Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 310

Chapter 310: Tea, Moonlight, and the First March
[Lavinia’s POV — Outside the War Tent, Under the Moon]

The night had softened. For once, the wind wasn’t cruel—it whispered, cool and patient, over the camp’s restless heart.

Below the hill, Eloria’s army moved in a hurry. Fires flickered like distant stars, armor clinked, and somewhere a sentry hummed a lullaby to keep himself awake. But here—on the ridge above it all—it was quiet enough that I could hear the flags breathing.

Osric stood beside me, silent. The moonlight silvered his armor, softening what war had hardened. Solena perched on a broken post nearby, feathers folded, watching us both with knowing eyes.

I crossed my arms, eyes still fixed on the horizon where the mountains carved black lines against the pale sky.

“You know,” I murmured, “this is the first time we’ve stood together without arguing since the coronation.”

He gave a faint smile. “That’s because there’s no one left to argue with us.”

A small laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Then it must be the calm before I ruin everything again.”

“You won’t,” he said quietly.

I turned to look at him. His expression wasn’t confident—it was something heavier. Faith, maybe. Or desperation pretending to be faith.

“You sound sure.”

“I am,” he said simply. “You were born for this.”

I huffed softly. “I was born to sit in a palace, attend banquets, smile, and listen to nobles argue over taxes.”

His mouth twitched. “And yet, here you are—leading ten thousand soldiers toward an empire’s edge.”

“Life is cruelly ironic,” I said, and tilted my head toward the stars. “You can almost hear the gods laughing.”

For a long while, neither of us spoke. The moon was high, and the camp below shimmered with quiet life—distant movements, soft murmurs, and the metallic sigh of restless blades.

Finally, he said, “Do you ever regret it, Lavi?”

I glanced at him. “Regret what?”

He met my gaze. “Regret this. Choosing to love me.”

The question hung there between us, thin as a thread and twice as sharp.

I looked back toward the horizon, the pale light of the moon tracing my armor’s edge. “I don’t regret anything, Osric.”

Then, after a beat, I added softly, “In fact, I should be the one asking you.”

His brows furrowed. “Asking me?”

I turned to face him fully. “Do you regret loving the Crown Princess of the Elorian Empire?”

He froze. His jaw worked soundlessly before he finally said, “I just… wanted us to end with each other this time. In this life. I want us, Lavi.” His voice cracked just enough to sound human. “Is it so wrong to expect that from the woman I love?”

I let out a quiet breath, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips. “It’s wrong,” I said simply.

He blinked. “What?”

“When you love a Crown Princess,” I said, turning my gaze back to the moonlit horizon, “you don’t get to have expectations. You learn to sacrifice them. Time. Affection. Peace. The world doesn’t stop for a woman like me, Osric. Our heart should first belong to this empire.”

He smiled, though there was no joy in it. “And what do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I’ve sacrificed plenty.”

I turned back, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Then think carefully about what you’re asking for. You may have already given more than you realize… and yet still expect more from me than I can give.”

He said nothing. The silence between us grew heavy again, shaped like everything we’d never be.

I stepped past him, brushing against the edge of his cloak. “You have too many expectations, Osric,” I murmured as I walked away. “And I’ve already burned mine.”

I didn’t look back.

The cold air hit me as I crossed toward my tent, my thoughts a knot of steel and moonlight. I was so deep in them that I nearly collided with someone at the entrance.

“Oh—your Highness!” Sir Haldor straightened immediately, a metal cup in his hand. Steam curled from it.

I blinked. “Sir Haldor… are you taking a tea break in the middle of a war camp?”

His expression went stiff. “No, Your Highness. I—ah—I brought this for you.” He held up the cup, his voice going soft. “Jasmine tea. In an army cup.”

I paused, studying him for a beat. The armor, the exhaustion, the way he still managed to look like discipline personified even while holding tea.

“…Jasmine,” I murmured, sniffing the steam. “How do you know I like Jasmine tea?”

He nodded once. “I heard it from your Lady-in-waiting, your highness.”

A small smile curved my lips. “And do you expect me to drink it alone, Captain?”

His eyes widened slightly. “I—no, Your Highness, of course not. I can call Sera or—”

I interrupted, holding up a hand. “No. Just bring another cup quickly.”

He hesitated—just long enough to make me suspect he’d never been ordered to share tea before—then snapped to attention. “At once, Your Highness.”

Before I could say wait, he was already gone.

And then, impossibly, he was back within seconds, breath misting faintly in the chill. Two cups now, his steps soundless as a shadow.

“Impressive speed,” I remarked, amused.

He huffed lightly. “You ordered quickly. I moved quickly.”

“That you did.” I poured half of the tea from my cup into his. The fragrant steam curled between us. “Here.”

He blinked, clearly startled. “Your Highness, I can’t—sharing a tea with you. It’s—”

“Isn’t an act of treason, Captain.” I tilted my head. “It’s just tea. Sit.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then, quietly, he obeyed.

We sat inside the tent, across from each other on low crates that creaked under the weight of armor and silence. Outside, the camp murmured faintly, the firelight licking the canvas walls.

He lifted the cup, still hesitant. “I’ve never shared tea with royalty before.”

“Then you’re already making history,” I said, sipping mine. “One cup at a time.”

His lips twitched—the ghost of a smile—but he said nothing. The faint warmth of the tea brushed my fingers, the jasmine soft and grounding against the iron scent of the night.

For a moment, the war felt far away.

I caught him glancing at me, quick and unguarded, before he looked away again, pretending to study the tent wall.

“Something on your mind, Captain?” I asked, voice low.

He cleared his throat, his composure snapping back into place. “Only the mission, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” I said, a knowing smile tugging at my lips. “The mission.”

Haldor dipped his head, hiding the faint curve of his own.

We drank quietly after that—the soft clink of metal cups, the warmth of jasmine, and the distant crackle of campfires weaving a rare pocket of peace around us. A small, stolen moment before dawn tried to claim it.

Outside, the moon hung like a silver banner. Inside… it almost felt calm.

Almost.

The tent flap rustled.

General Arwin strode in, armor still dusted with travel and urgency. His voice dropped into a low bow as he said, “Your Highness… the units are assembled. We are ready to move.”

The peace shattered like thin ice.

I stood immediately, placing the cup on the small table with a soft tap, my fingers already reaching for my sword.

“Then we won’t waste another moment,” I said, fastening the blade at my hip. The weight settled there like purpose. “It’s time to move.”

Haldor rose with me—shadow to my flame, silent and steady.

I stepped outside into the cold night. A hundred torches burned along the camp’s pathways, their flames rippling in disciplined rows. As I approached, soldiers straightened, their armor trembling with anticipation.

Marshi trotted up beside my horse, fur bristling, sensing the shift in the air. Solena perched high above, her wings gleaming under the moon like drawn steel.

I mounted my horse in one smooth motion. The leather groaned, the army inhaled as one, and the night itself seemed to brace.

General Arwin rode forward. “Your command, Crown Princess.”

I lifted my sword—not high, not dramatic—just enough for the blade to catch moonlight and silence the world.

“Toward the Black Wall,” I said, voice steady as fate. “We begin the first strike.”

A ripple passed through the ranks.A rumble.A roar waiting to happen.

I nudged my horse forward.

Hooves struck the earth.Torches flared.The army followed.

And just like that…Eloria’s march began.

The first step to conquering Meren.