Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 94: How to Slay at Seven (Literally)

[Lavinia’s Pov]

"Our princess is now seven years old!" Nanny announced with the kind of excitement usually reserved for royal weddings and discovering lost jewels.

"Finally!" Marella popped her head into the room like an overly enthusiastic jack-in-the-box. Her cheeks were flushed, curls bouncing. "Seven! What a divine number! Lucky! Magical! Oh, I remember how our princess was just a wrinkly pink dumpling—"

I blinked. Slowly.

Seven.

Seven years old.

I can’t believe either...that I aged seven years. I can’t believe I made it. Another 365 days as Lavinia Devereux—the villainess of the novel.

Growing up around these nutcases? A real achievement. And just like I said before...I really deserve a diamond crown.

In seven years, I had lived a life no adult would envy. Blood. Murder. Public executions. Political betrayal. Secret assassins disguised as maids. And let’s not forget me being a quarter elf.

Truly, childhood dreams.

Oh God... What seven-year-old has even seen this much?

Yet here I was. Still breathing. Still growing. And if I may say so, growing taller, wiser, and undeniably beautiful every single day.

And then—just as I was beginning to admire my glowing resilience—

"NOW—SHALL WE GET READY FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY BANQUET, PRINCESS!?" Nanny and Marella shouted in terrifying perfect harmony. Like a demonic duet.

I swear, somewhere in the palace, a chandelier trembled. A maid fainted. The royal dogs howled in unison.

And me?

I just sat there, frozen in place, like a very cute and deeply haunted statue. You know, people think being a princess is all about sparkly tiaras and dainty teacups.

Lies.

No seven-year-old should suffer the trauma of being aggressively dressed by these two lunatics. Because once Nanny and Marella enter "Royal Styling Mode"... they’re no longer human.

They become—monsters in human skin.

I don’t even see Nanny’s sweet, wrinkly mother face anymore. Nope. She’s got the eyes of a hawk and the reflexes of a trained assassin the moment she holds a comb.

And Marella?

She treats hair like it insulted her family.

At this point, I’m convinced she holds a personal grudge against knots. She attacked them like a medieval knight swinging a flaming sword. I’m still not sure if she brushed my hair or tried to summon a hair demon out of it.

There was pulling. Tugging. Twisting. Pinning. Glitter bombing. A suspicious number of flower pins. And was that a tiara or a small crown from a mythical dragon’s hoard?

They spun me, flipped me, and shoved me into five different dresses before finally—finally—deciding on one that didn’t make me look like a confused piece of wedding cake.

Nanny took a deep breath, sweat glistening on her forehead. Marella collapsed onto a chair like she’d just wrestled a bear. I was still standing, barely, covered in ribbons and possibly black magic.

And then...they turned me toward the mirror.

And I—

I gasped.

Okay.

I’ll give them a big thumbs-up. They may be beautician monsters, but oh my royal stars—they are good at their job.

Like, terrifyingly good.

The girl in the mirror?

Stunning. Legendary. A walking masterpiece. If small, dramatic fairies were real, I was what they’d dream of at night. My hair was curled into soft spirals that sparkled like sunlit honey. My dress was a cascade of pearl-white silk and gold thread, and my tiara? Perched on my head like I was born wearing it. Regal. Glorious.

I tilted my head. Gave the mirror a slow, evaluating blink.

Let’s be honest—no one in the kingdom is a more beautiful seven-year-old than me. No one. I look like a doll handcrafted by the gods after they had a particularly artistic day.

"...Whoa," I whispered, very much in awe of myself.

"She’s speechless!" Marella gasped, clutching her chest like I’d just performed a miracle. Her eyes sparkled with victory. "I told you the rhinestones on her lashes would work!"

Honestly, I was speechless—but not because of the rhinestones. It was the sheer audacity of my own beauty.

I cleared my throat delicately, lifting my chin like the very mature, wise-beyond-her-years princess I absolutely was.

"Thank you for your services, Nanny and Marella," I said solemnly, giving a royal little nod. "Your... hospitality has been noted."

Nanny’s hands flew to her mouth in a dramatic gasp. Marella froze, mid-sparkle-dusting my shoulders, her brush trembling.

"She—she thanked us," Marella whispered, like I’d just blessed her with eternal youth.

