Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 213

Chapter 213: The Stage is Mine

[Lavinia’s POV — Outside the Chamber]

As I stepped out of the chamber, smoothing the skirts that shimmered like midnight, I saw him—Papa—walking toward me.

He paused mid-stride, eyes narrowing as if the mere sight of me had struck him speechless. Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Papa..." I whispered, my chest warming.

He stretched out his hand, steady and commanding as always. Without hesitation, I placed my gloved hand into his. His grip tightened, grounding, protective.

"Are you here to escort me?" I asked, tilting my head with a grin.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His voice was low but filled with a weight that could silence armies.

"Of course. It is my daughter’s first event—organized by her own hands. How could I allow you to walk alone into a den full of traitors?"

I smiled softly at his words... until I noticed the sudden shift. The overprotective Papa aura practically radiated from behind him, thicker than a storm cloud.

"But..." he began, his tone dropping to that dark and dangerous register that usually meant someone’s head would roll. His gaze raked over me, and his jaw clenched. "Don’t you think this dress is... too revealing, my dear?"

I blinked. "Revealing?"

"Yes." His voice hardened, his fists curling at his side. "I can already sense it—those filthy, perverted bastards staring at you. Eyes crawling over what belongs only to the imperial family. If one dares to even think—"

"Papa!" I cut him off, chuckling despite myself. "Don’t worry." I leaned closer, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "I have a dagger hidden under my cloak."

His eyes lit up instantly, proud as though I’d just recited scripture. He nodded firmly. "Good. Very good. But don’t hesitate to use a sword if needed. Daggers are for petty warnings. A sword makes a statement."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Oh, it’s fine. I already have Osric with me."

Papa’s smile vanished. His head turned, slowly, ominously, toward Osric.

The air went heavy.

"Osric." His voice could have frozen the sun. "Protect her. If she so much as loses a single hair, I will personally ensure you open your eyes... in hell."

Osric bowed immediately, not a flicker of hesitation in his voice. "Do not worry, Your Majesty. I shall protect the princess with my life."

"Alright, you both are reacting too much." I huffed, throwing my arms up. "I’m going to a tea party, not marching into a battlefield."

They both turned their heads to me at the same time, eyes sharp, voices in perfect, terrifying unison:

"It’s the same thing."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"I see," I said flatly, my tone dripping with mock defeat. "Thank you ever so kindly for reminding me."

Papa’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Now... let’s go."

I nodded, slipping my hand onto his arm. His presence was steady and unyielding, the kind of strength that made even the marble pillars seem smaller. Osric fell in step behind us, silent and sharp-eyed, while Solena darted in through the window in a flurry of golden feathers, perching with practiced grace on Osric’s shoulder.

***

[Imperial Palace—The Garden Entrance, Continuation]

As we crossed the corridor and the open doors revealed the garden, Marshi padded softly from the side hall, joining us like a silent shadow. Our little procession moved as one.

The sound reached us first—noise, chatter, the rustle of silk skirts, and the polished laughter of nobles who thought themselves untouchable. Then, step by step, the sound faltered. Murmurs broke. Whispers rose. By the time we reached the archway leading into the garden, silence had nearly swallowed the air.

And then it happened.

Dozens of eyes turned at once. Surprise flickered, then widened. Fans paused mid-wave, goblets stilled in trembling fingers. The crowd collectively inhaled as if the very air had been stolen from their lungs.

Gasps rippled through the gathering like a wave crashing against stone, and then—like trained dogs—they bowed low, voices rising together in reverent unison:

"We greet His Majesty the Emperor... and Her Highness, the Crown Princess."

But Papa’s gaze was already sweeping over them—piercing, dangerous, like a hawk searching for prey. A single glare from him carried the unspoken warning: one wrong move, and I’ll destroy you.

Whispers stirred at the edges of the crowd. She dares to wear such a thing... In front of everyone... How could she... But it looks magnificent...

And thus, I welcome myself to noble society.

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