Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 102

Chapter 102: The Day I Started to Understand the Crown

[Lavinia’s Pov]

[Study Room—Morning of Royal Doom, I Mean... Education]

"So... let’s begin, Princess," Lady Evelyne said sweetly, clasping her hands like this was going to be fun.

I nodded solemnly, already preparing myself to survive whatever this "beginning" meant.

Papa was sitting beside me, silent as ever, sipping his eternal cup of tea with the same stone-cold expression he wore when declaring war, attending galas, or watching me name furniture. Only this time, his icy gaze was fixed entirely on Lady Evelyne—which, as one could imagine, was making her very nervous.

And blushy.

Her cheeks were blooming red like a cherry orchard in spring, and she kept adjusting her clipboard like it might shield her from my emotionally-frozen father’s gaze.

Sigh... Poor Lady Evelyne. She hasn’t even started the lesson, and she’s already developing a crush and a stress rash.

But duty calls.

"We... we will start with something basic today, Princess," she said, her voice wobbling slightly but still polished like porcelain.

I nodded again, sitting up straight in my chair like a model student. (I was not. I was barely resisting the urge to hide under the table and name each chair leg after noble houses.)

"First, we’ll begin with your position, Princess."

Huh?

I blinked. Wait... My position?

I thought we were starting with the first emperor’s heroic adventures—battles, dragons, dramatic sword poses—you know, the juicy historical bits!

Also, excuse me, but don’t I already know my position? Royal heir. Sparkle diplomat. Casual drama magnet.

Lady Evelyne now stood in front of the study board, all elegant and poised, like a pastel-colored war general about to announce siege strategies. Her hair, still twisted into that strawberry milkshake swirl, glimmered under the morning light, and her clipboard was now so thick I was certain it held the secrets of the universe—or maybe a very aggressive thesaurus.

"Princess Lavinia," she said again, smiling with her ’I’m-so-patient-it-hurts’ smile, "before we dive into history, you must first understand the present. The world you’re going to rule."

Okay, valid point.

But still ominous.

And then—

THUD.

She dropped a book on the table.

No. Not a book.

A whole library disguised as a single volume. The table groaned. I think my spine did too.

I stared at it, horrified. "This is... basic?"

"I feel like my soul just crawled out of my body," I whispered to myself.

Papa sipped his tea. Not a flicker of sympathy.

Lady Evelyne, however, seemed unfazed by my internal academic crisis. She flipped open the massive tome like she was revealing treasure. And then, she flipped to page one—a map of the Elorian Empire.

"Our empire—Elorian—is home to nearly ninety-eight million citizens," she said proudly, as the map stretched out before me like a geography monster. "We are divided into eleven provinces and four seasonal capitals."

...

...

EXCUSE ME?!?!

I choked on absolutely nothing.

"Ninety-eight... million?" I squeaked, my voice going up three octaves into existential panic mode.

Lady Evelyne nodded with the pride of someone announcing they’d won a baking contest. "One of the largest empires in the known continent."

My brain short-circuited.

Ninety-eight million people... just... existing. Walking around. Breathing air. Possibly judging my outfits. What if they all had opinions? What if half of them didn’t like the name Dawnspire?!

I looked at Papa, desperate for a distraction from my mental population crisis.

He was smirking now.

Of course he was smirking.

"Most of them," he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather, "were conquered by me."

Lady Evelyne nodded respectfully, clearly impressed. "Indeed, Your Majesty’s campaigns were the most successful in a century."

I blinked again.

Wow.

Look at him.

Just sipping tea and casually admitting to having claimed half the continent like someone collecting seashells at the beach. Meanwhile, I name a hallway and get twenty-three headlines, and this man conquers civilizations before breakfast.

Honestly, he needs a medal. Or at least a reality show.

"Keeping Up With the Conqueror: Tea, Tactics, and Tactical Smirking."

I leaned closer to him. "Papa... how do you manage ninety-eight million people?"

He gave me a very emperor-y shrug. "With discipline. Delegation. And occasionally... threats."

"Ah," I nodded. "Very motivational."

Lady Evelyne cleared her throat politely and pointed at the map again.

"Now... Princess," she said, "the current Emperor of the Elorian Empire, as you know, is your father—His Majesty Cassius Devereux." She gave him a short bow, which he acknowledged with the grace of someone who gets bowed to twenty-five times before breakfast.

Then she turned to me. "And you, my princess, are the sole heir and the future empress of Elorian."

Oh.

Right.

That part.

I blinked at her, then at the map, and suddenly it wasn’t just colors and provinces anymore—it was a lot. It was responsibility. It was weight. It was... possibly anxiety-induced dizziness.

I tried not to panic. I really did. But my inner monologue was already doing cartwheels.

Sole heir? Future empress? As in... me?

I glanced at Papa, who looked completely unbothered, as if he had zero doubt in my ability to rule a kingdom that was practically bursting with citizens and provinces.

I nodded slowly, nodding like I knew how to take things one step at a time.

She continued, her voice gaining momentum like a noble train of knowledge. "For instance, the Northern Reach is known for its steel and ore production—and also for housing the Empire’s largest snow fox population."

"That’s the Southern Plains, Your Highness," she said, clicking her pointer against the round-ish blob. "It’s our agricultural heart. Wheat, corn, potatoes... mostly corn."

Lady Evelyne smiled and stepped back. "So, my princess... Your position is not something to be taken lightly. You are not some ornamental royal or pampered noble—you are the future of this empire. The next ruler. The beacon of our nation’s legacy."

She went on, lifting her chin slightly. "All nobles, no matter how high their rank—dukes, generals, ministers—they must kneel before you without exception."

Lady Evelyne continued, "As for you... there is only one person you kneel before."

I nodded slowly, soaking in the royal hierarchy. So basically... everyone bows to me, and I bow to Papa. That didn’t sound too bad. Honestly, it sounded like a game of very formal tag.

Except for the time I named the East Wing ’2.0’—what other kind of rumors are even spreading about me?

Even Papa, who had been sipping tea like a statue of war and power, suddenly set his cup down with a quiet clink and narrowed his eyes. Focused. Alert. Like he was ready to strike down any rumormonger within a ten-mile radius.

"Yes, Princess," Lady Evelyne said, her voice a bit softer now, "Rumors. About you."

She smiled. "They say... that the Princess is very kind."

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