Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 358

Chapter 358: What? A Marriage?
[Haldor’s POV—Dawnspire Wing—Later That Morning]

I left her chambers with my spine straight and my thoughts in chaos.

That was nothing new.

What was new was how the silence followed me—how the corridors seemed to watch as I walked, as if the palace itself sensed that something had shifted and was waiting to see which way it would fall.

Captain. Protector. Nothing more.

That was the role I had carved into myself, stone by stone, year by year. And yet this morning, every step away from her door felt like resistance—like swimming against a current I had only just noticed pulling me in.

I stopped at the tall window overlooking the inner courtyard.

Soldiers trained below. Steel rang against steel. Commands echoed. Order, discipline, repetition—the language I understood best.

Good.

I needed that.

Because my mind kept returning to the way she had said my name.

Not Captain. Not Protector.

Just—Haldor.

I clenched my jaw and forced my focus outward.

Last night had been a mistake. No. Last night had been the truth. And truth was far more dangerous than any error.

A presence settled beside me.

I didn’t hear footsteps. I felt it.

“You look like a man who hasn’t slept,” General Luke said calmly.

I stiffened and turned slightly. He stood at my side, hands folded behind his back, gaze fixed on the training yard below. His posture was relaxed—but his presence pressed like a weight against my ribs.

“I am fine, General,” I replied evenly.

“Hm.” His eyes didn’t leave the courtyard. “Lies are unnecessary this early in the morning.”

Something cold settled in my chest.

I stared at him, my voice turning sharp. “And it is unnecessary for me to share anything with you.” I paused deliberately. “Especially with someone who once served an enemy kingdom.”

If he was offended, he didn’t show it.

He merely continued to watch the soldiers below, as if my words were nothing more than a breeze passing through stone.

I clenched my jaw and turned away. I had no interest in walking beside him. No interest in conversations soaked in half-warnings and veiled judgments.

I took two steps—

“She is the Crown Princess, Captain.”

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned back, brows furrowing. Luke finally looked at me.

Not coldly.

Not mockingly.

But with something darker—something heavy with experience.

“If you dare to think,” he said calmly, “that standing beside a tyrant is a blessing… Let me remind you of something.”

His voice lowered, every word deliberate.

“Standing beside a tyrant is nothing but death—served on a golden plate.”

The words settled like iron in my chest.

For a moment, I simply stared at him. This didn’t feel like a general speaking to a captain.

It felt like—no. I cut the thought off sharply.

He is nothing to me.

I straightened, my spine rigid, my voice cold and unwavering.

“That is none of your concern, General,” I said. “I don’t need advice from you.”

I held his gaze without blinking.

“And I trust my princess,” I finished quietly, firmly, “more than I trust myself.”

For the first time—just for a fraction of a second—something flickered in his eyes.

Not anger.

Not disdain.

Something closer to… recognition. I didn’t wait to name it.

Silence stretched—heavy, deliberate.

Then he spoke again, “So, she trusts you?”

The words landed harder than expected.

“Yes,” I said immediately.

“And you would die for her?”

That sentence cut deeper than any blade ever had.

“Die?” I turned toward him, my expression going cold in a way that even surprised me. “No.”

He finally looked at me.

“I will never die for her,” I said, each word measured, grounded, and absolute. “I don’t want to die for her.”

Something fierce and frightening burned up my chest.

“I want to—” The truth slipped out before I could stop it. “I want to live with her.”

The courtyard noise seemed dull. General Luke stared at me for a long moment—long enough that I wondered if I had just signed my own execution.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

“That,” he said quietly, “is exactly why you should be afraid.”

I frowned. “Afraid?”

He turned fully toward me now, his gaze sharp—not cruel, but warning.

“You are standing beside a tyrant’s daughter,” he said. “A woman raised by an emperor who breaks men for breakfast and crowns them for dinner.”

I didn’t flinch.

“She is not like him,” I said firmly.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “No. She is worse.”

I stiffened.

“Because she does not rule through fear alone,” he continued. “She rules through loyalty. Through trust. Through making men believe they choose her.”

His gaze bore into me. “And men who believe they choose her… burn.”

I clenched my fists. “You speak as if she is a monster.”

