Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 382

Chapter 382: The Night We Became Us
[Lavinia’s Chamber—The Night—Continuation—Lavinia’s Pov]

He didn’t move an inch.

“I still feel like I should apologize,” he said, stiff as ever.

I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “…For what?”

“For existing in your chamber like this,” he replied, completely serious.

I blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then I sighed, long and dramatic.

“Haldor Valethorn,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “I am saying this again and for the final time, you are the Crown Prince. You are my husband. And you are the only person in this empire who has every right to exist here.”

I tilted my head, watching his ears turn red. “Dramatically, awkwardly, nervously—however you wish.”

He swallowed hard, and then—clearly before his brain could stop him—

“…Your chamber smells like you.”

Silence.

His eyes widened in horror the very second he realized he’d said it out loud.

I raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” he said, doomed. “It’s—warm. Like sunlight and trouble.”

I laughed.

Gods, I laughed.

The sound echoed softly through the room, light and unrestrained, and something in his shoulders finally loosened. He exhaled, defeated.

“I am saying everything wrong,” he muttered.

“No,” I said gently, stepping into his space. “You’re saying everything honestly.”

I took his hand then—large, warm, and steady despite his nerves—and lifted it, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his palm.

“Now…” I murmured, looking up at him through my lashes, “…can you help me, my dear husband?”

His face turned an even deeper shade of red. He nodded. Quickly. Too quickly. I turned around slowly and guided his hands to rest at my neck, my fingers brushing his as I did.

“Help me remove this jewelry,” I whispered.

He gulped.

His hands trembled—just slightly—as they hovered, careful and reverent, as if I were something precious rather than someone teasing him relentlessly.

“…Alright,” he breathed.

And in that quiet chamber, with moonlight slipping through silk curtains and his touch learning mine inch by careful inch, I smiled to myself.

The necklace slipped free, cool metal leaving my skin, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. I glanced at him over my shoulder, a small smile playing on my lips.

“My earrings too.”

He gulped.

Again.

I turned to face him fully. His hands rose—hesitant, careful—as if even now he feared doing something wrong. He slid the earrings off one by one, his touch light, almost reverent. His cheeks were pink—cotton-candy pink—and his breath was uneven.

And then—Our eyes met.

Crimson meeting blue.

It wasn’t the first time our gazes had locked like this. It had happened on battlefields, in quiet corridors, under starlit skies. But tonight—Tonight felt different.

Was it the rings on our fingers? The silence of the chamber? Or the simple truth that we are married now?

I didn’t know but at the time, neither of us spoke.

Slowly—very slowly—he stepped closer. The space between us vanished inch by careful inch, his breath warm against my skin. His hand lifted, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face upward with a gentleness that made my chest tighten.

“May I?” he asked softly, as if asking the question mattered more than the answer.

I nodded.

That was all he needed. He leaned in, hesitant for just a heartbeat—then his lips met mine.

The kiss was slow. Unrushed. Deep in a way that stole my breath without taking it away. Not desperate. Not wild.

Certain.

His hand slid to my waist, steadying me as if the world might tilt otherwise. I felt the faint tremor in him—the way he was holding back, trying to do everything right, trying not to overwhelm me.

I smiled into the kiss.

And then kissed him back—harder.

His breath hitched. The sound was quiet, broken, and honest. His grip tightened just slightly, like he’d forgotten himself for a second, like he was finally letting go of the knight and becoming simply my husband.

Time softened.

The palace disappeared.

There was only warmth, closeness, and the realization settling deep in my bones—This wasn’t a stolen kiss. This wasn’t a reckless one.

This was allowed officially now for a lifetime.

When we finally parted, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts loud in the quiet chamber.

“So,” I whispered, teasing gently, “was that… acceptable behavior for existing in my chamber?”

He laughed under his breath, still flustered, still glowing. “…I believe…I will never be fully prepared for you.”

I smiled—and kissed him again.

This time he didn’t hesitate.

