Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 359

Chapter 359: What the Throne Requires
[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Council Chamber—Continuation]

The silence did not break.

It coiled.

Every noble in the chamber held their breath, eyes flicking between Papa’s drawn sword and Count Talvan’s infuriatingly calm expression. No one dared speak. No one dared move.

Except me.

I rose.

The scrape of my chair against marble sounded unnaturally loud, and in that instant, the room’s attention shifted—not to Papa’s blade, but to me.

Papa stiffened. “Lavinia,” he warned, low and dangerous.

I did not look at him.

I stepped forward—one measured step, then another—until I stood beside the council table. I placed my gloved hand flat against its surface and leaned in slightly.

Calm. Controlled. Smiling.

“Count Talvan,” I said softly.

He straightened at once, bowing shallowly. “Your Highness.”

“How thoughtful of you,” I continued, tilting my head, “to be so concerned about my womb in the middle of the council.”

A ripple of shock went through the chamber.

Talvan’s smile twitched. “Your Highness, I meant no disrespect—”

“Oh, I know,” I interrupted pleasantly. “You meant survival. Yours.”

Papa’s sword hummed as his grip tightened, but I lifted one finger—not toward him, but subtly. Enough.

I had this.

I turned my gaze slowly, deliberately, across the council.

“Let me clarify something,” I said. “Very clearly. Very carefully.”

The nobles leaned back instinctively. “I did not conquer Meren so that you could begin counting my fertile years like a harvest schedule.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed from somewhere near the back.

“You speak of heirs,” I continued, voice steady, unraised, and infinitely more dangerous for it. “As if they are chess pieces you can move when the board grows uncomfortable.”

I straightened up.

“Tell me, Count Talvan,” I asked, meeting his eyes directly, “how many wars have you fought?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

I smiled wider.

“How many borders have you bled for?” I pressed. “How many nights have you slept knowing that if you failed, an empire would burn?”

Silence.

Papa lowered his sword—slowly—but did not sheath it.

“I am twenty,” I went on. “I have already done what many kings never accomplish in a lifetime. And yet you stand here—alive, untouched—and dare to tell me my greatest value is what I might produce in a bed?”

Talvan’s face tightened.

“Your Highness,” he said carefully, “the Devereux line—”

“—will not fall,” I snapped, the steel finally sliding into my voice. “Not while I breathe.”

The chamber felt that.

I turned, addressing them all now.

“If you are so desperate for continuity,” I said coldly, “then perhaps you should ask yourselves why you doubt me.”

Murmurs stirred.

“Or is it,” I added, eyes narrowing, “that some of you fear a ruler who cannot be controlled by marriage?”

That landed like a blade.

Papa’s laugh—low, lethal—echoed once through the chamber.

Talvan swallowed. I leaned forward again, resting both hands on the table.

“Here is what will happen,” I said quietly. “You will not speak of my marriage again unless I invite the discussion.”

I met Talvan’s gaze—unblinking.

“You will not whisper of heirs behind my back.”

Another pause.

“And if I hear even a rumor,” I continued, “of noble families positioning themselves as alternatives to the Devereux line—”

Papa stepped forward beside me.

“I will burn those families to the root,” he finished pleasantly.

The nobles bowed. Deeply. Hastily.

Talvan bowed last. Slow. Calculated. But his eyes—his eyes were wary now.

“Do we understand each other?” I asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the chamber echoed.

I straightened, smoothing my gloves.

“Good,” I said. “Then this council is dismissed.”

The nobles scattered like birds from a gunshot.

And now—silence.

Heavy. Lingering. Honest.

I straightened slowly, smoothing my gloves as though my hands were not still humming with restrained fury. The council chamber felt suddenly too large, too empty—like a battlefield after the bodies were cleared.

I glanced to my left.

Osric was still seated.

For a moment, he simply looked at me—expression unreadable, eyes sharp with thoughts he chose not to voice. Then he rose, bowing with immaculate grace.

