Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 101

Chapter 101: From Sparkles to Study Desks

[Lavinia’s Pov]

[Petal Garden, After a Week]

Just like I said before...

My kingdom, people?

More dramatic than a soap opera villain on their seventh resurrection arc.

And the newspaper companies?

Oh-ho-ho.

They’re not just journalists. They’re failed fantasy writers with a vengeance, weaponizing metaphors like daggers dipped in glitter. I swear they hold weekly meetings titled "How to Make Everything the Princess Does Sound Like the End of the World—With Footnotes."

Now, why would I bring this up again?

Sigh...

Because apparently, me naming the East Wing 2.0 was not just a cute moment of architectural rebranding.

NO.

It was a "MONUMENTAL, EMPIRE-SHAKING REVELATION."

Like I’d just declared war on boredom. Or gravity.

I mean, come on—it’s my house. My wing. My shiny floors. I should be allowed to give it a cute little name, right?

Apparently not.

The palace? Buzzing like a beehive on a double-shot espresso.

Servants were whispering behind flower vases like I’d summoned a ghost. Footmen fainted dramatically in the hallways (probably just needed a snack, but still). Somewhere, far far away in the Kingdom of Common Sense, someone silently wept.

But oh no. The drama did not stop there.

Every Morning, I was awakened not by birdsong nor by the gentle chime of palace bells—but by the shrill shriek of my ever-excitable maid, Marella, walking into my petal garden with a stack of—

Newspapers. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Probably millions. (Okay, fine, five. But still.)

Each one splashed with headlines as subtle as a fire-breathing peacock in a ballgown:

THE ROYAL WHISPER:

"PRINCESS LAVINIA NAMES THE EAST WING 2.0 — THE DAWNSPIRE IS BORN!"

Subtitle: Our Little Sparkle Angel Strikes Again—Is She Planning to Name the Sky Next?

Excuse me?

No, I am not planning to name the sky.

(...Unless "The Big Blue Above of Moodiness" sounds cool. Might consider.)

Then came the real screamer:

THE COURT GOSSIPER:

BREAKING: PRINCESS NAMES GOLD AND DIAMOND WING. EMPIRE TREMBLES. BIRDS FAINT. PEACOCKS ARE JEALOUS.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Birds fainted?!

BIRDS?!

Who’s their source, Lord Featherbeak the Third?

Nanny and Marella were practically chuckling and giggling.

"Look at this one, Your Highness!" Marella giggled, flipping to The Court Gossiper like she was unveiling a cursed scroll.

THE IMPERIAL TATTLER:

"IS THIS THE BEGINNING OF THE SPARKLE REGIME? Experts Weigh In. Imperial Carpet Analysts Concerned."

Also: Has the Princess Gained Height and Weight? Our paparazzi measures her in secret.

I stared.

I blinked.

ARE THEY CALLING ME FAT?!

I mean. Okay. Maybe I did gain a little... But that was strictly cookie-related expansion. Completely natural. Very royal.

Also—"Imperial Carpet Analysts"?

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE??

Do they sit in rooms sniffing rugs and deciding which ones are emotionally distressed?! Is there a certification exam? A dress code?

AND WHO APPROVES THESE JOBS?

Papa?

Papa definitely approves of these jobs.

Because he sits there at the tea table, sipping his ancient tea like he didn’t just unleash a propaganda storm. Eyes twinkling. Smug as a dragon on a gold hoard.

"Good press," he mutters, hiding a smile behind his cup, and Ravick nodded in agreement.

GOOD PRESS?

Papa, the empire thinks birds fainted.

But does he care?

Of course not.

Because in his twisted little emperor mind, this is all part of some master plan. "Build her image," he says. "Make the people see her power."

I mean...I named an estate. Not the moon.

Honestly, if I ever did name the moon, I’d call it Moony McGlowface, just to watch The Royal Whisper lose its collective mind.

But alas. This is my life.This is how things work here.Chaos is our royal anthem, and I’m its unwilling lead singer.

Just as I was contemplating whether or not to host a naming ceremony for my teacups next (because why not?), one of the palace maids glided in like a very breathless, very nervous breeze.

She bowed so low, I thought she might just become one with the marble.

Right—Today was my first day of official study.

I got down from the chair, ready to go, and meanwhile Papa folded the newspaper he’d been pretending not to smirk at and stood up, all regal and composed like the emperor he is. "Lavinia, let’s go."

I nearly tripped over my own feet. "W-what! But why?!"

He turned to me with that expression that usually means, "Because I said so, and I’m the emperor and also your father and also right, obviously."

He’s not wrong. As a parent—and the Emperor—he has every right to check whether he’s hired a scholar worthy enough to teach his only daughter, who is supposed to rule an empire one day and not just name wings after celestial poetry and sparkle metaphors.

And off we went, the two of us striding down the palace halls like some royal buddy comedy duo.Except one of us was worried about elocution lessons, and the other probably just wanted to terrify a respected scholar for sport.

Oh gods above, Nanny was crying.

"I was never a peanut!" I yelled, mildly offended. "Maybe a pistachio. Something cuter."

***

[Study Room, Later...]

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