Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 373

Chapter 373: Blackmailing Father’s

[Lavinia’s Pov—The Next Morning—Lavinia’s Chamber]

The morning arrived with peaceful mercy.

Sunlight slipped through the tall windows of my chamber in slow, golden strands—soft, warm, and utterly inappropriate for the chaos waiting beyond the palace walls. Somewhere far below, bells chimed. Servants moved. The empire breathed.

And beside me—I felt it before I saw it.

Warmth and steady.

Haldor.

He lay on his side, close but careful even in sleep, one arm bent awkwardly as if he’d fallen asleep mid-thought, guarding me out of habit. His hair was a mess—completely unlike the disciplined captain the world knew—and his expression was... peaceful.

"He looks like a child," I mumbled.

I shifted slightly, the sheets whispering beneath me—and his brows furrowed at once.

Still a soldier. Still alert. Even in sleep.

His eyes opened slowly, his brain processing the scene.

. . .

. . .

Then widened.

"Y–Your Highness—" he froze, color rushing to his cheeks as memory caught up with him all at once. "I—last night—I didn’t mean to—"

I raised a finger.

"Don’t," I said softly.

He stopped immediately. As if the word itself had snapped a command into place.

I smiled then. Not teasing. Not commanding, just certain.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," I continued gently. "You just... stayed."

His breath hitched—sharp and quiet—as if those words had struck deeper than any reprimand ever could. For a heartbeat, he only looked at me. Then he nodded once, slow and sincere, like a man accepting something precious he hadn’t dared hope for.

I stretched my arms lazily, the morning light catching the edge of the sheets."Now," I added, far too casually, "go and get ready."

He blinked. "R–Ready, Your Highness?"

"Yes," I said, suppressing a smile. "We have to convince our fathers."

That did it.

He slid off the bed immediately—too quickly—boots somehow already in his hands, posture snapping straight as a blade. He bowed so fast I was half afraid he’d knock himself unconscious and then bolted for the door like the fate of the empire itself was chasing him.

The door shut with a soft click.

I stared at it for a moment.

Then snorted.

"He’s way too fast when he’s shy," I muttered to myself.

I slid off the bed, smoothing my hair, rolling my shoulders like someone preparing for battle—not with swords, but with stubborn, overprotective, tyrannical fathers.

Two of them.

I glanced at my reflection, eyes bright, resolve steady.

"Well," I murmured, lips curving into a dangerous smile, "let’s see how this goes."

***

[Later—Emperor’s Office—Imperial Palace]

"NO!!!!!"

The shout came in perfect, horrifying unison.

Two voices. Two fathers of stubbornness. One office that is now vibrating with pure refusal. Haldor stood beside me—very straight, very silent, very doomed-looking—and we both stared at our fathers as if we’d just been sentenced without a trial.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

"...I didn’t even say anything," I said weakly.

Papa leaned forward, resting his chin on both palms, eyes sharp enough to peel paint off the walls. Invisible daggers flew from his gaze.

"You don’t have to say anything when there is a very clear sign that you came here to talk about your—" his eyes snapped to Haldor, "—and his marriage. And let me inform you, my dear daughter, "I. AM. AGAINST. THIS. UNION."

. . .

. . .

Wow... I can’t believe he said everything in Caps.

General Luke didn’t even hesitate. He crossed his arms, nodded grimly, and said, "It pains me to agree with His Majesty—truly, deeply—but I agree."

He looked directly at me.

"I. AM. AGAINST. THIS. UNION. TOO."

Silence. Heavy. Thick. Oppressive. Haldor and I stood there like two school children caught sneaking into the kitchen at midnight—except the crime was marriage, and the punishment looked eternal.

I glanced sideways at Haldor; he glanced back at me. We shared the same thought:

I can’t believe we have to convince our fathers for our marriage. Is this really happening?

"Papa," I began carefully, "we haven’t even explained—"

"No explanations," Papa cut in instantly. "Explanations lead to justifications. Justifications lead to weddings."

Luke nodded solemnly. "And weddings lead to emotional damage."

I stared at him. "General... what?"

"My son," Luke said gravely, gesturing to Haldor, "is innocent. Kind. Tragically soft-hearted, he cannot bear a tyrant family like you."

