Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 126: A Crown in the Crowd

[Lavinia’s POV]

[Imperial Palace—Parade Grounds, Morning of the Battle Parade]

There were three royal carriages waiting in the courtyard, gleaming like they’d just been kissed by the sun.

One for the emperor and the princess.

One for Grand Duke Regis and Osric. And the last for Grandpa Thalein—who was already crying—and my brothers, Soren and Lysandre, who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Each carriage was drawn by white steeds so regal, I was half-convinced they had degrees in diplomacy and paid taxes on time. Their manes were braided with silver ribbons. Their hooves polished. They didn’t even blink without permission.

And then—the palace gates opened.

Not just opened—they groaned.

A deep, thunderous groan that rolled across the stone like the Empire itself was taking a long, slow breath.

I stood at the foot of our carriage, ten years old, wearing a crown that sparkled like frozen lightning and a dress that shimmered with every heartbeat.

This was it.

This was it.

The moment I stepped onto the platform and took my seat beside Papa, it hit me—not like a soft breeze, but like a tidal wave of fireworks inside my chest.

My heart was thumping. Loud. Fast. Wild.

I’ve seen nobles. Nobles have seen me. I’ve curtsied to diplomats and memorized palace maps by heart.

But this...

This was the first time I’d see the real people.

Our people.

And the first time they’d see me. Not the girl behind the palace windows.

Not the name in announcements.

Me.

A child they hoped for. A future they might believe in. A crown they’d one day follow.

I swallowed, the sound loud in my ears. Beside me, Papa sat with all the thunder and calm of a mountain. The man who could silence nobles with a single look. Command armies with a flick of his hand. And eat half a dessert without shame or apology.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

He just placed his hand over mine.

Warm. Steady. Fierce. And then—without fanfare, without warning—the carriage rolled forward.

Out of the gates.

Out into the world.

And the world?

It erupted.

It was like stepping into a storybook someone had enchanted just for me.

The wind carried the scent of fresh bread and wildflowers. The sky wore its brightest blue—not a cloud in sight—painted with streaks of gold left behind by soaring phoenix banners. Trumpets rang in the distance—not the screechy kind from palace drills, but the kind that made your heart swell until you forgot how to breathe.

And the people...

Oh, the people.

They were everywhere. Leaning from balconies. Perched on rooftops. Filling every step, every street, every corner with cheers that rolled like thunder made of joy.

And they were looking at me.

Me.

Their hands lifted to wave. Their smiles widened. Their eyes shimmered not just for the Emperor riding beside me—but for the ten-year-old girl in a moonlace crown, in a dress woven from silks that shimmered with every heartbeat, in shoes that pinched just slightly—but looked fantastic.

"LOOK AT HER!"

"She’s so tiny!"

"She’s our little Empress!"

I raised my hand slowly, exactly how I’d practiced in front of the mirror. Not too fast. Not too slow. Regal with just a hint of charm.

The crowd roared louder.

I was ten.

But in that moment?

I felt taller than the palace towers.

Papa sat beside me, silent as stone, powerful as a god. His hand rested on my shoulder—not like a show, not like a performance—but like it belonged there.

Like I belonged there.

His face was unreadable, as always—carved from marble and war—but I saw it. That one little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

The rare one.

The one that meant he was proud.

Marshi trotted just beside us, his tail flicking with noble drama, his mane glinting like starlight. Regal. Divine. Completely aware that the world was watching him.

A child gasped—"BEAST OF THE HEAVENS!"

One boy straight-up fainted, and his mother waved it off like, "He’ll be fine! Carry on!"

And then we reached it.

The Great Crescent Bridge. Spanning the river like a silver ribbon, stretched across the very heart of the city. And the cheers faded.

Softened.

Silenced.

I didn’t understand at first... until I looked down.

Below us, the river shimmered—not from sunlight, but from the glow of lanterns. Thousands of them, set adrift just moments before we arrived. Tiny gold flames drifting in slow circles, dancing like stars caught in a current.

Each one had a name.

Etched carefully, reverently.

Soldiers. Heroes. People who never made it home.

I sat straighter in the saddle. Papa placed a hand gently over his heart.

I followed.

And the entire city did the same.

A sea of stillness.

