Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 359

Chapter 359: What the Throne Requires

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Council Chamber—Continuation]

The silence did not break.

It coiled.

Every noble in the chamber held their breath, eyes flicking between Papa’s drawn sword and Count Talvan’s infuriatingly calm expression. No one dared speak. No one dared move.

Except me.

I rose.

The scrape of my chair against marble sounded unnaturally loud, and in that instant, the room’s attention shifted—not to Papa’s blade, but to me.

Papa stiffened. "Lavinia," he warned, low and dangerous.

I did not look at him.

I stepped forward—one measured step, then another—until I stood beside the council table. I placed my gloved hand flat against its surface and leaned in slightly.

Calm. Controlled. Smiling.

"Count Talvan," I said softly.

He straightened at once, bowing shallowly. "Your Highness."

"How thoughtful of you," I continued, tilting my head, "to be so concerned about my womb in the middle of the council."

A ripple of shock went through the chamber.

Talvan’s smile twitched. "Your Highness, I meant no disrespect—"

"Oh, I know," I interrupted pleasantly. "You meant survival. Yours."

Papa’s sword hummed as his grip tightened, but I lifted one finger—not toward him, but subtly. Enough.

I had this.

I turned my gaze slowly, deliberately, across the council.

"Let me clarify something," I said. "Very clearly. Very carefully."

The nobles leaned back instinctively. "I did not conquer Meren so that you could begin counting my fertile years like a harvest schedule."

A sharp intake of breath echoed from somewhere near the back.

"You speak of heirs," I continued, voice steady, unraised, and infinitely more dangerous for it. "As if they are chess pieces you can move when the board grows uncomfortable."

I straightened up.

"Tell me, Count Talvan," I asked, meeting his eyes directly, "how many wars have you fought?"

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

I smiled wider.

"How many borders have you bled for?" I pressed. "How many nights have you slept knowing that if you failed, an empire would burn?"

Silence.

Papa lowered his sword—slowly—but did not sheath it.

"I am twenty," I went on. "I have already done what many kings never accomplish in a lifetime. And yet you stand here—alive, untouched—and dare to tell me my greatest value is what I might produce in a bed?"

Talvan’s face tightened.

"Your Highness," he said carefully, "the Devereux line—"

"—will not fall," I snapped, the steel finally sliding into my voice. "Not while I breathe."

The chamber felt that.

I turned, addressing them all now.

"If you are so desperate for continuity," I said coldly, "then perhaps you should ask yourselves why you doubt me."

Murmurs stirred.

"Or is it," I added, eyes narrowing, "that some of you fear a ruler who cannot be controlled by marriage?"

That landed like a blade.

Papa’s laugh—low, lethal—echoed once through the chamber.

Talvan swallowed. I leaned forward again, resting both hands on the table.

"Here is what will happen," I said quietly. "You will not speak of my marriage again unless I invite the discussion."

I met Talvan’s gaze—unblinking.

"You will not whisper of heirs behind my back."

Another pause.

"And if I hear even a rumor," I continued, "of noble families positioning themselves as alternatives to the Devereux line—"

Papa stepped forward beside me.

"I will burn those families to the root," he finished pleasantly.

The nobles bowed. Deeply. Hastily.

Talvan bowed last. Slow. Calculated. But his eyes—his eyes were wary now.

"Do we understand each other?" I asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," the chamber echoed.

I straightened, smoothing my gloves.

"Good," I said. "Then this council is dismissed."

The nobles scattered like birds from a gunshot.

And now—silence.

Heavy. Lingering. Honest.

I straightened slowly, smoothing my gloves as though my hands were not still humming with restrained fury. The council chamber felt suddenly too large, too empty—like a battlefield after the bodies were cleared.

I glanced to my left.

Osric was still seated.

For a moment, he simply looked at me—expression unreadable, eyes sharp with thoughts he chose not to voice. Then he rose, bowing with immaculate grace.

"Have a great day, Your Highness," he said evenly.

No commentary. No interference. No allegiance declared.

And just like that—he turned and left.

The doors shut.

So this wasn’t just about marriage.

It was about control.

Inheritance laws. Noble ambition. A system waiting patiently for a single weakness to exploit.

***

[Imperial Palace—Later—Training Hall]

CLANG!

STRIKE!

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