Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 87: The Calm Before the Storm

[Cassius’s Pov]

Two days. It had only been two days.

And yet it felt like an eternity had passed.

What sort of curse was this—that the Emperor of Elarion, feared from sea to sea, could not endure forty-eight hours without a single, small, golden-haired tyrant of his own?

Was I truly this weak without her?

"Papa..."

The soft voice broke through my thoughts.

She was squinting at me with narrowed red eyes—suspicious, searching, like she didn’t quite believe I was real yet.

"Hmm?" I hummed, brushing a stray curl away from her cheek.

"Why do you look so pale? Did you not sleep?" She asked, eyes roaming my face, small fingers patting under my eyes. "You look like a panda."

Before I could respond, Theon stepped forward.

"Princess," he said carefully, "His Majesty hasn’t slept for two days straight."

Then the fool whispered, as if I couldn’t hear him, "He’s been practicing his sword like a madman. Nearly broke knights’ arms and three dummies. One caught fire."

I turned slowly. My glare cut sharper than any blade.

"I heard you, Theon."

He flinched and then avoided my eyes.

But Lavinia was undeterred.

She blinked up at me, tilting her head. "Papa, why couldn’t you sleep?"

Her voice—so small, so earnest—cut deeper than any wound.

And then, there it was... that glint. Mischief flickered in her crimson eyes, the corners of her mouth tugging into a smirk far too cunning for her age.

"...Don’t tell me..." she whispered dramatically, "...you missed me so much that you couldn’t sleep."

She had the audacity to puff her chest with pride, lips curling into a grin like she’d just bested me in battle.

I stared at her. This smug little creature who had wrapped my entire existence around her finger.

And then, slowly—helplessly—I smiled.

"That’s right," I said, my voice low and sincere. "I missed you so much; I couldn’t rest." frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

She beamed, radiating satisfaction like a tiny empress crowned with victory.

"See?" she said, folding her arms. "I have an aura no one can resist. People miss me. That’s just how it is."

I chuckled—an unfamiliar sound, rusted and warm—and reached out to ruffle her already-messy hair.

"You’re insufferable," I murmured.

Then I pulled her close, burying her in my arms and breathing her in like she was air after a battlefield.

"Grow slowly," I whispered against her hair.

I pulled back slightly, only to notice a glimmer of pink nestled against her tiny chest.

My gaze narrowed.

"What’s this?" I asked, brushing the pendant with the back of my knuckle. "You weren’t wearing this before."

She followed my gaze and blinked.

"Oh! That’s a safety pendant!"

I frowned. Deeply.

"A what?"

"A safety pendant," she repeated cheerfully, as if that explained everything.

My jaw tensed. "And who exactly thought it was a good idea to give you mysterious enchanted jewelry while I wasn’t looking?"

She twirled the charm between her fingers and said with all the casual ease in the world, "Grandpa gave it to me. He said, If I’m in trouble, it’ll protect me."

I turned sharply toward the direction she’d come from.

And sure enough—there he was.

Thalein.

Standing like a smug oak tree in the hallway, arms crossed and looking too damn pleased with himself. Beside him were two elves I most certainly didn’t recognize—one in green, the other in Red.

I narrowed my eyes.

"What exactly is this?" I asked, voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

Thalein gave a maddeningly serene nod. "Just like my grand-daughter said. It’s a safety pendant. It will glow, shield, and respond if she’s ever in danger. A minor enchantment—harmless, really."

Harmless, he said. As if the idea of my daughter needing magical protection wasn’t already enough to send me back into a sword frenzy.

I stared at him. Thalein always had a way of getting under my skin. Like an itch I couldn’t scratch or a splinter I couldn’t pull out.

Still... this time, perhaps, he’d done something right.

"...Fine," I muttered, turning to the other two long-eared additions. "And who are they?"

Before Thalein could answer, Lavinia cheerfully pointed at them.

"Oh, Papa! That’s First Brother Soren—" she said, motioning to the one in green, "—and that’s Second Brother Lysandre!"

I blinked. Slowly. Then squinted. Very slowly.

"...I don’t recall having two sons with pointed ears," I said flatly.

Both elves gasped like I’d slapped them. Lavinia stifled a giggle behind her palm, clearly entertained.

Thalein sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like I was the unreasonable one.

"There is a word," he said dryly, "called ’cousin.’ I hope you’ve heard of it. That’s what they are."

I whipped my head back toward him.

"Whatever," I muttered, then turned back to Lavinia.