A shared breath.

A silent promise.

And for the first time in my life, I felt it. Truly felt it. What it meant to belong to something greater. This wasn’t just a parade. This was a living memory. A grief. A gratitude.

A kingdom honoring the ones who gave it breath.

My kingdom.

When we reached the plaza beyond the bridge, the silence shattered.

And the city came back to life.

Confetti exploded from the rooftops—silver, swirling like winter stars. The anthem of our house—Solis Cassiana—rose into the air, grand and soaring.

And then the sky changed.

A group of children released sky-kites into the air—dozens of them. Shaped like phoenixes. Shaped like blades. Shaped like dragons curled around the sun. The wind caught them and lifted them high—so high—they looked like little gods taking flight.

I blinked, staring up in awe.

"It’s... it’s beautiful," I breathed, barely hearing myself.

Papa looked down, the smallest smile breaking through his steel. "You like it?"

"I love it," I whispered, eyes wide.

He reached out and ruffled my hair, and I didn’t even protest. Because right then, it felt like the entire world had tilted into something golden.

And then—

Silence.

Again.

But this time... not reverent. Not gentle.

I turned, blinking. "Huh?"

Every single pair of eyes—thousands—were locked on us. On me and Papa.

Not cheering. Not shouting.

Just staring.

Mouths open.

Hearts... wide.

Their eyes were sparkling. Not just happy—mesmerized.

I turned back toward him, confused. "What... what happened? Why are they all staring like that?"

A quiet snort came from the left.

Ravick—stoic, terrifying Ravick—riding a black warhorse like it was born of nightmares, leaned closer, his voice low.

"They’re shocked," he said. "They’re... stunned. It’s the first time they’ve seen His Majesty show affection." ƒгeewёbnovel.com

He paused.

"Ever."

Oh.

Oh.

Right.

Because my people... they’d never thought the Emperor would ever have an heir. He was war and frost and strategy.

He wasn’t supposed to have softness.

He wasn’t supposed to love.

But here I was.

And here he was.

With his hand on my shoulder. And the whole world watching him love his daughter. A warm flutter rose in my chest. And this time, when I smiled at the people—

I smiled as their Princess.

Their little Empress.

And they smiled back.

It was like something out of a dream—warm, golden, sparkling at the edges. But then... something tugged at the corner of my vision.

A flicker.

A stillness within the swirl of celebration. My eyes caught on a little girl in the crowd.

She was standing near the front, her black hair neatly braided, her simple dress fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and both her hands were pressed over her heart like she was afraid it might leap out of her chest.

She looked... ordinary.

No silks. No jewelry. No noble crests.

But her eyes—her eyes were extraordinary. Black as night, but so bright they sparkled like stars dipped in candlelight.

And she was staring.

Not at me.

Not at Papa.

Not even at the phoenix kites still spiraling through the sky.

She was staring at—I followed her gaze.

She was looking at Osric.

Osric! Who was just behind us, tall and flawless.

The girl’s expression?

Mesmerized. Bedazzled. Absolutely thunderstruck.

I grinned, eyes twinkling.

"Wait..." I whispered under my breath. "Did she just... fall in love with Osric?"

I bit my lip, trying to contain a very un-royal snort.

Because of course she did.

To be fair, Osric was objectively too handsome to be allowed in public. Between his beautiful hair, that annoyingly perfect jawline, and the fact that he looked like a painting come to life every time he frowned, the poor girl never stood a chance.

Marshi glanced up at me, nose twitching like he knew I was up to mischief.

I leaned closer to him and whispered behind my gloved hand, "Start counting, Marshi. We’re gonna need a tally of the hearts Osric accidentally breaks today."

Marshi huffed like he was both amused and deeply unimpressed by the idea. And just like that... our Battle Parade came to an end.

But it wasn’t just an ending.

It was a beginning.

The sun hung low in the sky, turning the rooftops to gold. The crowds slowly dispersed, their cheers still echoing like music in the air. The lanterns drifted beneath the bridge, still glowing soft and warm. The phoenix kites tangled in clouds.

And I sat tall on my carriage—hair wind-tossed, cheeks flushed, moonlace crown catching the light—feeling like I had touched a thousand hearts today.

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