Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 348

Chapter 348: The Gates of Eloria—The Homecoming
[Lavinia’s POV—Eloria, Capital Gates—The Next Afternoon]

The golden towers of Eloria rose over the horizon like a promise.

Warm sunlight kissed the marble domes, banners fluttered in bold crimson arcs, and the familiar scent of home—floral incense and sun-heated stone—wrapped around my senses like a long-forgotten embrace.

After months of battle, blood, diplomacy, and chaos…I was home.

“Your Highness,” Zerith called from behind me, breathless with excitement, “the capital gates have opened!”

I lifted my gaze—and smiled faintly.

Rey stretched his arms dramatically beside me. “Finally… I can sleep peacefully. My spine is not built for war camps.”

Sera elbowed him as she was sitting infront of him. “Shut up before Princess throws you back to the battlefield.”

The gates didn’t simply open.

They blossomed.

The massive golden doors swung outward with a thunderous echo, unleashing a wave of warmth, color, and sound.

Hundreds of soldiers stood in two perfect rows—armor polished to a mirror-like shine, cloaks snapping in the wind like regal banners. People crowded balconies, roofs, and windows—cheering, crying, throwing petals that drifted down like shimmering rain.

“Eloria welcomes you, Princess!”

“Long live the future Empress!”

“Glory to Princess Lavinia!”

The roar struck me like a tidal wave—fierce, overwhelming, alive. My chest puffed with pride. My army stood taller. And the flag of Eloria flew high, unbroken, unshaken, and triumphant.

We moved forward through the kingdom’s heart—and toward the place that shaped me.

Home.

***

[Imperial Palace—Later]

The palace gates rose before me, towering, cold, magnificent—but as familiar as the lines of my own palm.

We passed through the final archway. And there… at the far end of the long carpeted path… I saw him.

My father.

Emperor Cassius Devereux.

Standing tall, arms folded behind his back, the very picture of imperial dominance. His spine was straight as a blade. His expression was unreadable—except for the faint, unmistakable smirk at the corner of his mouth.

A smirk that screamed pride.

He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone silenced the roaring crowd.

My heartbeat stilled.

“…Papa,” I whispered.

Haldor, riding beside me, straightened immediately—posture sharpening, eyes locked onto the Emperor with a soldier’s alertness and a sonless man’s admiration.

Around my papa stood Ravick—stoic and tense. Regis—chin held high. Theo—already wiping tears, though pretending not to.

And rows of nobles—silent, trembling, watching.

We dismounted. And without hesitation, we kneeled.

My knee pressed to the marble. My palm on the ground. My voice steady: “We have successfully won the war, Your Majesty.”

Papa looked down at me—a long, heavy moment of silence—and said, “Raise.”

We all raised, and then…his eyes scanned me up and down, left and right, searching for wounds, bruises, anything.

His jaw tightened.

I swallowed. “Papa… I am not injured.”

He blinked.

Slowly.

Something in his expression cracked—softened—melted. Then, he stepped forward.

One step. Two steps. Three.

His boots echoed like a heartbeat against marble.

And then… He opened his arms. “Welcome back, my dear.”

My breath hitched. The world blurred. I stepped forward—and threw myself into his embrace without hesitation.

Warm arms wrapped around me—strong, steady, filled with the same fierce love that raised me, trained me, and forged me.

I buried my face against his chest.

“I missed you so much, Papa,” I whispered, voice cracking, despite all my discipline.

His hand cradled the back of my head gently—the gentlest gesture I had ever known from him.

“And I missed you more than you will ever know,” he murmured into my hair, his voice deep and trembling with a father’s pride and fear, “my brave girl.”

He held me like the world could burn around us and he would still protect me with his life. He pulled back—just far enough to cup my cheeks in both hands.

“Let me look at you,” he said.

His eyes were fierce—glowing.

“You conquered a kingdom,” he whispered proudly. “You led armies. You returned with victory… and still, still, you stand tall.”

His voice softened into something only a father could have: “You have made me proud, Lavinia.”

My throat tightened.

Emotion swelled—warm and overwhelming—until I could only whisper: “Papa…”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You proved,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my skin, “why you are the heir of Devereux.”

A small smile slipped onto my lips—warm, soft, unguarded.

But then—His gaze shifted past me.

Toward someone behind. Papa’s expression changed instantly. The warmth vanished. His eyes hardened—crackling with fury.

His fist clenched.

His jaw locked.

And before I even turned, I knew exactly who he saw.

Osric.

Papa took one step forward—murderous intent leaking from him like a storm about to break.

I grabbed his arm—fast. “Papa—not now. Please.”

He froze.

Looked down at my hand on his.

Then at me. For a moment, the tyrant lingered… Then the father won. He exhaled slowly, releasing the tension from his jaw.

“…Alright,” he said, though the word was edged with unspoken threats. “I will wait.”

Osric swallowed hard behind me.