Then came the sound of footsteps—light, purposeful. Nerina stepped forward, bowing slightly.

"Your Majesty," she said, "the princess needs to change. Her garments are dusty, and she’s been outside for quite some time."

I gave a tight nod, reluctant. But yes, she needed to change. Bathe. Eat. Wrap herself in warmth and safety and never ever leave again.

I reluctantly set Lavinia down, though my hands hovered a moment longer. Just in case.

She gave me a cheeky grin and marched ahead like a tiny empress.

Straight to her so-called divine beast.

"C’mon, Marshi," she said, placing her hands on her hips as she stared down at the lazy, overgrown fluff ball. "You haven’t had a bath in two days. You stink."

Marshmallow—my daughter’s glorified, spoiled pillow with claws—responded by licking his paw, as if he had been the one doing all the hard work. Useless creature. The only divine thing about him was his ability to shed fur on every expensive carpet in the palace.

Still, she bent down and scooped him into her tiny arms with ease, despite the fact he looked like he had doubled in size. Again.

"You’re growing faster than me," she mumbled to the beast.

She turned and started walking away, cradling the oversized furball like royalty parading a sacred relic. Nerina and Marella followed dutifully behind.

And then—she paused.

Right in front of her favorite vase.

That cursed vase.

She tilted her head slowly. Eyes narrowing.

"...Huh?" she said. "Did someone... move my vase a little?"

The entire corridor flinched.

Even Theon took a step back.

My blood ran cold—and then hot with rage. I knew it. I knew she’d notice. She was too sharp. Too terrifyingly observant. That vase had been exactly 2.3 inches to the left before she left, and someone had dared—dared—to touch it.

I clenched my fists.

I should’ve executed that maid when I had the chance.

Nerina quickly swooped in. "Princess, let’s go now. The bathwater will get cold."

"Alright," Lavinia mumbled, clearly still suspicious. But she allowed herself to be led away, casting one last narrowed glance at the vase as she disappeared down the hall.

The moment she turned the corner, the silence slammed down like a blade.

One breath.

Two.

Before I could speak, Ravick stepped forward, his expression unreadable—far too calm for my liking.

"Your Majesty..." he began, voice low and measured as he bowed in front of me, "there is something you need to be informed of."

My eyes snapped toward him, sharp and narrowed like a drawn sword.

"What?" I asked, each syllable laced with steel.

But instead of answering...he hesitated.

I don’t pay my captains to hesitate.

Before Ravick could even part his lips again, Thalein stepped in—of course he did—dusting off the sleeve of his robe like we had all the time in the gods-damned world.

"Let’s sit," he said smoothly, "and talk."

Sit?Talk?

My spine locked into iron. My instincts, the same ones that had won me wars before I was crowned, screamed at me.

I didn’t like the tension in Ravick’s jaw. I didn’t like the strange weight in his eyes. And I especially didn’t like that Thalein—smug, sharp-tongued Thalein—had lost that annoying glint in his eye.

No quips.

No sarcasm.

Just grim calm.

My gut twisted.

A terrible thought whispered through me like poison. I took a step forward, my voice dropping—no, descending—into a dark, thunderous growl. "What happened?"

No one answered.

The air in the hall tightened. My fingers curled into fists.

"Did something happen..." I said slowly, deliberately, "To my daughter... in Nivale?"

Still, nothing.

Nothing but silence.

Heavy.

Wrong.

Across from me, Theon straightened. Regis shifted where he stood. Both of them were staring at Ravick and Thalein now, confusion shadowing their features.

They must be confused and sensed something fishy too. My eyes swept back to Ravick, the so-called cousin brother of my daughter, then to Thalein, all of them cloaked in silence.

But I could see it.

I could see it in their faces.

Something happened. Something serious, and I just hope it had nothing to do with my daughter.

"You," I said lowly, voice tightening like a noose as I stared down Ravick, "look as if you swallowed a blade."

Then my gaze snapped to Thalein.

"And you—you only look that serious when a kingdom’s about to fall."

My hands clenched behind my back, leather gloves groaning with strain.

"If something happened at Nivale to my daughter—"

Ravick stepped in quickly—too quickly. "No, Your Majesty," he said, his tone clipped and careful. "It’s not... related to the princess."

Then he paused. Just for a breath.

"But... we are not yet entirely sure about that."

The silence that followed was deafening. My eyes narrowed. My pulse stilled. And just like that, the room cracked—not with sound, but with silence sharper than steel.