Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 370
Chapter 370: The Two Father’s
[Haldor’s POV—Imperial Palace Corridor—Later]
“…I came here to talk about our marriage.”
For a heartbeat—no, longer—the world forgot how to move.
I stood there, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat, staring at her like the word itself might vanish if I blinked. Marriage. The syllables rang once, twice, too loud in my head. I told myself I had imagined it. That my mind—already splintered by bloodlines, by truths I wasn’t ready to wear—had twisted her voice into something dangerously beautiful.
“Our… marriage?” I asked, my legs betraying me, trembling with disbelief.
She nodded.
Just that.
A simple nod.
And suddenly I wasn’t in the corridor anymore.
I was weightless—adrift in something soft and bright and impossible. Heaven, maybe. Or the place you go when hope finally decides to be kind. She had spoken to the Emperor. About us. Which meant she had accepted my proposal.
Which meant—I would marry her.
I would stand beside her.
I would live with her, guard her, argue with her, and laugh with her—until the end of whatever fate dared give us. My thoughts ran wild, shameless and warm. I saw a little girl with black hair and crimson eyes who smiled like her highness Lavinia when she was victorious. I saw a boy with golden hair and blue eyes who stood too straight and watched the world like it was worth protecting. They both looked like her.
I started seeing shameless hallucinations.
I swear I felt wings stretch behind my shoulders. I was smiling like a fool.
And then—
“Yes,” she continued gently, “but Papa said no…”
The wings shattered.
The sky cracked.
The beautiful, impossible future scattered like glass the moment it had formed. I must have looked devastated, because she laughed—soft and bright—and stepped closer. Her hand reached up and ruffled my hair, careless and affectionate and unbearably her.
“So cute,” she said.
Cute.
I followed her after that. Of course I did. One step behind, as always. But something inside me had changed—quietly, decisively. The doubt that had once chained my feet loosened its grip. The fear that I had no right to want her thinned to a whisper.
I can love her.
The realization landed gently, like truth finally finding its place.
I can want her. I can fight for her. I can stand beside her—not as a shadow trembling at the edge of her light, but as the man who chose her and was chosen in return.
This time, I won’t step back. Not with hesitation. Not with excuses.
I love her—my Highness, my storm, my home—and if the world demands a battle for the right to stand at her side… Then I will gladly draw my sword.
It’s all right if she doesn’t love me the way poets ruin paper over. I know something just as powerful—she will respect me. She will stand for me. She will fight for me.
That is more than enough.
Or so I thought.
“Captain Haldor Valethorn.”
The summons came out of nowhere.
I was halfway down the corridor, still recovering from the emotional whiplash of marriage—no marriage—hair ruffling, when a palace guard appeared like an omen.
“His Majesty requests your presence. Immediately.”
“Huh? Oh…sure…” I followed the guard with the calm dignity of a man walking to his possible execution. The doors to the Emperor’s chamber opened.
Inside—Emperor Cassius Devereux sat behind his desk. Arms crossed. Expression dark. Aura is tyrannical. Ravick stood to the side, already looking like he’d placed bets on how long I’d survive.
I bowed deeply. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”
Emperor Cassius leaned back slowly, fingers tapping the armrest, eyes narrowing like he was inspecting a suspicious object that had wandered too close to his throne and refused to leave.
“Haldor,” he said coolly, “how old are you?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “…I turned twenty this year, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Why is it always the same age?”
I stared straight ahead, utterly lost. Same as what? Same as who? Same as princess? What’s wrong with that?
He straightened abruptly. “Haldor, I have received a report concerning an extremely reckless act committed by you.”
Reckless?
My spine stiffened. “Recklessness, Your Majesty?”
His eyes gleamed—not with anger, but with something far more dangerous.
“I heard,” he said slowly, “that you ordered the palace cooks to throw away a big bag of grain.”
A pause.
A dramatic one.
“Do you know what that means?” he continued gravely. “That is a crime. A crime of wasting grain. In my empire.”
