Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134: The Moment the Empire Held Its Breath

[Lavinia’s POV]

[Everheart Banquet Hall—Seconds After the Silence]

It lasted for only a moment.

A flicker.

That glacial coldness in Osric’s eyes—sharp, unfamiliar—locked with mine like winter testing the waters of spring.

And then... it vanished.

In the next breath, his gaze warmed. The frost melted. And he smiled—faintly, politely. Almost too quickly. Almost like it had never happened.

But I saw it.

I know I saw it.

...Right?

"Did I imagine that?" I muttered under my breath, blinking as if my lashes could scrub away uncertainty.

Applause rippled across the banquet hall like a perfectly rehearsed overture. Polished nobles clapped—delicate gloves muffling sound into elegance, fans fluttering like painted butterflies.The orchestra struck up a note—light, regal, charmingly harmless.

But my heart was still stuck on that one cold breath.

Was I the only one who noticed?

Osric walked forward, every step measured, noble, and formal. His expression was the kind painted onto portraits of young heirs—calm, princely, and slightly bored. And then he stopped before us and bowed low.

"Greetings to His Majesty... and Your Highness," he said with a grace that made it sound like he’d been greeting rulers since the cradle.

Papa scoffed like Osric had insulted the sun. But I smiled, choosing to act like everything was perfectly normal. "Happy birthday, Osric."

He smiled—wider this time. "Thank you, Lavi—"

Papa’s eyes narrowed with the slow, ancient force of imperial thunderclouds gathering over a battlefield.

Osric faltered mid-word. "—I mean... Your Highness."

I raised an eyebrow. Close call.

From the side, Grand Duke Regis was already smiling like he’d just witnessed his favorite court comedy. With a flourish worthy of a stage actor, he stepped toward the center of the dais and raised his jeweled hand.

"Honored guests," he called, his voice smooth and magnified, "Lords and Ladies of the Empire... Thank you for joining us on this magnificent occasion."

He gestured to Osric beside him with a proud, sweeping motion—like unveiling a rare tapestry or an antique weapon. "Today marks my son’s sixteenth year—his coming-of-age as heir of House Everheart."

A fresh round of applause rose from the crowd, this time warmer and more sincere.

Regis continued, clearly loving every second. "As tradition demands, he will begin his noble duties immediately—assisting in estate affairs, overseeing Everheart land councils..."

(Osric stood tall beside him, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.)

"...and of course," Regis added dramatically, "he will now lead the Everheart knights as their official First Commander-in-Training!"

The crowd gasped and clapped. The crowd cheered louder—everyone rising to toast his new title, his bright future, and possibly his cheekbones.

Golden goblets clinked. Fans fluttered harder. Girls tittered like he’d just proposed to all of them with his smile.

And me?

I clapped along politely. A perfect princess. A vision in violet. And then, Grand Duke Regis stepped up beside his son. His voice oozed smug pride like honey sliding off a dagger.

"My son..." he declared, resting a firm hand on Osric’s shoulder, "a celebration should begin as all great ones do—with elegance, tradition... and your first official dance."

Then he turned slowly—so slowly—toward us. More specifically, toward Papa. And smiled like a man holding a winning card and a vendetta.

"...With Princess Lavinia."

Oh.

Oh no.

Papa twitched.

No. That’s not the right word.

Papa glitched. Like a royal statue malfunctioning under extreme emotional pressure. I could see the vein in his temple begin to pulse. His jaw clenched, his fists tightened, and I swear the entire Everheart floor braced itself for impact.

But then—Grandpa Gregor, standing near him with serene calm, raised a single brow.

That was it. Just a brow.

And miraculously, Papa didn’t punch Regis.

Yet.

Instead, he folded his arms so tightly across his chest it looked like he was trying to become a wall.

Meanwhile, Osric turned to me with a princely composure I hadn’t seen before. The frost from earlier? Gone. Warmth had returned, like he’d dipped in sunlight before this moment.

He extended his hand toward me with a courteous bow.

"Your Highness..." he said, voice smooth and laced with just enough charm to make nearby debutantes faint. "May I have this dance?"

I blinked.

Then smiled back, matching his formality with a touch of self-deprecating chaos. "If I step on your foot, please bear it nobly."

Osric actually laughed—a soft, genuine chuckle that earned another round of sighs from the girls behind us. "I’ll consider it an honor, Your Highness."

I placed my hand in his and let him lead me down the few short steps onto the marble floor of the grand banquet hall. The crowd parted like silk curtains, opening up a space where the golden chandeliers shimmered above us like stars holding their breath.

The orchestra adjusted. Strings trembled.

And then—music.

Soft, elegant, sweeping.

We took position in the center of the room. Osric bowed. I curtsied. Eyes watched from every direction like hawks judging a romantic play.

And then we moved.

Step.

Step.

Turn.

And—dear heavens—I didn’t trip.

Osric was a graceful dancer, his steps sure, confident, and unshaken even when I nearly hesitated on a spin.

"You’re doing fine," he murmured under his breath, lips barely moving. "Not a single toe crushed so far."

I grinned. "There’s still time."

He spun me gently, and as I twirled back into his hold, I caught the audience’s reaction—

They gasped.

Literal gasps.

Like someone had dumped stardust on the floor.

Nobles leaned forward.

A few girls clutched their hearts.

Lady Evelyne, I swear, wiped a tear, and Theon looked at her with all the love sparkles. Even the chandeliers seemed to glow a little brighter in approval.

"Oh no," I whispered with a smile. "We’re aesthetically pleasing."

Osric smirked. "It’s dangerous, I know."

"Papa’s going to have a diplomatic breakdown."

An eerie, flawless hush. The kind of silence that didn’t feel polite—it felt profound.

He was kneeling.

He didn’t look up. Instead, he lowered the blade... slowly... and laid it at my feet. The entire ballroom inhaled as one.

Osric’s voice rang out. Low. Steady. And sharp with something terrifyingly powerful: devotion.

"Before the Empire and the blood of my house—"

Was something ancient. Fierce. Real.

"—I vow myself in service to Her Highness, Crown Princess Lavinia Devereux or Elarion Empire."

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