Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 364
Chapter 364: A sudden Proposal
[Lavinia’s POV—Eloria City—The Market]
For a heartbeat, the world forgot how to breathe.
The merchant was still talking—complaining about the price of grain, about how hens were laying less this season—but his words faded into nothing. All I could see was him.
Haldor.
Not in armor. Not standing at attention. Not one step behind me.
Just… a man.
Plain clothes. Rolled sleeves. A small coin pouch in his hand. Eggs cradled carefully, deliberately, like something fragile that mattered. He looked thinner. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with battle. The kind of exhaustion that comes from thinking too much, from standing at the edge of truths you don’t know how to touch.
“Your… Highness?” he said again—softer this time, uncertain, as if the title itself might crack between his teeth.
I stepped forward before reason could stop me.
The crowd shifted around us—bodies brushing past, voices colliding, the market alive and careless—but none of it touched me. I stopped an arm’s length away from him.
“Captain Haldor Valethorn,” I said quietly.
Every muscle in his body reacted. Instinct. Training. Habit.
“We need to talk.”
His breath hitched once. Then—hush—he bowed his head, not deeply, not formally. Just enough to acknowledge the weight of what stood before him.
“Yes,” he said.
Not Your Highness.Just… yes.
***
[Later—Haldor’s Old House]
The house was small.
Not cramped—but narrow, like it had been built for a life that never planned to grow. One bed. One chair. A small table by the window. Bare walls carrying the quiet imprint of a man who did not expect permanence.
This was where he had lived before titles. Before banners. Before me.
Rey and Sera lingered at the door only long enough to exchange a look. Rey lifted a brow, already reading the room.
“We’ll… roam the market,” he said lightly. “Very slowly. Very far away.”
Sera nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Extremely far.”
The door shut softly behind them.
Alone.
I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers resting against the thin blanket, taking in everything—the neatness, the restraint, and the loneliness pressed into every corner.
Behind me, Haldor shut the door.
“Your Highness,” he said immediately, tension threading his voice, “you shouldn’t be here. This place—it isn’t safe.”
I didn’t turn.
“What could I do?” I replied calmly. “My captain took leave without a word… and then vanished.”
I finally looked at him over my shoulder.
“As the Crown Princess of the empire,” I continued, measured and deliberate, “taking care of every citizen is my duty.”
The room fell silent.
Not empty silence.
Heavy.
I heard his breath change. Slower. Deeper.
“Am I,” he asked quietly, “just a normal citizen to you, Your Highness?”
That made me turn fully. My eyes widened just a fraction. Because there was something new in his gaze—not defiance, not obedience.
Doubt.
And beneath it—something warmer. Something dangerous.
Confusion tangled with longing. A man standing between who he had been and who he feared he might become.
I stood.
Slowly. Carefully. Closing the space between us until the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
“No,” I said.
His brows furrowed.
“You are not just a citizen,” I continued, my voice low but steady. “And you are not just my captain.”
He swallowed.
“Then what am I?” he asked.
The question wasn’t challenging. It was searching. I lifted my hand—but stopped short of touching him.
“You are someone who matters,” I said softly. “To this empire. To your soldiers.”
I paused.
“…To me.”
His eyes flickered—shock, relief, and fear all colliding at once.
“That’s exactly why I left,” he admitted hoarsely. “Because if everything I heard is true—about my blood, my past, Luke—then standing beside you isn’t simple anymore.”
“Nothing about standing beside me has ever been simple,” I replied.
A faint, broken smile touched his lips.
“I don’t know who I am,” he said. “And until I do… I didn’t think I had the right to look at you the way I do.”
My chest tightened.
I stepped closer.
“You don’t get to decide your worth alone,” I said. “And you don’t get to disappear when the truth becomes inconvenient.”
His gaze dropped.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered. “Uncertain. Unfinished.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Then you should have stayed,” I said gently. “Because this is exactly when I needed you not to run.”
Silence stretched between us—raw, trembling. He lifted his eyes again, searching my face as if afraid the answer might change if he blinked.
“…You came after me,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Personally.”
“Yes.”
“Even knowing what I might be.”
I didn’t hesitate, “Especially because of it.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his shoulders eased—just a little—as if something inside him finally allowed itself to breathe.
“I don’t know what comes next,” he admitted.
I met his gaze, unwavering.
“Neither do I,” I said. “But you don’t face it alone.”
The room felt smaller then.
Not because of the walls—but because two hearts, both stubborn and frightened, had stepped too close to the truth to pretend it didn’t exist anymore.
