Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 49: The Forgotten Mother

[Theon’s Pov]

And that night... The boy I met when I was fifteen—the one who never smiled, who bled in silence—

He died.

And in his place, an emperor was born.

I thought... now he would smile. That vengeance, power, and justice carved from the bones of his abusers would finally set him free.

But revenge, it turns out, doesn’t heal. It only changes the shape of the wound.

After Cassius became emperor, he ruled with a sword sharper than any of his predecessors. One mistake—just one—and heads would roll. Ministers whispered behind locked doors, terrified of breathing wrong in his presence. Even nobles who once kissed his boots trembled under his gaze.

He governed with terrifying precision. The empire flourished. Corruption died screaming. Borders stabilized. Trade routes blossomed like spring after decades of frost. The empire ran smoothly, and he managed it well—except...

He never managed himself. He became something else. Hollowed out. Empty-eyed. A walking corpse draped in silk and crowned in gold.

I thought, foolishly, that if someone could reach him—soften him—he’d come back to life. So I tried. I arranged banquets. Gatherings. Sent women known for their beauty and charm, hoping maybe someone—anyone—could stir something in him.

But none dared to stand in front of him.

They looked at his crimson eyes and saw the butcher, not the man.

Some didn’t even make it past the threshold. One wept and fainted. Another begged me to never call her again, and the last one swore she saw the devil smiling at her from the shadows.

(He wasn’t. That’s just how his face looks. But I digress.)

Cassius didn’t look at people like they were people. He looked at them like obstacles. And if you became one, he’d crush you underfoot without pause.

That’s how life had been moving in this imperial palace. The days were messy. The nights? Worse.

He always ended up drunk like some tragic hero in a bad play—bottle in one hand, sword in the other, muttering to ghosts only he could see.

So naturally, no one dared to come near him.

And then—one night—out of nowhere, he barked an order like a madman.

"Drag every knight and maid from the Eastern Palace. Now."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

He turned, eyes glowing like molten embers. "They left my daughter alone. They need to be punished."

I waited.

And waited.

Because clearly, I misheard him. My brain... it buffered like a scratched phonograph.

"Wait—what? Daughter?" I choked. "What daughter?! Whose daughter?! YOUR daughter?!"

He was already storming ahead, cloak billowing like he was in some dramatic opera. I scrambled after him, still trying to plug the short-circuiting in my head.

"Your Majesty, what are you talking about? Since when do you have a daughter?!"

"Just do as I say," he growled, clearly in no mood.

"But—but when the hell did you even have sex?!"

He stopped. Turned. And gave me a look that said, If I weren’t already your childhood friend, you’d be headless by now.

"Is that important right now?" he snapped. "She’s suffering."

I stared.

The great Cassius Devereux, feared Emperor of Elarion, the demon on the throne, the man who made seasoned generals weep into their helmets... was freaking out over a baby.

A baby?

I was still trying to process his sudden dad-ness when he kicked open the nursery doors of an eastern palace like a man possessed.

Then there she was. Tiny. Soft. Golden-haired. Wrapped in a blanket near the open window.

There was really... A baby here?

How... how in the world did a baby come from him? Did the gods take pity on us and drop her down from the heavens just to keep the empire from turning into an actual bloodbath?

Because that was the only explanation I could think of.

But then I looked closer—and her face was too pale. Her fingers curled too tight. Her skin was cold enough that I winced.

"Call the imperial doctor," Cassius said, his voice sharper than a sword’s edge. "And summon the priest."

I nodded so fast I almost broke my neck.

And from that day on... Princess Lavinia took over the empty heart of Cassius Devereux—the ruthless, terrifying Emperor of Elarion—without him even knowing it.

At first, he looked at her like she was some artifact. Interesting. Fragile. Not... important.

He never held her for too long. Didn’t speak much. He just stared. Like he was waiting for her to vanish.

But she didn’t.

She cried. She yawned. She pooped. She hiccupped like a drunk little pigeon. She even slapped him once with her tiny hand.