Papa ignored him and let his gaze sweep across the rows of soldiers who had accompanied me home. His posture straightened, radiating imperial power—cold, immovable, and absolute.

“And as for all of you,” he said, his voice booming suddenly, echoing across the marble courtyard, “your loyalty has been seen.”

A ripple of tension ran through the ranks.

“By supporting the Crown Princess,” he continued, “you have proven why you deserve to stand beside her—now, and when she ascends the throne.”

Some soldiers stiffened, chests puffed, more proud as they were being acknowledged by the emperor.

Papa went on: “Your contribution in this war was exceptional. I have received every report.”

His eyes narrowed, assessing each soldier with razor attention. “And you all are granted one week of leave.”

Gasps. Smiles. Relief. Shock.

Warriors bowed deeply, fists over hearts. “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

Papa nodded curtly. “Rest well. You will serve her again soon.”

Behind me, Haldor bowed deeply—his posture perfect, unwavering, and respectful. But when Papa’s gaze brushed him, something sharp flickered in those eyes.

Interest?

Recognition?

Suspicion?

Or all three?

Papa’s attention then shifted—subtly—to General Luke. Luke stiffened. A faint, indescribable ache flashed across his features. Papa hummed. Low. Dangerous.

Then turned to me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder—grounding, protective, possessive.

“Come,” he said, voice returning to its dry, fatherly tyranny. “Handling idiots like Meren every day must be exhausting.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me.

“It was pretty easy,” I said lightly. “They’re nothing.”

Papa barked out a laugh—a sharp, amused one.

“That pathetic boy?” he scoffed. “He couldn’t handle your shadow, let alone your presence.”

His hand tightened slightly on my shoulder—a silent reassurance. “Let’s go, Lavinia.”

And as we walked toward the palace doors—with soldiers watching, nobles kneeling, and Haldor’s eyes lingering on my back—I felt something powerful settle into place.

Home.

Victory.

And the beginning of something far more complicated.

***

[Emperor Cassius’s Chamber — Later]

Papa’s private chamber was warm. I sat beside him on the velvet couch, leaning lightly against his shoulder as he fed me grapes one by one like I was still ten years old.

“Now,” Papa said, voice low, eyes sharp even in tenderness, “why did you bring Luke into the campaign?”

I shrugged lightly. “He was interesting.”

Papa snorted. “Everyone is ‘interesting’ to you. Be specific.”

“Fine,” I said, popping a grape into my mouth. “He was smart. Efficient. And…”

“And?” Papa pressed.

I looked up at him.

“He is from Astreyon.”

Papa froze mid-gesture.

“Astreyon?” His brow furrowed, voice dropping an octave.

I nodded. “Yes. I wanted to know why someone from Astreyon — where the king doesn’t rule, but the priests do — would be here in Meren.”

Papa leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose. “That is suspicious.”

He rested a hand on his chin, thinking deeply.

“People of Astreyon never leave their kingdom,” he continued. “Unless they are disowned… or have run away.”

I blinked at him. “Are they that private, Papa?”

He nodded firmly. “Private. Isolated. They avoid mixing with other kingdoms. They marry only within their own bloodline, follow ancient priestly laws, and answer only to their High Oracle.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“Looks like I’ll need to study more about Astreyon,” I muttered, leaning back into the cushions.

Papa glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Huh? Of course I—”

“I am asking about Osric.”

Silence dropped between us like a thick curtain.

I inhaled slowly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Papa. I’m alright.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. “But I would like to… apologize.”

Papa turned fully toward me. “Apologize?”

I nodded.

“You told me,” I said softly, “that he wasn’t good for me. And I didn’t listen.”

Before I could finish, Papa placed his hand over mine — firm, grounding.

“You do not need to apologize,” he said. “Sometimes the greatest lessons are not those taught by a parent…”

His voice softened.

“…but those learned by your own fractures.”

My chest tightened.

Papa squeezed my hand gently — a gesture rare from a man feared by nations.

“Come,” he said, pulling me into a side embrace. “My daughter needs a great deal of pampering after dragging half the empire behind her.”

I laughed softly and wrapped my arms around him. “I love you, Papa. You’re the best man in my life.”

He huffed proudly, chest swelling. “I know that.”

I smiled, resting my head against his shoulder as he patted my back.

“Take proper rest,” he said. “In two days, you must face the nobles again.”

I groaned loudly. “Why do we have to host the victory ball?”

“It is necessary,” he replied flatly.

“Ugh… fine.”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like he used to when I was little. The crackling fire softened.

The room felt warm.

Safe.

And as I let my eyes drift shut, leaning against my papa’s steady warmth… A thought whispered through my mind —

The mystery of Astreyon… Luke’s strange flinch…His connection to Haldor…Something was happening.

Something old.

Something hidden.

And it was coming closer.

The mystery of Astreyon hung in the air like a quiet storm… waiting for the right moment to break.