Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 95

Chapter 95: Cassius and His Star

[Cassius’s Pov]

Tch. Pathetic.

Every single one of them approaches me with the same nauseating smile and the same syrupy tone, as if their hollow praises could please me.

"Happy birthday, Your Majesty," they chirp, voices as fake as their powdered faces and twice as irritating.

It’s been exactly ten minutes since this farce began, and I already wish the ground would open up and devour the entire hall.

Ten minutes of meaningless chatter. Of cowardly nobles bowing so low, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll need to summon a physician to reattach their heads.

Idiots. All of them.

Their loyalty is as thin as the wine in their goblets and just as bitter once you get past the surface.

My fingers drum against the armrest of the throne—slow, steady, a metronome of barely contained irritation. They keep bowing. They keep smiling. They keep repeating the same brainless script like enchanted parrots.

"Oh, Your Majesty, you haven’t aged a day!"

"Oh, Your Majesty, may your reign be as glorious as your gaze is sharp!"

"Oh, Your Majesty, your aura today is so... commanding!"

Tch. Of course it is. I am the Emperor.

And this cloak—this ridiculous, jewel-studded cloak—glinting like I’ve been wrapped in a damn festival banner.

Lavinia picked it. Of course she did.

"Wear this one, Papa! You’ll look shiny like a birthday star!"

A birthday star. I should’ve tossed it into the fireplace and set the drapes ablaze just to make a point. But...

She smiled when she said it.

So here I sit. An emperor feared by everyone. Wrapped in enough gems to blind a nation.

Looking like a warlord dipped in glitter.

Across the hall, Regis—the ever-glowing Grand Duke—prances about like he’s the one being celebrated. Laughing. Grinning. Throwing his hands like he’s retelling the tale of how he once slayed ten dragons with a silver spoon at supper.

The crowd around him is enraptured. Giggling. Clapping. As if someone’s slipped madness into their champagne.

I narrow my eyes, my jaw ticking.

What is he mumbling now?

He looks over. Sees me. Smiles. Beams. Like a lunatic who just found gold in the latrine.

The man has absolutely no shame.

"Your Majesty," some trembling noble steps forward, bowing so low I hear something crack. "May I extend my heartfelt wishes for your continued prosperity and unmatched strength. The empire thrives beneath your just rule—"

I nod once. Just enough to keep the leech from fainting.

But I don’t hear a word. My mind is elsewhere.

Where is she?

She should have arrived by now. The entire reason I’m tolerating this wretched circus is for her.

"Your Majesty," another voice croons like a snake on velvet, "The cake today is said to be crafted by the royal patissier himself—twelve layers of gold-dusted delight. Shall we—"

I turn my head slowly. He freezes mid-sentence.

Twelve?

"I told you," I say, my voice dangerously low, "fifteen layers."

He pales instantly, stammering, "I-I apologize, Your Majesty—I will have it corrected immediately—"

I sigh. Long. Exhausted. There’s a pulse behind my temple now.

"Just... get lost," I mutter.

The fool bows again—too fast—and scurries away before I change my mind.

Theon, loyal and long-suffering, stands beside my throne like a statue carved from boredom. His eyes flick toward me, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.

Where is my daughter?

"Shouldn’t she be here already?" I murmur, just low enough for Theon to hear.

Theon exhales beside me, the sound quiet but heavy. "She should be arriving, Your Majesty."

I drag in a sharp.

This hall is too loud. Too bright. Too full of fools.

My patience thins like stretched glass—ready to shatter with one more useless toast or trembling compliment.

And then—

"ANNOUNCING HER HIGHNESS LAVINIA DEVREUX, THE ONLY PRINCESS OF THE EMPIRE."

The herald’s voice rings out like a blade striking stone. The entire hall stills.

"Finally," Theon mutters under his breath.

Heads whip toward the grand doors at the end of the marble hall. The music falters. Goblets pause mid-air. Even Regis stops his infernal laughing.

And then—

The doors open.

And there she is.

My daughter.

My Lavinia.

She walks into the hall as if she owns it—no, as if she were born to rule it.

At barely seven years old, she commands more presence than half the generals in my war councils. Each step she takes is deliberate and poised, like a queen descending her throne to greet her people—not a child arriving at her birthday celebration.

Behind her, Ravick, the empire’s strongest black knight, strides with the same discipline he’d give a battlefield. His hand rests lightly on his sword hilt—not to threaten, but to promise. The nobles know what it means.

He serves her.

And then there’s Marshmallow.

But my daughter never needed to bow to anything either. She didn’t tame him. She earned him.

"She’s walking with the Divine Beast—"

"By the stars, she’s tamed it—at her age?"

"Is that Sir Ravick with her?"

"She looks like—like a sovereign already."

"She’s the Emperor’s blood. Of course she does."

Let them see. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Let them witness the daughter of the Empire—the heir to my blood, my power, and my throne.

Lavinia Devreux.

She looked at me then—eyes locking onto mine with such poise it startled something deep in my chest. And then... she smiled. That soft, confident smile of hers, sweetened with just enough smugness to remind the world that she knows exactly who she is.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify