Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 184

Chapter 184: Ash in the Granary

[Lavinia’s Pov—Imperial Palace—Dawnspire Wing—Lavinia’s Chamber—continuation]

The air hung heavy between us, silence broken only by the restless crackle of the fireplace. My hands trembled as I clutched the parchment, the black ink seeming to bleed deeper into the page the longer I stared.

"...Wasted grain?" The words left me in a whisper, as though speaking them aloud might make them more real. My eyes skimmed the lines again, heart tightening. "They’ve found carriages full of spoiled grain and food? And... all within two days?"

My voice cracked, and I bit my lip. "But why? Why would there be wasted grain and food at all? We inspect every shipment, every storage..."

Osric’s jaw flexed beside me, his shadow falling across the parchment as he leaned over my shoulder. The firelight caught the hard angles of his face, his expression carved sharp and merciless like a blade.

"It’s clear, Lavi." His voice rumbled low, vibrating with restrained fury. "Someone is turning famine into a weapon. And because you’re the one in charge of grain and trade, they’ve chosen the perfect target to pin it on."

My breath caught, the weight of his words dragging me down. I sank back into the sofa, parchment crinkling in my grip. "Food waste... it’s more than numbers on a page. It’s trust. If people believe I’ve been careless—if they think I’m letting children starve while carriages rot in secret—" My throat tightened. "It’s not just an accusation, Osric. It’s a noose."

For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. His eyes, burning with anger, softened just briefly when they met mine. Then he straightened, movements taut with restrained violence.

"We don’t wait," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "We don’t give them a chance to spin this further. We go. Now. Before this rumor festers."

I nodded, clutching the parchment tighter until the edges bent. "You’re right. We need to see it with our own eyes. If we delay even a breath too long, it won’t matter what we say later—the story will already belong to them."

His gaze burned, fierce and unrelenting, and then he extended a hand to me. "Come."

I rose, the heavy silence of the room breaking as our footsteps echoed across the floor. Solena and Marshi, sensing the tension, hurried after us without a word. The corridor felt colder than usual, shadows stretching long with the torchlight, as if the palace itself was holding its breath.

"Where do we begin?" Osric asked at last, his voice steady, but I could hear the storm beneath it.

"From our place," I answered firmly. "The granaries that fall directly under my care. So we should start from the imperial kitchen."

***

[Imperial Palace—Storage]

I walked slowly through the granary, my slippers brushing against the cool stone floor, the heavy scent of grain thick in the air. Torchlight flickered across the rows of stacked sacks, neat barrels, and carefully sealed loaves meant for preservation.

I stopped at one sack and pulled the tie loose, dipping my hand inside. Golden kernels spilled between my fingers, dry, clean, and unspoiled.

"They seem completely fine," Osric murmured at my side, his sharp eyes sweeping over the storehouse as though daring it to reveal a flaw.

I nodded, brushing stray grain from my palm. "Yes... fresh. Well-kept. Nothing here suggests neglect."

The head cook stepped forward and bowed.

"Your Highness," he began, "As you ordered, we measure every sack carefully—every loaf, every barrel. We weigh, we count, and we record. Nothing is taken lightly. Twice a day, morning and evening, we inspect the stock. Everything is properly sealed and guarded."

I nodded, looking around.

He continued, "If ever a sack shows even the faintest sign of spoiling, we do not let it rot. We crush it down, feed it to the horses, or find another use. Waste does not exist within these walls, Your Highness. Not while I still draw breath."

I regarded him in silence for a long moment, letting the air thicken between us. The torches hissed faintly.

Finally, I inclined my head. "You have done well, Head Cook. Your diligence honors the Empire. But," I let the word hang like a blade, "I would still have you send me every record again. Every ledger, every tally, every signature. I want them delivered directly to my office, sealed by your own hand. No exceptions."

The head cook bowed, saying, "At once, Your Highness. You shall have them before the next bell."

I turned my gaze back to the neat rows of sacks, the barrels stacked with military precision. Everything appeared immaculate. And yet outside, beyond these walls, whispers claimed wagons of rot and waste had been sent under my observance.

A chill pricked my skin.

The rot wasn’t here.

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