Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 50: The Bored Princess and the Stranger’s Stare

[Lavinia’s Pov]

"Ughh... Seriously, why do you keep getting heavy?" I groaned as I put Marshmallow down onto the soft grass of the imperial garden, my tiny arms trembling from the effort.

Sigh. Seriously, he looked like a fat cat now. A very round, very lazy divine beast.

I stroked his fluffy back with mild judgment. "Hey... are you sure you’re divine?"

He meowed once. Then he flopped over dramatically like a furry sack of flour and started snoring. Loudly.

"...I’ll take that as a no," I muttered. "Looks like someone’s getting diet food starting tomorrow."

Sigh....

It’s been more than a month since I baked cookies for Papa — the slightly horrifying, questionably shaped cookies of doom. I even gave those little disasters to Theon, Marella, Grandpa Gregor, Grand Duke Regis, Ravick, and Osric too.

They all said thank you... But their expressions screamed, "What kind of hellish thing is this??"

And not much has changed since then. Except my cheeks getting chubbier and Marshmallow turning into a sleepy, snoring rice ball.

Papa’s still busy. Theon and Nanny too. Like, weirdly busy. Suspiciously busy.

They whisper in corners when they think I’m not looking. Sneaking off with scrolls and papers. Acting like they’re in some kind of royal spy club. Nothing’s reached my ears, but I know something’s up.

There’s a secret mission going on. And guess who’s not invited?

Me.

Rude.

"Lavi..."

I turned at the familiar voice and blinked up at the boy with messy brown hair and guilt all over his face.

"Whoa... so you still exist?" I said dramatically, flinging myself onto Marshmallow like a betrayed heroine.

Osric flinched like I’d just slapped him with a wet sock. "I’m sorry... Lavi. I was—"

I patted Marshmallow’s floof, cutting him off smoothly. "Practicing sword. I know."

He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly shuffling his feet. "I didn’t mean to ignore you like that. I thought I could master the next form quickly, but..."

"You lost to Ravick again, didn’t you?"

He made a sound like a dying frog. "You’re too sharp for a toddler."

"And you’re too young to fight, Ravick," I replied sweetly, plopping down beside Marshmallow. "You look tired. Did you come to nap with us?"

Osric sighed and sat down next to me, his gaze drifting to the snoring fluffball. "Are you angry with me, Lavi?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "No... I’m just bored."

Then, in my most dramatic whisper, I added, "Maybe I should have more than one friend..."

His head whipped around like I’d smacked him with betrayal. "Lavi—!"

Before he could say anything else, a voice called out across the garden.

"Princess!"

Marella came running toward us, her boots thudding against the stone path. She stopped in front of us, trying to catch her breath. "Princess, His Majesty wants to see you."

I blinked at her lazily, not moving an inch. "Isn’t he busy with Theon and Nanny?"

"No, Princess," Marella smiled brightly. "He’s not."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Why now? Is this part of the secret mission? Are they finally going to confess and hand me a crown of tiny spies?

I sat there for a moment, arms crossed. Then, with a dramatic pout, I muttered, "I’m not going."

Marella blinked. "...Excuse me?"

"I said..." I turned my face away like a misunderstood protagonist in a tragic romance. "I’m. Not. Going."

"But...but why?" Marella’s voice trembled like a nervous leaf in a storm.

I looked up at the sky dramatically — it was blue and clear and full of sunshine, which only made everything worse somehow. "Because I don’t want to."

"But Princess..." Marella sounded like she was moments away from bursting into tears. "His Majesty personally sent me for you."

I avoided everyone’s eyes, turning my face into Marshmallow’s warm belly. I don’t want to meet anyone. I feel distressed ~~~~~

My brain needs to relax.My eyes need to relax.My body needs to be cradled by the soft clouds of the universe.

"Princess, if you don’t come now, I’ll have to carry you," Marella said with the grim determination of a soldier marching into battle.

"You wouldn’t dare."

She raised an eyebrow.

I gasped, full of betrayal. "That’s treason!"

"I’m following orders," she replied with a tired sigh.

"That’s exactly what traitors say," I huffed, rolling away dramatically and flopping onto Marshmallow like a defeated heroine. He snorted in his sleep, still absolutely useless.

Osric stood up beside me, brushing grass off his pants with the weary air of someone who’s dealt with me before. "C’mon, Lavi. Let’s go see what His Majesty wants. Maybe it’s important."

I sat up slowly, clutching Marshmallow like a plushie and blinking at Osric with watery eyes. "You’re taking her side?"