"She’s... growing up," Nanny choked out, blinking away tears like a proud grandma watching her grandchild win a sword duel and a scholarship at the same time. "Our little princess is becoming a lady!"

"I’m seven," I reminded them, just in case we’d forgotten facts.

But of course no one listened to me.

"She’s practically a queen," Nanny sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief that suspiciously matched my dress.

But then—bam! Like flipping a switch, her expression snapped from doting mother to terrifying royal drill sergeant in a millisecond.

"Now—don’t smudge anything, don’t blink too hard, and for the love of the crown, do not lose your mind when you see the presents!" She barked, tightening my sash for the eighty-seventh time.

I was dumbfounded.

So, now she realizes I am seven?

Honestly. How can a person shift moods faster than a dragon mid-sneeze?

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door creaked open.

Ravick stepped in—my ever-so-handsome, personal knight with shoulders that could carry the palace—and behind him, padding silently like the royalty he thinks he is, was Marshi.

"Princess," Ravick bowed with a flourish, his voice like smooth thunder, "the guests await you in the Grand Hall."

Then, I dashed over like an overly decorated lightning bolt. "Ravick! How do I look? Beautiful, right?"

He chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. "You are always beautiful, my princess."

Hah. Compliment received. Ego: soaring.

I gave Marshi a quick head scratch. He purred like a volcano simmering politely.

"Then," Ravick continued with the air of someone who’d rather be fighting dragons than herding nobles, "shall we depart, Princess? His Majesty is waiting for you at the banquet."

Then, lowering his voice and leaning in, he added under his breath, "...and also being very pissed off. So it’d be great if we showed up soon—before he slits someone’s throat over the appetizer."

I stifled a giggle behind my gloved hand. "Alright, alright," I whispered. "Let’s go before Papa paints the banquet hall red... again."

***

[Towards the Banquet Hall...]

This year... Papa didn’t wait for me.

Usually, he’d be right there at the banquet doors—arms crossed like a statue sculpted out of sternness and royalty. Annoyingly proud look on his face. Crown tilted at just the right angle to say, "Yes, I rule the empire and look amazing doing it."

And that smile always melted just a little when he looked at me, like I was his entire world wrapped in a frilly dress and ribboned shoes.

Why?

Propaganda.Yes, you heard me. Pure royal propaganda.

After that ridiculous baron tried to kidnap me on one of the birthdays—Papa thought the nobles would finally get the message: don’t mess with his daughter.

But of course... humans are idiots, and nobles are more idiots.

They continued their evil plotting like it was some sort of group hobby. And then came the elf-children trafficking scandal—the nerve—which nearly sent Papa into a volcanic rage so terrifying that he vanished an entire family.

So this year, on my seventh birthday, Papa had a plan. A very big, very dramatic plan.

He wanted to show them all—every noble, minister, ambassador, and boot-licking sycophant in that banquet hall—that his daughter held more power at age seven than half their bloodlines combined.

Which is why I wasn’t entering with Papa this year.

Nope.

I was going in alone.

Well... "alone," if you count strutting down a corridor with a giant glowing divine beast on one side and the deadliest man in the empire on the other as "alone."

Marshi—my beloved, terrifying tiger divine beast. Once a fluffy cub who drooled on my dolls. Now? A massive, glowing, muscle-packed feline with eyes like red doom. His fur shimmered like stardust and wrath. One growl from him and ministers start rewriting their wills.

Then there’s Ravick—the Black Knight Captain himself. The kind of man who could parry a hundred blades before breakfast and still find time to judge your outfit. Tall, silent, and deadly, he’s the kingdom’s greatest swordsman. Also, my personal knight.

Papa wanted the message to be clear:The future empress already tamed a divine beast.The empire’s strongest sword answers only to her.And yes—she has rhinestones on her lashes while doing all this.

As we strutted toward the banquet hall, I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the polished palace floor.

Honestly?

I looked like a dramatic little goddess on a glittery vengeance tour.

And that was exactly what Papa wanted.

To every stiff-collared minister, fake-smiling noble, and two-faced distant uncle who’d ever whispered that maybe I was too young... Or too soft... or too sparkly to rule?

This was your warning.

A tiny girl with flawless curls, a glowing murder-tiger, and a personal knight whose side-eye could slice through steel?

I may only be seven—but I am the most politically terrifying thing in the empire.

Now I stood in front of the huge door. Took one last breath. Just one. Because even little goddesses get nervous.