he didn’t move.

His hand tightened around mine—firm, unyielding—enough for me to feel the pulse beating beneath his calloused fingers. I looked up, confused, and found him glaring straight ahead, his expression carved out of pure granite.

At the towering marble façade of the Everheart Estate.

“Papa…” I whispered, following his line of sight. “Why are you trying to burn a hole through the estate?”

His jaw flexed. “Because I don’t like it.”

I blinked. “…What?”

He exhaled sharply, still glaring. “Today, that idiot Regis might stand up there and announce you as his daughter-in-law—and it’s pissing me off.”

I stared at him for a long second. “Papa,” I said dryly, “you do realize that was the plan all along, right?”

He grumbled something under his breath—something about Everhearts and terrible sons—and gave the manor one last death glare before I tugged his hand gently.

“We should go inside, Papa.”

He coughed, straightened his shoulders, and muttered, “Fine. But I’m only doing this for you, not for that smug brat you want to marry.”

I sighed but couldn’t hide my smile as we started walking. Because today wasn’t just the day Osric Everheart became the Grand Duke.

It was also the day he would—officially and publicly—become my fiancé.