Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 143: My Man, My Rules, My Sanity—Barely

[Lavinia’s POV—Dawnspire Wing—Her Chamber, Moments After Learning Osric is in the Dungeon]

"At the dungeon," Papa said flatly.

No emotion. No hesitation. Just cold, merciless steel wrapped in fatherly disappointment.

I blinked.

Did... did I hear that right?

Maybe my ears went blind—wait, no, I mean deaf. Gods, I can’t even think straight

Because surely I did not just hear the words "Osric" and "dungeon" in the same breath.

I gawked at Papa, brain refusing to process. And then, louder than I meant, my cracked voice tore the silence—

"WH—WHAT?!"

Papa didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Just stood there like a judgmental statue.

I stared at him, heart stammering in a rhythm only betrayal could write. "Why?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

And of course, he delivered it with the emotion of a dying glacier.

"Because he failed to protect you."

... Excuse me???

I went so silent you could hear my soul screaming.

Then—

"ARE YOU CRAZ—COUGH—AUGH—!" I doubled over, clutching my throat. "God, my throat hurts... damn it!"

Papa instantly panicked. "Lavinia!"

Brother Lysandre jumped in like a knight in slightly wrinkled robes. "Why are you yelling!?" he chided, thrusting a cup of water in my hands. Then he turned to Grandpa Thalein and jabbed a finger toward my neck like an indignant chicken. "Uncle! Heal her throat! She’s being dramatic and broken!"

Grandpa Thalein gasped like someone just insulted elven wine. "My radiant child’s voice is compromised?!"

With a flourish worthy of a forest god, he placed his glowing hands on my throat. Golden magic pulsed gently against my skin—warm and soothing like sunshine and secrets—and within seconds, my throat was blissfully normal again.

I coughed once, experimentally. "Nice."

Then I turned back to Papa. "Why would you do that?" I asked, now in perfect, high-drama vocal clarity.

Papa sighed, already looking tired, like my very question added ten years to his soul. "Just like I said. He failed to protect you. And he deserves punishment."

My jaw dropped. "Punishment? Papa, I didn’t even know I was going to be poisoned! Caelum was there too, and none of us noticed! What, should we all take turns in the dungeon?"

Papa scoffed. Scoffed. Like I was a naive child suggesting we pardon a known traitor for wearing mismatched shoes.

"It’s still his fault," he muttered.

I blinked at him.

"Wow." He sounded like he was itching for a reason to lock Osric up. Did the poor man breathe wrong in his presence or something?

"Alright..." I huffed, leaning back against my pillow. "Release him."

Papa’s face turned colder than a snowstorm in the Cloudspine Mountains. "He still hasn’t received his punishment."

I groaned. "Papa, he’s in the dungeon. For a completely absurd, logic-defying reason. That’s punishment enough!"

Papa exhaled through his nose like an offended basilisk. I turned to Ravick, who’d been pretending to be a decorative statue since this whole mess began.

"Ravick, please release Osric."

He looked at Papa.

Of course he did.

I narrowed my eyes. "He’s my shadow. My person. My man. I have the right to decide whether he deserves punishment, don’t I? Am I right, Papa?"

Papa’s jaw twitched.

"Alright," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Do whatever you want."

And then he muttered under his breath—still loud enough for the gods and everyone in the room to hear:

"Just... don’t call him your man. It disgusts me."

And with that, he swept out of the chamber like an offended opera villain, golden cloak flaring behind him.

I stared at the door.

"...Wow," I deadpanned. "He really said ’disgusts me,’ huh?"

"Forget him, my precious," Grandpa Thalein sniffed dramatically, wiping away nonexistent tears. "Your father is a certified crazy person."

Lysandre and Theodore both nodded solemnly.

But then Lysandre cleared his throat, folded his arms, and gave me that look—the one older brothers save for lectures wrapped in false wisdom.

"But," he said sagely, "he’s right about one thing."

Everyone turned.

I raised an eyebrow. "Which part? The part where he puts my person in dungeons for not being psychic?"

Lysandre pressed his fingers together like a monk. "The part where you shouldn’t call someone your man so carelessly."

Grandpa Thalein nodded with comically grave agreement. "Absolutely. That phrase carries weight, my radiant blossom. Ancient weight. like you both are fated to be together."

Brother Theodore crossed his arms, looking pained. "I agree."

I stared at them all.

Then I slumped back on my pillows.

"Oh gods," I muttered. "All of you are insufferable."

Grandpa Thalein kissed my forehead.

"Yet you love us anyway."