“I speak as a man who has watched tyrants rise,” Luke replied. “And as someone who knows exactly what standing beside one costs.”

I met his stare, refusing to yield. “Then why do you choose to serve her?”

For a fraction of a second—just one—his composure cracked. Something warm flickered in his eyes. Something dangerous.

“I had…,” he said quietly, “I had my own reason. I found something very precious near her. Something I was looking for ages.”

The words settled between us like ash. He looked back toward the training yard, then added, almost too casually, “Just know this, Captain.”

I waited.

“If you choose to stand closer than your rank allows—closer than duty demands—you will be crushed first.”

My jaw tightened. “And if I don’t?”

He studied me again, expression unreadable.

“Then you will live,” he said. “But you will always wonder what you were too afraid to reach for.”

He stepped back, already turning away.

“Be careful, Captain,” Luke added over his shoulder. “Men like you don’t survive loving women like her.”

And then he was gone. I exhaled slowly, resting my hands against the cold stone sill, staring down at the soldiers below.

But… did everything really change only for me? What if it hadn’t? What if she regretted it?

The thought tightened painfully in my chest.

What if the kiss was just a moment? A weakness? A mistake she would later erase with duty and distance?

But she had said it herself.

She never regretted her decisions.

Not battles.Not blood.Not choices.

So… kissing me—did she really not regret that?

My fingers curled unconsciously.

If she didn’t… then—could I dare to think that I could stand beside her as more than her captain?

The thought was dangerous.

Treasonable.

Laughable.

A crown princess and a captain. A future empress and a man with no lineage, no claim, and no right.

I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration knotting tight in my chest.

“What the hell am I even thinking?” I muttered. “I must have lost my mind.”

I straightened, forcing my spine rigid again, rebuilding the walls I had relied on my entire life.

Captain Haldor.Protector.Shadow.

That was all I was allowed to be.

And yet—no matter how tightly I tried to seal those thoughts away… her voice lingered. Her warmth lingered. The way she looked at me—steady, unafraid—lingered.

And for the first time…discipline alone felt dangerously insufficient to hold my heart in place.

***

[Lavinia’s POV—Same Time—Imperial Council Chamber]

“…The salt mine we discovered will significantly strengthen foreign supply routes, Your Majesty,” Theon concluded, rolling up the parchment.

Papa nodded once. “Good. Then I leave this matter to you.”

The council scribes moved quickly. Quills scratched. Nobles murmured approval. Papa leaned back in his throne, fingers tapping the armrest. “Is that all for today?”

A collective nod followed.

Then—a hand rose.

Slowly. Deliberately.

The noble cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “Your Majesty… there is one more matter. A very important one.”

Papa’s gaze sharpened. Mine did too.

The man bowed deeply. “It concerns the Crown Princess.”

The room went still.

About me?

“…It is time,” the noble said carefully, “that the Crown Princess is wed.”

Silence.

Not the polite kind.

The kind that digs into your bones.

I froze.

Theon’s expression stiffened—but he nodded once. “I agree. The Crown Princess has turned twenty this year. In two years, she will inherit the throne. Before that, the Devereux line requires—”

SLAM.

Papa’s hand struck the council table so hard the goblets rattled. In one smooth, terrifying motion, he rose—sword drawn, blade gleaming beneath the council lights.

“Speak of my daughter’s marriage again,” Papa said, his voice calm in the most dangerous way possible, “and I will personally ensure every man in this chamber is beheaded before sunset.”

Several nobles recoiled.

One dropped his quill. Another paled so badly I thought he might faint.

“Your Majesty—!” someone stammered.

Papa took a step forward.

The blade hummed softly.

“She is not livestock to be traded,” he continued. “She is not a womb to secure your lineage. And she is certainly not a political tool for cowards who hide behind ‘tradition.'”

The chamber shook with his fury.

Then—a slow clap echoed.

Count Talvan.

“Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, “no one questions your devotion to the Crown Princess. But devotion does not change reality.”

Papa’s eyes burned.

“If the Crown Princess does not marry,” Talvan continued, “the Devereux bloodline may fall. The empire requires continuity. An heir, or else…you have to choose one of the noble families as the next heir of the Crown.”

My breath hitched.

What?

Why were they circling me like vultures? Is there something going on between the nobles?