Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90: Lap Jail: The Princess’s Great Escape

[Lavinia’s Pov]

Being Daddy’s girl is not easy.

Mind you...

NOTTTTTT EASYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’d think it’s all sugar cookies and sparkly dresses, right?

WRONG.

It’s been an entire day—yes, a FULL, SUNRISE-TO-SUNSET-DRAMATICALLY-DRAWN-OUT-DAY—and guess where I’ve been?

ON. PAPA’S. LAP.

FOR. THE. WHOLE. DAMN. DAY!!!!!!!!!!!

After lunch, I thought—I will follow my daily schedule. I’d go play with Marshi, later watch Osric swinging his sword around like a great knight of the empire, and then sneak up on my other knights, who always pretend they’re bushes while "secretly" guarding me.

Classic hide-n-seek material.

But Papa?

Papa had other plans.

He just scooped me up like a sack of royal potatoes and dragged me back to the throne room.

THE THRONE ROOM.

Now, my tiny royal behind has suffered enough! It’s flat now! My cute, peachy butt is now a soggy pancake. I’m not even sure I have a butt anymore! Is it numb? Is it alive? Do butts go to heaven?!?!

I craned my neck up and glared at Papa like he was the villain in a tragic opera.

I wanted to ask...

Papa, do you have thighs of stone?? Are you carved from marble?? Do your legs not cry for freedom like mine do??!

Because I’m suffering.

And I get it—really, I do! He missed me. He, His Majesty Cassius Devereux, the Almighty Emperor of the Entire Known World, missed his precious, darling daughter for TWO WHOLE DAYS. That’s basically ten years in daddy time. I respect the grief. But this...

This?

This is love-torture. This is lap jail. This is gluteal oppression.

And I can’t take it anymore, so I made a decision.

A brave, rebellious, butt-saving decision.

I jumped.

"FREEDOMMMMMMMMMMMM!" (Okay, I didn’t shout it, but I felt it in my soul.)

I flung myself from his lap like a soldier leaping into battle, landed with a solid toddler thump on the royal marble floor, and strutted forward with the kind of determination only someone with a sore rear can muster.

Behind me, I heard Papa’s voice—deep, low, slightly panicked. "Where are you going?"

I paused mid-strut, turning around slowly like a drama queen returning for her final monologue. With my eyes dead inside and my lips in a perfectly bored line, I said, "To play."

Even I heard the exhaustion in my voice. Not the kind you get from running, no-no-no. This was the exhaustion of a toddler who’d sat through five hours of kingdom updates, Elven kids trafficking, trade route negotiations, and six entire scrolls about border disputes.

Papa stood from his throne—graceful, majestic, and terrifying in his overprotectiveness.

No.

I knew that look.

I saw that familiar "Ah, I shall now scoop up my daughter like a sack of the empire’s most precious potatoes" expression.

He took one noble step forward and said, "I will come—"

And I panicked.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The hall fell into utter silence.

Theon, mid-scroll, froze with his mouth slightly open. Marshi, who had been aggressively licking his paws, stopped mid-lick and blinked slowly. Even the air stood still.

Papa paused. One brow raised. I took a deep breath and pointed at him with all the strength in my five-year-old arm.

"Papa... I know..."

I squinted, trying to remember how to sound very wise and mature. "You will pick me up again, I know it. You always do. I see it in your eyes, Papa. The moment I blink, you scoop me up like I’m made of golden bread."

He said nothing. He just blinked in confusion, and I continued.

"But I wanna walk. I wanna feel the ground with my feetsies. I wanna WADDLE WITH DIGNITY, Papa."

I threw my hands in the air like a street preacher.

"And my butt hurts, Papa."

Then I looked him dead in the eye and finished in a whisper:

"So... if you wanna come..." I jabbed a chubby finger in his direction. "Don’t. Pick. Me. Up."

Papa blinked.

Theon softly muttered, "...I told him to let her play."

Marshi went back to licking his paw.

And Papa... stared at me like I was a strange, fascinating creature who had just declared independence.

He chuckled.

CHUCKLED.

Like this was funny to him. Like my butt trauma was some kind of entertainment! This man... this tyrant... this thigh-of-steel wielder!

Then he walked toward me and kneeled to my level. Oh no. I braced myself. I knew that glint in his eyes.

He reached out and ruffled my hair. Not just a little tousle—no, no. He gave it the full storm-wind treatment like he was fluffing a chicken.

"Then... Little Majesty," he said with the gravity of a royal decree, "lead the way. But I am coming with you."

He stood up, all tall and regal again, and stretched out his hand toward me like a dramatic prince in a fairy tale. "Shall we go?"

Like the majestic beast he is, Marshi stood up instantly and fell into step behind me. At least someone listens to me around here.

Okay, maybe I almost drowned.

Then WHY EVEN ASK ME?!

"Let’s go to the flower garden," Papa said, very calmly, like he hadn’t just crushed my pond dreams into glittery pond sludge.

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