Too Lazy to be a Villainess
Chapter 135: The Day I Became His Empire

Chapter 135: The Day I Became His Empire

[Lavinia’s POV]

[Banquet Hall—Where Vows Become History]

The silence stretched. So did the tension. Even the chandeliers seemed to lean in, as if the palace itself was holding its breath. No orchestra. No murmurs. No movement—except one.

Osric.

Still kneeling. Still holding his sword—offered with both hands, like an ancient rite brought back to life.

And me?

I wasn’t sure if I was breathing. My fingers trembled just enough for me to feel it. Everyone was watching—everyone. Nobles, knights, servants, even the tapestries, I swear.

And then—

"Lavinia."

Papa’s voice.

Cold. Commanding. Familiar. But this time, it held something else—something I couldn’t name. I turned slowly. He didn’t look at me.

His gaze was fixed on Osric like he wanted to burn through the boy’s soul.

Then he spoke. "Do it."

I blinked. "What?"

His voice didn’t falter. "If he wants to give his oath... accept it. Let the Empire bear witness."

The words hit harder than I expected.

Was he serious?

Papa—the man who once threatened to outlaw romance as a concept—was telling me to accept the vow of a boy who made his eye twitch just by standing six inches too close?

I turned back to Osric.

He was already lifting the sword from the floor, holding it up with both hands, arms steady, gaze lowered—not out of submission, but respect. Complete, deliberate, terrifyingly real respect.

He bowed his head slightly. Offering it again.

Offering himself again.

My heart skipped. My voice caught somewhere between my ribs and history.

"You still have a chance to walk away," I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

He didn’t. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He simply smiled—softly, almost fondly—and bowed again, silently saying: I already made my choice.

Something shifted inside me then. Like a page turning in a book, I didn’t realize I’d been writing my entire life.

My hand reached out.

I took the sword.

It was warm. Not from metal. From intent. From promise. I stepped closer, the marble echoing softly beneath my steps, until I stood before him—crown princess to heir. Girl to boy. Shielded to shield.

I lifted the blade and gently rested its flat against his shoulder. First the right. Then the left.

My voice was quiet.

But it didn’t shake.

"By the blood of Everheart and the will of Elarion," I began, eyes on his bowed head, "I, Lavinia Devereux, accept your oath."

Osric’s fingers tightened slightly against his knee.

"From this moment, you are my sworn shield," I continued, words flowing like a river I didn’t know I could speak from. "My sword in shadow. My guard in light. My strength where I falter... and my silence when I cannot speak."

A murmur rippled through the hall.

I kept going. "You will not answer to the court. Nor the crown. Only to me."

I lowered the sword, the blade now pointed to the floor between us.

"I accept your vow, Osric of Everheart... and I place my trust in your hands."

The room erupted—but not in sound.

In tension. In disbelief.

Osric finally looked up, and at that moment, our eyes locked—again.

But this time... it was different. There was something in his gaze.

Something sharp. Something bright. Something that shimmered like steel dipped in moonlight—beautiful, but dangerous.

It hit my chest like a forgotten name whispered in a dream. Unfamiliar. Heavy. Intimate.

And I felt it—not just in my breath, but in my bones. This wasn’t just a vow.

This was a shift. A turning point. A stone dropped into the center of a still lake—and the ripples? They were only just beginning.

There was something behind those eyes. Something he wasn’t saying. A secret pressed into the corners of his soul—kept quiet, locked behind princely smiles and perfectly timed nods. A truth he carried alone.

He looked at me like I was the center of something.

And yet... I had no idea what.

Behind us, the silence of the hall slowly started to crumble. Murmurs. Whispers. A few uneasy shuffles. But the weight in the air hadn’t lifted—not fully. It clung to the chandeliers. To the tapestries. To the very breath of the empire watching us.

And then—Papa exhaled.

Slowly. Too slowly.

He turned without a word and walked away.

He looked... annoyed. No—pissed. Like he wanted to unsheathe every sword in the room and stab the silence itself.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just walked.

Because in our world...an oath isn’t just a pretty gesture. It’s not a poetic flourish or romantic display.

It’s not flowers. It’s not dances. It’s not fluttering fans.

No.

In the Empire of Elarion... An oath is law.

And in the simplest, most brutal terms—It means: I am holding Osric on a leash from now on.

A leash that only I can touch. Only I can command. Only I can release.

