Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52: The Myth at Our Door

[Theon’s Pov]

"It was too late. When... can I see my granddaughter?" The green-haired man from the elven kingdom paced back and forth, his steps unusually silent despite the polished marble floors.

Lord Gregor sighed, rubbing his temples before stepping in. "Please have some patience. The princess is three. His Majesty needs to explain everything in a way she can understand."

The elf let out another deep breath, his brows furrowing, and now his pacing had turned into a brisk march. I watched him go back and forth like a caged animal. The tension in the room was thick—restless.

I sighed quietly.

Elves.

Beings from fairy tales, whispered about in history books and bedtime stories. No one knew where they lived anymore. They’d disappeared from the human world long ago—vanished into myth, into mystery. And that’s exactly how they liked it. Hidden. Untouched. Distant.

And they expected humans to keep their distance, too.

Elves weren’t meant to care. That’s what the stories always said.

They were prideful, long-lived creatures, untouched by the passage of time and human sentiment. And yet—there he was. That elf. Anxious. Restless. Repeating the same five steps like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely. Watching. And now here he is, standing in the heart of our empire, proving they exist. The maternal grandfather of our princess—the man pacing like the wind couldn’t hold him still—was Thailen Elariondil of Nivale.

A full-blooded elf. A healer from Nivale, the hidden kingdom nestled deep within the frost-laced woods beyond the eastern sea.

A month ago, His Majesty ordered a search for the princess’s birth mother. He’d said it quietly, firmly: "She deserves to be known as the mother of a princess. Even if the answer is difficult."

At first, there was nothing—no record, no family, not even a surname. Just a maid who had come and gone like a shadow. I mean—Lady Sylvaine. That’s what she went by. All we had was a name and a faint trail.

A letter of recommendation. Old parchment, foreign seal, which Turns out, she came from the Kingdom of Veldenza, carrying a document that granted her passage and temporary work in the Elarion court. It seemed normal at first—until we traced it further.

According to what we uncovered, Thalien had once been revered among his people—respected for his healing magic and quiet wisdom. But decades ago, he made a choice no elf was supposed to make.

He fell in love with a human.

A woman from Veldenza, a foreign empire to the west. A knight. Strong, honorable, foolishly brave. No one knew her name at first—just that she had been injured during a border skirmish and somehow ended up near the Nivale forests. Thalien found her. Treated her. Fell for her.

And in doing so, broke a hundred sacred elven laws.

Elves weren’t allowed to love humans. Not officially. Not openly. Not ever.

So they ran.

They abandoned everything—her sword, his title—and made a life in a northern village far from both of their homelands. Quiet. Hidden. Forgotten. And from that love, they had a daughter.

Sylvaine.

The woman we once called a mere maid.

Years passed. Peaceful. Fragile. But the world does not let forbidden things rest for long. When a plague swept through the outer villages of Nivale, they sent word to Thalien—pleading for their lost healer to return. He went, thinking he’d be back in a few weeks.

But he was gone for three years.

And when he returned... His beloved was already buried beneath snow and stone. And Sylvaine—his daughter—was gone.

Vanished with no trace.

He searched for her for years. Quietly. Patiently. But he never found her. Elves live long lives, but even so, time can bleed you dry.

When His Majesty ordered Lady Sylvaine’s background to be investigated—determined to honor her as the mother of Princess Lavinia—Lord Gregor led the search. No one expected the trail to lead beyond maps and mortal lands. According to him, when their party stumbled into Nivale territory, they were attacked on sight.

I wasn’t surprised. Elves weren’t known for their hospitality.

But Lord Gregor, ever the stubborn ox, held his ground. He told them he was searching for the grandfather of their empire’s sole princess. Of course, they thought he was mad.

Until he spoke one name. Thailen Elariondil.

Even then, it wasn’t easy.

According to Lord Gregor, Thailen refused to believe him. Stoic. Silent. Wrapped in the cold stillness of someone who’d lost hope too many times before. Not until Gregor pulled out the picture of Sylvaine—one we had as her profile.

That was when the great Thailen Elariondil broke.

Not loudly. Not with tears. But something shifted. A crack in the frost.

And now...he’s here.

Pacing. Waiting. Clutching the only thread of his daughter that remains—Lavinia.

He doesn’t look like how I imagined an elf would. There’s no shimmering glow. No crown of light. No floating above the ground. Just a tall, tired man with long green hair tied behind him, sharp features weathered by grief, and a gaze that’s seen centuries.

His hands are steady, but his steps are not.

"She’ll be scared," I murmured aloud, surprising myself.

Ex-Lord Gregor turned toward me. "She’s not the type to scare easily."

"Why not?" Thailen asked, tension creeping into his voice. "She is my granddaughter."

"And she is my daughter," Cassius said, the chill in his voice enough to frost the windows. "You’ve only just found her. I raised her."

"You have nothing until I say otherwise."

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