Osric looked like he just got accused of betrayal by a baby deer. "No, I— I just think maybe his majesty has something nice planned? You’ve been saying you’re bored all morning."

"...Maybe I like being bored now," I snapped, then pouted immediately after. "Maybe boredom is part of my aesthetic."

Osric blinked. "What does that even mean?"

Ugh. Seriously.

"Fine," I grumbled, standing up and scooping Marshmallow into my arms like a very fluffy, very passive hostage. "I’ll go."

Marella let out a relieved sigh.

I stomped forward, mumbling under my breath, "I feel like a dog. I just go whenever someone summons me. Next thing you know, they’ll be making me fetch sticks."

"Do you want to be carried, Princess?" Marella offered kindly.

"I have legs, Marella," I huffed, still grumbling like a tragic heroine on her way to exile.

She led us to the meeting room. Again. Why... why do I always end up visiting Papa in the meeting room of all places? It’s always the meeting room. Does he live there now? Is it his natural habitat?

Ah, whatever. Let’s just get this over with.

The guards opened the big, heavy door, and I marched in like a storm cloud with pigtails. Papa was sitting at the head of the table in his oversized imperial chair, looking all majestic and kingly like usual.

I didn’t bother checking who else was in the room. All I knew was I was carrying a chubby traitor of a cat (Divine, animal...I guess) who refused to walk.

I plopped Marshmallow down, and he immediately meowed like I’d just committed an act of betrayal.

"Hey," I muttered, brushing off my arms. "I’m generous enough to hold you all the way here. My arms are short, you know."

He meowed again, this time with the tragic wail of someone who’d been abandoned by the gods themselves.

I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him. "If you want me to keep carrying you, you need to start dieting."

Someone in the room chuckled. Then—

"Lavinia, come here."

Papa’s voice. Calm. Warm. Suspiciously inviting.

I looked over and saw him sitting like royalty (because, well, he is), wearing that gentle smile that made me suspicious by default. Still, I walked up to him with the authority of a toddler who knew her worth.

He scooped me up into his lap like he missed me—which I’m pretty sure he did—but still.

"Why are you late?" he asked, brushing some grass off my dress.

I narrowed my eyes. "Papa, do you think I have all the time in the world?"

That earned a raised brow. "I wonder... what kind of things a three-year-old could possibly be busy with?"

"Excuse you," I sniffed. "Some of us have complicated emotional lives."

"Emotional lives," he echoed, clearly fighting a smile.

"Yes. Stress. Betrayal. Boredom. Identity crisis. And now, apparently, babysitting a divine animal who snores like a drunk uncle."

That earned a louder laugh from somewhere in the room.

Papa looked like he was enjoying this too much. "Should I summon royal therapists for you, then?"

"Do they give snacks?" I asked seriously.

"...Probably not."

"Then I’ll suffer in silence."

He blinked at me—probably questioning the fact that his three-year-old daughter just said that like a tragic heroine—and then smiled, patting my head.

Ah~ So warm. So gentle. So, Papa.

For a second, I felt so calm that I felt like I could curl up in his arms and take a nap and not be judged for being a brat all day.

But then—I felt it.

That feeling. The someone-is-staring-at-me-too-hard feeling.

I peeked sideways, casually, you know, like how spies do it in storybooks. My eyes landed on a man I definitely didn’t recognize. He looked around Papa’s age... or maybe a little older? His long hair was green—like the nice kind of forest green, not the mossy kind—and his eyes were the same shade, bright and sharp like they could see through thoughts.

And he was staring at me.

Hard.

Like he’d never seen a child before. Or a princess. Or, dare I say... a devastatingly beautiful creature like me.

I blinked.

He didn’t.

Okay. Creepy.

What. Was. His. Problem?

"Papa," I whispered in a dramatic hush, tugging at his collar. "There’s a weird man staring at me like I’m a rare bug."

Papa chuckled lightly and whispered back, "He’s just surprised, I think."

I frowned, lowering my voice to an offended mutter. "Why? Have people never seen a beautiful three-year-old creature like me before?"

That earned a blink from Papa. Then a short, stunned silence.

He glanced toward the man—and for a second, something in his expression shifted. Just briefly. His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes turned... thoughtful. Quiet. Serious.

"But who is he?" I asked.

"You’ll find out soon enough," he said, almost too softly.

Huh?

What was that supposed to mean?

I kept my eyes on the green-haired stranger, who still hadn’t blinked, still watching me like I was some rare creature that shouldn’t exist.

And for the first time in a while... I had a weird feeling in my tummy. Not Marshmallow’s weight crushing my spine.

Just this strange, fluttery feeling.

...like something big was coming.