From now on, whatever happens to me—He bears it.

If I lie... he answers. If I betray... he bleeds. If I fall... he might never get up again. And if I, for even one second, become the reason for a crime or a war?

He will be punished for it.

That’s what the vow means, and no one can unbind it.

Not even him.

The words may have sounded beautiful. Strong. Noble.

But in truth?

They’re dangerous.

They’re deadly.

They are like a flower—wrapped in thorns. And every step we take together from here on?

Might bleed.

And the terrifying part?

In the novel I remember... Osric never made an oath to anyone.

Not even the heroine. Not even when she saved him. Not even when they fell in love. He was proud. Cold. Controlled. A sword with no leash. A wolf with no master.

He was the one people swore to—not the other way around.

The only person who ever knelt and pledged fealty in the entire empire... was Ravick.

To my Papa.

But Osric?

He was never meant to kneel. Never meant to give his sword. Never meant to say my name in an oath.

So why?

Why did he do it? What changed?

What was it about me—that made him rewrite the script?

The answer wasn’t written in the pages I knew. The answer wasn’t in the prophecies or plotlines.

No.

The answer...lived only in his eyes, and whatever it was—he wasn’t telling me yet.

***

[Ten Days Later—Lavinia’s Private Garden | Royal Afternoon]

It had been ten days.

Ten entire days since Osric Valerius Everheart knelt before me like some ancient knight from a forgotten legend and vowed his life to mine.

Ten days since the banquet ended in shocked gasps, frozen violins, and Papa needing an emergency diplomatic intervention (read: Grandpa Gregor handing him a glass of wine and silently judging him into calming down).

And yet—

We’re still in the headlines.

I stared at the newest edition of The Solstice Gazette, the headline so bold it practically screamed:

"BREAKING: THE FUTURE HEIR OF EVERHEART TAKES LIFE-BINDING OATH TO THE CROWN PRINCESS!"

I sighed and dropped the paper dramatically onto the garden table.

"Still discussing it," I muttered, popping a heart-shaped cookie into my mouth like it was an anti-anxiety pill. "Ten days, Osric. Ten. Days. Do you ever plan to give the empire a break?"

Across from me, the aforementioned problem child—Osric Everheart, professional vow-swearer and part-time script destroyer—sat calmly under the shade of a pear blossom tree, sipping tea and flipping pages of a thick lawbook like he hadn’t publicly upended the Empire’s entire romantic subplot.

He looked up at me with perfect, unbothered serenity. "Did you say something, Lavi?"

Yes. I said, ARE YOU NORMAL?

Just look at him sipping tea calmly and reading a book on imperial law. Like he hadn’t just altered the fate of an entire fictional world.

I leaned forward, hands folded, lips twitching. "So... are you ever going to tell me why you took that oath?"

He didn’t even flinch. "NO."

"Ugh!" I groaned, leaning back in my chair like the world betrayed me. "You are so stubborn."

He looked up and smiled with that calm, infuriating charm. "Thanks for the praise, Your Highness."

Gods. He’s impossible.

I sighed and stretched my legs beneath the table, staring up at the blue sky peeking through the trees.

Now I really wonder... how he’s going to meet the actual female lead of this story.

Because in the original story, Osric only met her during the war. He was sent to the Northern front—and that’s where he met her after the war while he roamed some village.

The girl meant to defrost his icicle heart. Bold. Bright. Unapologetically herself. The girl who wasn’t afraid of his coldness.

The one who fell in love with him at first sight.

The one who changed him. The girl who was always meant to become the Duchess of Everheart in the end.

Elaenia Valcorin.

The girl who is sharp-witted and magnetic in every room she walks into.

The true heroine.

The real one.

But now?

Now, Osric can’t even go to war without mine or Papa’s permission—because of the oath.

Because of me.

Now he’s bound to me.

By sword.

By vow.

By choice.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t even know what he’s done. He doesn’t know he was never supposed to kneel in front of the villainess.

He doesn’t know he’s completely turned the story into something else entirely. I mean—I know the story’s already changed so much.

I was supposed to be the neglected daughter. The forgotten royal. The villainess.

But instead?

Papa adores me. The Empire whispers my name with reverence instead of disdain. I’m not hated. I’m not cast aside.

And now?

...I’m starting to wonder—

If this story has already changed too much to ever go back.

[THE END OF SEASON ONE]