His arms came around my waist, strong and sure, lifting me with surprising gentleness as he guided me back. He laid me down on the bed as if I were something precious, something that required care. The mattress dipped softly beneath us, silk whispering around my legs.

He hovered over me for a moment, breathing unevenly, eyes dark and conflicted. Then he pulled back abruptly and slumped beside me, hands gripping the sheets.

“I… apologize,” he said hoarsely. “We should sleep. I don’t trust myself right now.”

I turned my head toward him, studying his profile, the tension in his jaw, and the restraint etched into every line of his body.

“Who told you to control yourself?” I asked softly.

He looked at me at once. “Please, don’t say things like that.”

“I’m saying exactly what I mean, Haldor.”

I reached for him, fingers curling into his tunic, drawing him closer until his chest met mine. His breath hitched at the contact.

Then I kissed him.

Slow. Deep. Certain.

For a heartbeat, he resisted—then his hands found my sides, holding me as if grounding himself. He kissed me back with a quiet intensity that made my pulse race, the kind that spoke of longing carefully held in check.

A soft sound escaped him—surprised, unguarded.

His forehead rested briefly against mine, breath warm, before his lips traced along my jaw, lingering there as if memorizing me. When he pressed his face against my neck, it wasn’t hurried—it was reverent, almost worshipful, as though he were afraid to rush something sacred.

My arms slid around his back instinctively, pulling him closer, feeling the strength and warmth of him beneath my hands.

“Haldor…” I whispered.

He paused, breath uneven, and lifted his head to look at me—really look at me.

“Lavi,” he murmured, voice low and earnest, “I want you. But more than that… I want to be worthy of you.”

Something softened in my chest. I smiled up at him, fingers threading into his hair, steadying him.

“You already are,” I said gently.

I smiled up at him, fingers threading into his hair, steadying both of us, and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. “You’re so tender, Haldor. I like that about you andplease go on.”

He smiled back—small, shy, and utterly undone. “As my wife orders.”

He shifted, rising onto his knees, and slipped out of his shirt. The candlelight caught the curve of his shoulders, the steady strength of him—and the wedding ring gleaming on his finger.

That simple circle felt heavier than any crown.

A heavy weight that felt utterly beautiful tonight.

He leaned down again, taking my hand, and when his bare chest met mine, the closeness stole my breath. His kiss deepened—not rushed, not desperate—just sure. As if he were learning me anew with every breath we shared.

“Is this… alright?” he whispered against my lips.

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “With you.”

His relief was palpable. He kissed me again, slower this time.

“Wrap your arms around me lavi….it’ll hurt less,” he said.

I gulped and wrapped my arms around him, drawing him close, feeling the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heart. The world narrowed to quiet touches and shared breaths, to the way he held me as if I mattered beyond measure.

We lingered there, learning the shape of each other, the night stretching softly around us. Words became unnecessary. Promises were made without being spoken.

And when the candles burned low and the palace finally slept, we chose each other—fully, completely.

That night, beneath silk and moonlight, we were no longer crown and knight.

We were husband and wife.

His hands slid down my skirt; the touch was slow, careful, and reverent, as if listening to my breath rather than his own. He paused, forehead resting against mine, concern softening his voice.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head, fingers tightening around him, grounding us both. “No,” I whispered. “I’m alright. Don’t stop.”

He kissed my cheek—then my temple—holding me as if the world might break if he didn’t.

“You’re so beautiful, Lavi,” he murmured. “I still can’t believe you’re my wife.”

A breathy laugh escaped me as I rested my head against his shoulder, the warmth of him steady and reassuring.

“I can believe it,” I said softly. “I can feel it; you’re so huge and it hurts…alot.”

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate, and held me closer—protective, certain, real.

The night stretched around us, unhurried and gentle. Words faded. Promises were made without being spoken. And in the quiet between heartbeats, I knew—Whatever storms waited beyond dawn, we would face them together.

Because that night, we didn’t just marry.

We belonged.