And slowly, he started to respond.

Not like a ruler. Not like a general.

But like a father.

He started holding her longer. Talking to her—gruffly, awkwardly, like he was addressing a war council.

"Ughhh...she’s so damn small. Will she break if I hold her for long? She sleeps too much."

(Progress is progress.)

Slowly, he started letting her fall asleep on his chest. He stayed beside her until she fell asleep. And, miracle of miracles, he started smiling.

Gods help me, the emperor started smiling.

Suddenly, I wasn’t working beside a devil anymore. I was working beside a man again. A ruthless, merciless, still-kind-of-terrifying man—but a man nonetheless.

And our little princess?

And our little princess?

She ruled the palace with her laughs and blabbers.

She wasn’t scared of him. Not even a little. She didn’t inherit just his eyes—she inherited his fearlessness, too.

Whenever someone died right in front of her. Blood, chaos, the whole grim affair. And our princess Lavinia? She just stared. Not a blink. Like it was normal. Like she knew exactly what was happening. Like she understood everything.

And yet... sometimes she’s just a child. Falling into ponds. Gasping at flowers. Staring at stars like they were new to her.

Other times, she acts like a mature little lady, curling up beside Lord Osric and pampering him like he’s her personal plush toy.

And then sometimes... she blabbers.

The worst was when she looked at me and Cassius—dead serious—and declared:

"Papa and Theon are in love!"

...

Silence.

A whole hallway stunned. Marella choked on her own spit. I panicked.

I still haven’t recovered from that.

And now—now—I’m standing frozen in the royal office, blinking at him like a fool.

"Pardon?" I ask.

"I want you to find out," Cassius says, calm as if he’s asking me to fetch him tea. "About the woman who gave birth to Lavinia."

"...Why?" I ask slowly, suspiciously. What’s the point now? She’s already gone.

He pauses. His gaze drifts toward the window, where the sunset bleeds gold across the sky.

"I don’t know," he mutters. "But I think... she deserves to be recognized. As Lavinia’s birth mother. At least as a thank you."

My brain stalls. "Wow... did your heart turn to gold? Did you finally become human?"

"Shut up," he glares.

"But I keep thinking about it," he goes on. "I asked Nerina to look into it. She questioned the head maid. Apparently, the woman was a newly hired servant. But—"

He slides a parchment across the desk toward me.

"There’s something weird about this."

I look down at the document. A servant registry. Normal. Bland. Until—

"...Wait. This isn’t even stamped by the head maid," I frown. "Where’s the signature? Her background information? Place of origin? This is just..."

"A name," Cassius finishes grimly. "That no one remembers."

I look up. "You’re telling me the head maid doesn’t know who she was or where she came from?"

"She claims she hired her," Cassius says, "but under certain... unusual circumstances. She never got her background. Never pushed for details."

"...Then how the hell did she even start working here? We don’t hire anyone without a background check."

Cassius opens a drawer and pulls out a sealed letter.

"She had this. A recommendation letter. From a noble house in the Foreign Kingdom."

"A foreign kingdom?" I take the letter, turning it over in my hands. The seal is definitely not from Elarion. The paper quality, the ink, even the signature—it all screams not from here.

But a maid from a foreign kingdom? That’s... odd. Really odd. We barely let in nobles from other lands without a hundred checks. And yet somehow, a maid slipped through?

Yeah. We really need to look into this.

For our princess.

I sigh. "Alright. I’ll dig into it."

Cassius nods, but he doesn’t say anything. His gaze is still locked on the profile tucked into the folder—what little we have of it anyway.

Dark hair. green eyes. A woman with a strangely gentle smile. Nothing fancy. No jewelry. No embellishments. But even through a faded profile sketch... there’s something off about her. Or maybe not off—just... striking.

She had an aura. Even from a simple drawing.

A stillness settles between us. The kind that whispers of storms far, far away.

I run a hand through my hair. "Sigh... I just hope this doesn’t end up chaotic."

Cassius doesn’t reply.

Which, honestly, is the worst sign.