I raised an eyebrow. "He’s a war captain. He kills people like it’s nothing."

"It’s totally a different thing," Luke said. "And now look what you’ve done to him."

Haldor stiffened. "Father—"

"You are blushing," Luke accused.

Haldor flushed immediately. "I—That’s not—"

Papa slammed his hand on the desk. "You’re not allowed to blush in front of my daughter."

I groaned. "Papa, you’re being dramatic; this is not a crime."

"It absolutely is," Papa snapped. "You are my daughter."

"And he is my son," Luke added.

"And together," Papa continued, glaring between us, "you are attempting to create chaos."

I crossed my arms. "We’re asking permission. Respectfully. Properly. Like responsible adults."

Papa laughed—once. Darkly, "Oh, that’s adorable."

Luke nodded. "Truly. Very optimistic."

Haldor cleared his throat, his voice calm but firm. "Your Majesty. Father. With respect—"

"NO," both men barked again, perfectly synchronized.

Haldor shut his mouth immediately. I sighed, "Why do I feel like we’re criminals?"

Papa leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving us. "Because you are attempting to steal my peace and he’s attempting to steal my daughter."

Oh. So that’s how we’re playing this.

"...then I suppose we have no choice but to choose that option."

I smirked wickedly and utterly relaxed. "I’ll run away with Haldor."

I could practically hear Papa imagining it—and absolutely hating it. His daughter. On a white horse. Running away like a romantic menace.

"You two are conspiring," he growled.

I smiled brightly. "So... shall we discuss a proper wedding instead?"

Silence again.

Longer this time.

Two broody fathers. One unrepentant princess. One very willing captain. And somewhere between threats, white horses, and stubborn pride—The tide was finally starting to turn.

Still... neither of them spoke.

"Alright, Papa..." I said, my tone softening—not weak, just honest.

I stepped closer to him, close enough that he couldn’t pretend this was just politics.

"I know you hate the idea of me getting married," I continued gently. "No father of a daughter likes that thought. Especially not you." A faint smile tugged at my lips. "But let’s think practically for once."

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

"The Devereux line is necessary for this empire," I said. "And it’s not like you have an extra son hidden somewhere. I’m the only one who can bring the next Emperor or Empress."

He groaned under his breath.

"And more importantly," I went on, "no one in this empire is suitable as my husband—or as Crown Prince—except Haldor and...Osric."

Papa’s glare turned lethal, "Do not utter that idiot Grand Duke’s name in front of me."

I nodded immediately. "Yes. See? Exactly my point."

That earned me a sharp look—but he was listening.

"You don’t want Osric beside me. And I don’t want him either. But Haldor?" I glanced back at the man standing quietly behind me. "He will never conspire against the throne. He’s loyal to a fault. He’s honest. And he’s already chosen me over everything else."

Papa rubbed his face with both hands.

"I’m not leaving your side, I’ll still be here. Haldor will be here too. Nothing changes—except we will had him in our family tree."

The room went quiet again. But this time... it wasn’t hostile.

Then I turned.

"And you, General Luke."

He stiffened immediately.

"You keep saying your son can’t survive around tyrants," I said, raising a brow. "But let me remind you of something."

I pointed straight at Haldor.

"That man—your son—separates enemy heads like a seasoned executioner during the war. Haven’t you seen him on the battlefield? Stop pretending he’s some fragile, soft-hearted child. He can absolutely survive with me, and more importantly—" my voice lowered, sharper now, "he loves me."

Haldor’s breath caught.

I didn’t look away from Luke.

"Are you really going to let your son’s heart break?" I asked quietly.

That did it.

Luke’s shoulders sagged. Papa sighed deeply—long, dramatic, defeated.

"...Alright," Papa muttered. "I suppose it’s not the worst fate this empire could suffer."

My smile broke free instantly.

Luke closed his eyes and exhaled. "I agree. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly."

I didn’t give them time to regret it. I threw my arms around Papa. "Oh, I love you so much, Papa."

He stiffened, then sighed, patting my back. "You are impossible."

I pulled back, eyes shining. And just like that—Against stubborn pride, tyrant instincts, and two overprotective fathers—We won.

The empire had its future Crown Prince and I had chosen my partner.