Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 271

Chapter 271: Terms and Conditions of Loving a Princess

[Osric’s POV—Imperial Audience Room]

I sat rigidly in the grand meeting hall, my palms sweating against the cold marble table. The Emperor—my future father-in-law (if I survived the next five minutes)—sat across from me like a carved statue of divine wrath.

Ravick and Theon stood on either side of him like silent executioners. No one spoke. Not a sound except the relentless ticking of the ornate clock on the wall.

His majesty’s crimson eyes locked onto me with such intensity that I briefly wondered if he could set people on fire by sheer will.

"I will accept you," His Majesty finally said, voice calm but somehow scarier for it, "as my forced son-in-law."

My heart leapt—then immediately crashed back into my stomach.

"But..." he continued, each syllable slicing through my fragile hope, "you must pass my trials. Spare with me and survive them, and the day you win against me, you will earn the right to call yourself her fiancé."

Ah yes. Trials. Because love apparently wasn’t hard enough.

I tried to smile. It came out more like a nervous twitch. "Th-that’s... very generous of you, Your Majesty—"

"Theon," His majesty interrupted, voice low and commanding.

Theon stepped forward, lips twitching with amusement, and placed a thick scroll on the table. It landed with a THUD that echoed through my bones.

I blinked. "...What is this, Your Majesty?"

His majesty’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a death sentence. "A marriage contract."

My stomach dropped. "A... marriage... contract?"

"Yes," he said, voice dripping with tyrannical pride. "For you and my daughter. Drafted personally by me."

I stared at the scroll.

Then I unrolled it.

And it just... kept unrolling. Across the table. Down to the floor. And then continued—like a cursed parchment with no end.

By the time it stopped, Theon was biting his cheek to stop from laughing, and Ravick looked like he was mentally praying for my soul.

I cleared my throat. "Ah... that’s... quite comprehensive, Your Majesty."

"Read," His majesty commanded, leaning back like a judge watching an execution. I gulped and started reading.

Clause One: The groom shall never allow Princess Lavinia to experience a single moment of sadness, inconvenience, or boredom. Should he fail, punishment shall be death... and a personal one-on-one talk with the Princess’s father.

I froze. "A... a talk with—?"

His majesty’s eyes glinted like polished blades. "Yes. A talk."

I swallowed hard and mumbled. "Right. Death sounds... quicker."

Clause Two: The groom shall never touch, look at, or breathe near another woman within a thirty-foot radius. Violation of this clause results in immediate and spectacular death.

My head snapped up. "Your Majesty—"

"Silence," His majesty said coolly, voice calm enough to make my spine sweat. "Keep reading."

Clause Three: The groom must report daily to the Emperor with a written summary of how happy the Princess is. If her happiness level falls below 99%, punishment will involve a private dinner with me.

I blinked. "...That doesn’t sound too bad."

His majesty’s lips curved into a terrifyingly calm smile. "You’ll be the main course."

My pen trembled in my hand. "Ah. I see. Suddenly I’m feeling very inspired to write upbeat reports."

Clause Seven: The groom must survive at least sixty years—no exceptions. Failure to comply will be considered high treason.

"...Sixty years?" I croaked. "That’s... oddly specific."

His majesty leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, eyes glowing like molten red. "You will live long enough for me to have grandchildren who call me Grandpa. Do I make myself clear?"

I straightened immediately. "C-crystal clear, Your Majesty."

Clause Eight: The groom shall never, under any circumstance, attempt to win an argument against the Princess.

This clause is legally reinforced by Ravick and Theon’s signatures.

Ravick sighed heavily. "It’s true."

Theon crossed his arms proudly. "It’s our finest legal creation yet."

I continued reading, each line draining another ounce of my will to live.

Clause Nine: The groom shall never raise his voice, hand, or eyebrow at the Princess.

Clause Ten: The groom must provide snacks to the Princess during emotional turmoil, existential crisis, or boredom.

Clause Eleven: If the Princess says she wants the moon, the groom must figure out how to deliver it.

Clause Twelve: The groom shall not allow the Princess to lift anything heavier than a flower. If she attempts to, he must stop her immediately and lift it himself.

By the end of it, my hands were shaking and the parchment looked like a horror novel disguised as marriage law.

Absurd? Yes. Tyrannical? Absolutely. And yet... somehow, my heart felt strangely light.

Because despite the madness, the overprotectiveness, and the sheer psychological warfare written in ink... His majesty hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t drawn his sword. He hadn’t said Lavinia would marry someone else.

I laughed weakly. "Ah, yes, of course. Wouldn’t dream of skipping that."

And as I pressed my seal to the cursed document, I couldn’t help but think—This wasn’t a marriage contract. This was a lifetime survival challenge.

***

[Later—Outside the Audience Chamber]

The heavy doors closed behind me with a dull thud, sealing in the suffocating air of the audience chamber. I let out a long, shaky exhale and loosened my collar. I survived.

"Osric!"

"Well, Papa had that look," she said, clutching my hands tightly. "You know, the one that makes grown men faint? Did he hurt you somewhere? Did he threaten to cut off something important? You’re whole, right?"

Her eyes sparkled instantly. "He did?! Really?!"

"TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER THIS INSTANT!!!"

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