“Have a great day, Your Highness,” he said evenly.

No commentary. No interference. No allegiance declared.

And just like that—he turned and left.

The doors shut.

Only Papa and I remained.

The Emperor of Eloria stood in the center of the chamber, sword finally sheathed, shoulders tense in a way the court never saw. The tyrant was gone.

The father remained.

“Lavinia…” he began.

I turned toward him and smiled—not bright, not forced. Just steady.

“It’s okay, Papa,” I said gently. “I’m not upset.”

He studied my face carefully, searching for cracks.

“But,” I continued, my voice lowering, “something is stirring among the nobles again. I can feel it.”

Papa exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like a man far older than his crown allowed him to be.

“The same thing,” he said quietly, “that stirred before you were born.”

I blinked.

“You faced this too?” I asked.

He nodded once. “Constantly.”

The word carried exhaustion. History. Blood. I hesitated—then asked the question that had lodged itself painfully in my chest.

“So… it’s true?” I said. “If I don’t produce an heir… the throne must pass to another noble house?”

Papa’s expression darkened instantly.

“Yes,” he snapped. “And that is exactly what enrages me.”

His hand slammed against the council table—not in fury this time, but frustration. Deep. Personal.

“If the empire ever falls into the hands of those snakes,” he growled, “they will tear apart everything the Devereux line secured. Borders will fracture. Power will be sold. The people will suffer.”

He looked at me then—really looked.

“I built this empire to withstand external enemies,” he said. “Not parasites hiding behind tradition.”

My breath slowed.

So this wasn’t just about marriage.

It was about control.

Inheritance laws. Noble ambition. A system waiting patiently for a single weakness to exploit.

This wasn’t a problem that could be solved with a sword. Or a decree. Or fear. This was a ticking clock wrapped in silk and smiles.

And…this is a very serious issue that cannot be ignored.

***

[Imperial Palace—Later—Training Hall]

CLANG!

Steel struck steel, sparks flying as two knights locked blades.

STRIKE!

A boot slid across sand. A grunt of effort. The rhythm of training filled the hall—raw, familiar, and grounding.

I stood at the edge of the arena, arms folded, eyes following the clash without really seeing it. Behind me—steady, silent—Haldor. He had been there the entire time, like gravity. Not intruding. Not hovering. Just… present.

After a while, his gaze shifted from the sparring knights to me.

“You seem troubled, Your Highness,” he said quietly. “Did something happen?”

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. “Yes.”

That alone made him straighten up.

“Today,” I continued, eyes fixed on the blades colliding before us, “I discovered a problem far bigger than I expected.”

He stepped a fraction closer—not touching, but near enough that I felt the warmth of him. “Bigger than the war?”

I nodded.

“Yes, Haldor,” I said softly. “Much bigger.”

Another CLANG echoed across the hall.

“It’s not something I can ignore,” I went on. “No matter how capable a ruler I become. No matter how strong my reign is.”

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush me. Just listened.

Finally, he spoke. “What kind of issue, Your Highness? Perhaps… I can help.”

I turned to look at him then.

He wasn’t posturing. Wasn’t offering empty loyalty. He looked genuinely concerned—earnest in a way that made something in my chest tighten.

Cute.

I hesitated.

Then sighed.

“I suppose,” I said slowly, choosing my words like stepping onto thin ice, “I will have to find a husband.”

The world stopped.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just stopped. The clang of steel dulled. The shouts faded into something distant and hollow.

Haldor’s eyes widened.

Not in anger.

Not in disbelief.

In something rawer.

Something unguarded.

“Oh,” he breathed.

The word slipped out before discipline could stop it. I looked back at the training ground, forcing my voice to stay even—imperial.

I guess I really do have to look for a husband.

Silence pressed down between us—heavy, suffocating, merciless.

Haldor didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

And somehow… that was worse than any reaction he could have given.

The knights continued sparring.

Steel kept clashing. But something unseen had just shattered—quietly, irreversibly—right there in the training hall.