I groaned into my blanket. "I really need Osric back... And where in the ten burning heavens is my divine beast? I need snuggles, sarcasm, and a creature who doesn’t throw people in dungeons."

***

[Location: The Dungeons—Osric’s POV]

"You failed to protect her again..."

The Emperor’s voice wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind.

Again.

What did he mean by again?

This was the first time anything like this had happened in front of me. The first time I’d watched her crumble like that, unconscious and pale, her life teetering on the edge while I stood—useless.

Or...

No.

I swallowed hard.

...Unless the Emperor is having those nightmares, too.

My heart thudded dully in my chest.

Prophecies.

Are we both seeing them?

Are his nights haunted like mine—by visions of her poisoned lips, her fading breath, the way her hands always reach for someone... anyone... and always fall short?

My head dropped back against the cold stone wall. The chill seeped into my skin like a reminder.

"I don’t know what’s happening anymore..." I muttered. "I just hope the Princess... is cured."

That’s all I wanted.

Just for her to open her eyes again. To sit up and glare at me. Call me dramatic. Boss me around with that voice full of fire and pride.

But something isn’t right. None of this is right.

In all those visions—those nightmares or prophecies or whatever curse has been plaguing my sleep—Caelum was always the one who poisoned her. It always happened after her coming-of-age ceremony.

So why did it change?

Why now?

Why before?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Are the visions shifting? Is fate rewriting itself?

I don’t know.

All I know is this—there’s a rat in the palace. Someone tried to kill her.

And I’m going to find them.

I pushed up from where I sat and murmured to myself, "First... I have to catch the rat who dared poison her."

That’s when I heard it—a familiar voice, dry and rumbling like crushed gravel.

"Well. Are you enjoying your stay, son?"

I turned sharply.

There he was.

My father—standing outside the cell doors like the Grand Duke he was, back straight, expression unreadable... And yet, something about his gaze was different.

"Father," I breathed. I stood immediately. "The Princess—how is she? Is she—?"

"She’s alive," he interrupted, voice heavy with something I couldn’t name. "The elf healer was summoned. He’s with her now. Healing her."

Relief hit me like wind in a storm. My knees nearly buckled. "Then... she’ll be okay. She’ll be back soon."

He didn’t respond to that. He just looked at me for a long moment. Not as a commander or a nobleman. Just... a father.

"Osric," he said softly. "I’ll ask you again."

I met his gaze.

His voice deepened. "Why did you take the oath?"

I froze.

A thousand answers crowded my mouth—none of them true.

I couldn’t tell him about the dreams. About the way I wake up gasping every night, clutching my chest like the poison hit me instead of her. About how I’ve seen her die again and again and again.

How could I explain that?

"...Just like I said," I murmured. "I wanted to protect the Princess. That’s all."

But he didn’t even let me finish.

"You’re lying."

His voice didn’t rise, but it cut through me sharper than any blade.

My breath caught.

"I know you," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "I raised you, Osric. From the day you could walk to the day you picked up that sword—you’ve never been able to lie to me. Not really."

My chest tightened. I dropped my eyes to the stone floor. Ashamed. Cornered.

But he didn’t press.

Instead, he sighed, softer now.

"It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me," he said. "But hear this—"

I looked up.

"Make sure," he said quietly, "that you never find yourself locked in this place again. Not while I’m still breathing."

And just like that—he wasn’t the Grand Duke anymore.

He was just my father.

The man who raised me. Trained me. Held me upright when I could barely stand. The one who taught me the sword and the meaning of loyalty.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just looked at him, throat tight with all the words I didn’t know how to say.

He turned to leave.

"The oath you took," he said, pausing at the stairway, "bears more consequences than even you understand. So do your job properly, Osric. Not just for her... but for yourself."

I straightened, shoulders squaring.

"Yes, Father," I said quietly.

And then—

Footsteps echoed again, steady and purposeful.

Ravick.

He emerged from the shadows like he’d been carved from the stone walls themselves. Cold, unreadable, precise.

His eyes locked onto mine for a breathless second—just long enough to stir something uncertain in my chest—before he turned to my father and bowed respectfully.

"My lord," he said. "The Princess has awakened."

My heart skipped.

"Really?" The word tumbled out of me—raw, disbelieving.

He gave me a single nod, and then—without ceremony—slid a heavy iron key into the lock.

The door creaked open.

"She’s waiting for you."

I didn’t wait for permission.

I nodded once—barely—and then I moved.

Fast. Wordless.

I didn’t look back.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

I just ran.

Because she was awake.

Because she was safe.

And truly...

What more could I possibly want?