Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53: The Elf Grandpa

[Lavinia’s Pov]

Today I woke up feeling warm.

And not just the sleepy-warm that comes from my big, cozy bed with all my favorite fluffy pillows. No, this was a different kind of warm—like sunshine and magic and something sweet that tickled the tip of my nose.

It made my toes wiggle under the blankets this morning. I feel something special.

Now here I was already sitting in front of the mirror, swinging my legs while Nanny brushed my hair with that special comb that didn’t hurt. My hair was being extra grumpy today—just like me.

I wasn’t happy. Not really. Not yet.

But... I had a feeling. That tingly feeling. The kind you get when you’re about to meet someone extraordinary. Like a hero from a storybook or a fairy who grants wishes.

Today, I was going to meet an elf.

A real elf who is also my grandfather.

The ones with pointy ears and sparkly eyes. The ones from fairy tales. The ones who live in forests and talk to trees and ride sparkly deer or something.

I didn’t even know elves existed in this world. But I guess they do. Then again... this is a novel world. Anything can exist here.

Even me.

"Princess... you seem happy today," Marella said softly, tying a ribbon in my hair.

"Yup. I’m so happy," I replied, kicking my feet.

"I see... I’m happy too," she said, smiling in the mirror.

"I see..." I mumbled back, but my mind was already running ahead.

Would he glow?

Would he talk in riddles?

Would he like me?

I stared at my reflection, at the girl with golden hair and bright red eyes, her feet swinging as if they had somewhere important to go. My heart was doing little flips—not the bad kind, but the kind you get before opening a present you weren’t supposed to know about.

At first, Lavinia—the Lavinia from the novel—was just the daughter of an emperor. A mere maid has given birth to her. A footnote. A villainess character born from nothing important.

But who would’ve thought...

That the "mere maid" who gave birth to me wasn’t a mere maid at all.

She was the daughter of an elf. And not just any elf—one of the oldest, most mysterious ones in the empire, apparently.

Which made me...

Quarter-elf?

I don’t know, but the math wasn’t as important as the fact that magic flowed in my blood.

It felt surreal. Almost like I’d been reading someone else’s story all along, only to realize it was mine. And today—finally—I was going to meet the part of my story that had been missing.

My elf grandpa.

so...I was ready to meet him.

And then—

"Are you ready?"

I turned around quickly.

Papa?

I blinked. "Huh? Papa... why are you here?"

He raised a brow, then crouched down to my level. "What do you mean, why? How could I leave you alone with a stranger?"

I tilted my head. "But he’s my grandpa."

Papa clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath, "Still a stranger."

...Oh.

Why was he making that annoying face again?

You know—the one where his eyebrows scrunch like someone stole his dessert, and his mouth turns into a flat line like he just smelled something suspicious.

Like he’s jealous.

Wait...

Was he actually jealous?

Pfft. That’s so silly.

But maybe yes.

Because this is the same Papa who almost banned the hand-kissing greeting because someone might kiss my hand one day. Seriously. He was one council meeting away from rewriting the entire imperial etiquette book. If Marshmallow hadn’t hatched from that egg, I’m pretty sure he would’ve gone through with it.

Then, suddenly without warning, Papa scooped me up with both arms.

"Wha—? Papa!" I yelped, legs flailing.

And just like that, I was dangling in the air again.

Sigh.

Here I go. Floating toddler mode: activated.

"Listen," he began with that overly serious tone he uses when he’s about to say something ridiculous. "No matter what magic he shows you—glowing butterflies, floating flowers, singing acorns—you don’t go near him."

...Excuse me?

Does he think I’m a child? (Which, okay, I am.)

But still.

"Singing acorns?" I repeated, tilting my head.

"Elves are weird. You never know."

I blinked.

I was dumbfounded.

Then he hugged me tight and started walking toward the waiting room, muttering, "Don’t let him trick you with sparkles."

Sigh... Does he think I’m a crow who gets distracted by shiny things? (...Yes. Yes, she does.)

"He’s my grandpa," I reminded him sweetly.

"A stranger," Papa corrected flatly.

"An elf," I whispered back like it was a secret password.

Papa narrowed his eyes. "Even worse. Elves are charming and sneaky and... and shiny. You can’t trust someone with cheekbones that sharp."

I stared at him.

What.

"But he’s cooler than you," I said with a tiny smirk.

I think he actually gasped.

"He is not cooler than me." He looked so offended, I had to cover my mouth to stop from laughing.

Hehe. Teasing him is my new favorite hobby.

While Papa tried very, very hard to pretend he wasn’t already plotting to duel him with passive-aggressive comments and fatherly glares.

He was pacing. Back and forth like he was trying to wear a path into the floor. His robes swished with every step—long and flowing and very green. So was his hair. And his eyes.

He also looked way too young to be called "Grandpa." But then again, I heard elves live a super long time. Maybe he’s like... a thousand years old or something.

Which I am, but still.

I tilted my head, suddenly feeling shy, which was very rare for someone as amazing as me. "Hi," I said quietly.

"Papa," I whispered without looking away. "You can put me down now."

Papa didn’t move. He was staring too, but not in the same way. His stare said, Try anything funny and I’ll vaporize you with imperial taxes and scary titles.

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