I swallowed. “Your Majesty—”
“So,” Cassius went on, clearly enjoying himself now, “as punishment, I have decided to send you to—”
“But it was expired, Your Majesty,” The words slipped out before fear could stop them.
The room froze.
“…What?” the Emperor said.
I inhaled and explained carefully, like a man defusing a bomb. “I was inspecting the storage house as part of routine checks. I found one bag of grain that had already begun to spoil. It was unsafe for consumption. I ordered it discarded to prevent illness.”
I paused, then added politely, “I also reported the matter to Theon.”
Silence.
Heavy. Crushing. Absolute.
I risked a glance to the side. Ravick had turned away, shoulders shaking violently. He was biting his fist. Hard.
Emperor Cassius stared at me.
Then he slowly pinched the bridge of his nose.
“…Damn it,” he muttered again, quieter this time. “Why are you competent?”
I said nothing.
He straightened suddenly, recovering his tyrant posture. “Regardless,” he snapped, “you should have consulted someone higher than Theon before making such a drastic decision.”
“I did, Your Majesty.”
“…Who?”
“The Crown Princess.”
Another pause. Ravick made a choking sound that might have been a laugh disguised as a cough.
Emperor Cassius closed his eyes and for a long moment, I thought he might actually scream.
Instead, he exhaled slowly. “Of course you did.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Very well. That charge is… dismissed.”
Relief barely had time to settle before he continued.
“But,” he added sharply, “I will not tolerate carelessness. Next time, throw away less grain.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And inform me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And stop being the same age as my daughter.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty?”
Cassius glared. “Get out.”
I bowed deeply. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
SHUT!!!
The door slammed behind me with the finality of an execution that somehow missed its target. I stood there. Blinking.
“…What was that?” I muttered to myself, staring at the carved palace floor as if it might explain things. “Why did that feel less like a warning… and more like His Majesty trying to send me away—and failing miserably?”
A pause.
Then the thought struck me like a badly aimed arrow.
“…Is it because of the marriage talk?” I whispered.
Her Highness had gone to the Emperor. About us. I swallowed and nodded slowly. “Yes. That must be it.”
“Haldor.”
I looked up.
Father was walking down the corridor toward me, uniform immaculate, expression calm—until he saw my face.
“Oh—Father,” I said, straightening. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to stamp our official family registry,” he replied, holding up a thick stack of documents. “And you? Why were you summoned to the Emperor’s chamber?”
I hesitated, then sighed. “Ah… I think I was supposed to be warned. But it didn’t quite work.”
He blinked. “…What do you mean?”
“Well,” I said carefully, “Her Highness spoke to the Emperor about our marriage, but it seems like—”
FLAP!!!
The papers slipped from his hands in spectacular fashion, scattering across the corridor like startled pigeons.
“A—A marriage?” he croaked.
I stared. “…Yes?”
“Whose marriage?” he demanded, eyes wide.
“Mine and Her Highness’s,” I said.
He sucked in a breath. “You mean—Crown Princess Lavinia?”
“Yes.”
“The tyrant princess with golden hair and crimson eyes?”
“…Yes.”
“Emperor Cassius Devereux’s daughter—Lavinia Devereux?”
I sighed. “Father… we only have one Crown Princess.”
He froze.
Absolutely froze.
For a long, silent moment, he simply stared at me like I had just announced I intended to marry a natural disaster. Then—slowly—he bent down, gathered the fallen papers with trembling hands, stacked them far too neatly, and straightened.
“I see,” he said calmly.
Too calmly.
Then he turned on his heel and began walking away.
“Father?” I called. “Where are you going?”
Without turning back, he said gravely, “I should test her.”
“…Test her?” I echoed.
He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes sharp with something that looked suspiciously like pride mixed with terror.
“If she truly intends to marry my son,” he said, “then I must be certain she deserves him.”
And with that, General Luke marched down the corridor, muttering to himself, “Marrying a Devereux… gods help us all.”
I stood there alone, heart racing, head spinning.
“…Why do I feel,” I murmured, “that I just became the least dangerous person in this entire situation?”
Somewhere far away, I was certain—Two tyrants were about to collide.
And somehow…I was the reason.