I moved before he could retreat into himself again.
One step.
Then another.
Until there was barely any space left between us. Up close, I could see it clearly now—the exhaustion he tried so hard to hide. Not the kind earned on battlefields, but the kind born from questions with no answers. His eyes looked older like this. Tired. Vulnerable in a way I had never seen him allow.
I lifted my hands and cupped his face gently.
“Haldor,” I said softly, thumbs brushing warmth back into his chilled skin, “whether you are the son of General Luke or not… it doesn’t change this.”
His breath caught.
“You are my captain,” I continued, steady and certain. “If you are his son, then the only thing that changes is that you learn you still have a family alive in this world.”
I leaned closer, my forehead nearly touching his.
“And if you are not,” I whispered, “then everything stays exactly the same as it was yesterday.”
His brows knit together.
“So what,” I asked quietly, “are you really afraid of?”
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his hands came up, slowly, carefully, enclosing mine where they rested on his cheeks. His thumbs traced over my fingers as if grounding himself in their presence.
“I heard,” he said, voice low, rough with truth, “that the people of Astreyeon cannot mingle with those of other kingdoms. That blood binds loyalty.”
He swallowed.
“If I really am Luke’s son… then do I have to leave?” His eyes searched mine, bare and unguarded. “Do I have to abandon everything I built here?”
My answer came without hesitation.
“You don’t.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“You don’t have to leave this place,” I said firmly. “Just as General Luke abandoned his empire for the one he loved… you can choose your own path too.”
I lifted my chin, forcing him to look at me.
“You don’t have to go anywhere.”
The silence between us trembled. Then, softer—but sharper than steel—I said, “You belong here, Haldor.”
His breath stuttered.
“You belong to me,” I added, not as a command—but as a vow. “And no one is going to separate you from me. Not blood. Not kingdoms. Not empires.”
My voice dropped, dangerous and sincere all at once.
“And if any empire dares to try,” I said, eyes burning into his, “that will be the last day it ever breathes. I’ll wipe that kingdom from every map in this world.”
His eyes widened—shock flickering through them—then slowly, impossibly, softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, like a man finally allowed to stop holding the sky up alone.
“You won’t… let me go?” he asked, almost afraid to believe it.
I leaned in just enough for him to feel the warmth of my breath.
“Never,” I said.
The word settled between us—final, unbreakable.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The city noise outside felt distant, muted, like the world had politely stepped back to give us space.
Then he spoke, quietly—almost uncertain. “…May I hug you, Your Highness?”
The question alone softened something deep in my chest.
I smiled. “Sur—”
I didn’t even finish the word. Haldor wrapped his arms around me suddenly, firmly, lifting me off the floor as if my weight meant nothing at all. My breath left me in a surprised laugh as my feet dangled in the air, his hold tight, protective, desperate in the most human way.
He buried his face against my shoulder.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice rough, unguarded. “Thank you so much, Your Highness.”
I smiled into his hair and lifted a hand, ruffling it gently. “I never knew,” I teased softly, “that an expressionless captain could be this tender… this soft.”
He didn’t pull away. If anything, his hold tightened just a little.
“This side of me,” he said quietly, almost reverently, “belongs only to you, Your Highness. Only you are allowed to see it.”
Something in my heart gave way—melted, surrendered, stopped pretending it was stronger than this.
After a moment, he carefully set me back on my feet, as if I were something precious. He didn’t step away. He just looked at me—really looked at me—blue eyes steady, searching, stripped of armor and rank.
“Your Highness…” he began.
“Hm?” I replied softly.
“May I suggest something?” His tone was careful, but there was resolve beneath it now.
“Of course, Captain.”
He inhaled once. Then he stepped back—and dropped to one knee. The movement was so sudden, so wrong and right all at once, that my breath caught painfully in my throat.
He bowed his head, fist pressed lightly against his chest.
“I know,” he said, voice low but unwavering, “that what I am about to say crosses every boundary I have ever drawn—for myself… and for you.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. He lifted his head and met my eyes.
Not as a soldier.
Not as a captain.
But as a man who had already given everything he was.
“But I cannot pretend anymore. I cannot see you with anyone else.”
. . .
“What?”
He continued. “I will follow you into fire, into ruin, into history itself. I will stand beside you whether the world blesses it or condemns it.”
His gaze softened, fierce and aching all at once.
“So,” he said quietly, sincerely—fearlessly, “please… marry me, Your Highness.”
And just like that—My world stopped.