Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 325

Chapter 325: The Hug That Shouldn’t Have Happened

[Lavinia’s POV—War Room—Later]

The doors hadn’t even finished closing behind the Meren messenger before silence crashed down over the war room.

Not fear.

No hesitation.

A silence carved from calculation.

Clonal Zerith was the first to break it—arms folded, eyes narrowed like he was dissecting the air. "That kid..." his jaw clenched, "he’s too poisonous for his age."

"Poisonous is why he survived the throne." Arwin’s voice was smooth, almost conversational—which only made the words more brutal. "Let’s not forget it. The boy murdered every sibling competing for the crown, even the youngest one."

Sera shuddered. Even Rey—who laughed in the face of bloodshed—lost his grin.

Arwin’s eyes shifted to me. "We treat him as a child, we lose. We treat him as a king; we win."

I met his stare, fingers tapping the arm of my chair—slow and merciless. "You’re right. That twelve-year-old brat isn’t a prodigy... He’s poison. And poison spreads if you leave it alone."

Haldor spoke next—voice low, iron-steady. "Then we cut him out of the kingdom as soon as possible."

"Exactly," I said, leaning back in the chair as if the war had already been decided.

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension pulsed—adrenaline and bloodlust disguised as strategy.

Then I smirked. "Starting today, we rest for one day."

Heads snapped toward me—surprised.

"Rest? Now? I thought we were leaving tomorrow, your highness." Osric said.

"Oh yes," I purred. "Give the smaller rulers and nobles exactly one day. They’re already terrified after losing Red Wall. Let them think. Let them panic. Let them stare at their walls wondering if I’m coming next."

Understanding flickered in Zerith’s eyes, followed by a wolfish grin. Arwin chuckled. "You’re waiting for them to abandon their territories before you even arrive."

I shrugged casually. "Why conquer when fear can hand us the keys?"

I stood—and the room straightened like a blade being drawn. "You all have fought relentlessly. Take the day. Recover. Sharpen your weapons. Sharpen your minds."

They all nodded.

Rey stretched his arms with a wicked grin. "I can’t. When that brat kneels, I call dibs on laughing first."

***

[Lavinia’s POV—Red Wall Castle—Night—Training Grounds]

CLASH!CLANG!

Steel met steel again and again—sparks flashing in the cold night air. Haldor drove me back with a heavy strike, forcing my boots across the dirt.

"You look tired, Your Highness," he said, breath steady while mine came faster. "You should rest."

I lifted my sword again, refusing to loosen my stance. "Why? Are you done fighting? Or"—I tilted my head—"are you getting bored of dueling with me?"

His eyes locked onto mine—unshaken, unblinking.

"Bored?" he repeated, voice low. "Crossing blades with you is the greatest honor I have."He took a step closer, steel glinting between us. "But you’re exhausted. You might get hurt."

The way he said the next part wasn’t formal—it was personal. "And I can’t watch you get hurt, Your Highness."

That made me pause.

Haldor didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. Didn’t look away.

He said it like a fact—not a weakness. And yet... something in the air shifted. Heat threaded between us—not from the exercise.

I blinked once.

Then a wicked idea curled through my thoughts. I took one slow step back, sword lowering—for a heartbeat he relaxed, thinking I’d agreed.

Then I smirked. The kind of smirk that always gets men into trouble.

I raised my sword again and pointed it at him. "Raise your sword, Haldor. We’re continuing."

His jaw flexed—half frustration, half admiration.

"Your Highness," he warned, "don’t test me."

"I am testing exactly the man I chose for my right side," I shot back, voice sharp as steel. "If I wanted someone who stops when I’m tired, I would have picked a softer captain."

His eyes glimmered—not with anger. With hunger for the fight. For the challenge. For me.

A faint and slow, dangerous smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he lifted his sword once more.

"As you wish," he murmured. "But if you get hurt... I’m carrying you off this field, and you will not stop me."

The threat—the promise—slid straight down my spine. I stepped forward until our blades crossed again, faces inches apart.

"Then I suppose," I whispered, pushing against his sword, "you’d better fight hard enough that I don’t."

His breath hitched—only for a second—before steel exploded between us again.

CLASH!!

We fell into rhythm—strike, parry, step, pivot, breath. Sometimes he drove me back with brutal precision. Sometimes I forced him to retreat with reckless ambition.

He matched me perfectly—not holding back anymore.

Exactly what I wanted.

And when the duel was at its fiercest, when his focus burned sharp and unshakable—I activated the wicked plan.

I stumbled back dramatically, jerked my sword from his line of attack, and then let it fall to the ground.

THUD!!!!

"OW—! It hurts!!" I cried out, clutching my wrist.

The change was instant. Haldor’s entire body snapped, like a bowstring breaking.

"Your Highness—" He rushed forward, taking my hand in both of his, eyes wide with panic. "Your Highness, where are you hurt? Talk to me."

His voice cracked.

He searched my hand like he could rip the injury off me with his bare fingers.

"Does it hurt here?" He pressed lightly at my wrist.

"Or here?" His thumb brushed my palm. "I should call Rey—he’ll heal you. don’t move—don’t even breathe if it hurts—"

WHOOSH!!!!

"You can’t—" his voice was low, strained, breaking around the edges, "—pretend to be hurt like that."

"I can’t stand it," he murmured into my hair. No pride. No armor. Just truth. "Not even for a second. Not even as a joke."

His chest was a wall of heat against my cold skin, and his broad shoulders blocked out the whole world.

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