Too Lazy to be a Villainess Chapter 51: Green-Haired Men and Family Secrets (Probably)

I noticed everyone in the eting room today—Grand-Duke Regis, Grandpa Gregor, Nanny, Ravick, Theon, Marella, and Osric—but still... The fluttery feeling didn’t go away.

In fact, the longer that weird green-haired man kept staring at , the worse it got. Not in a bad way. Just... in an "I need to dramatically collapse onto a chaise lounge and whisper, ’What is the aning of this?’" kind of way.

I scooted a little closer to Papa’s chest and narrowed my eyes. Marshmallow plodded over and flopped right beside Papa’s chair like a bodyguard made of pudding.

Now the green-haired man blinked at Marshmallow, and now his eyes widened.

Ah. Maybe that’s what shocked him.

Never seen a divine animal before? Or just surprised it looks like a living rice bun with legs?

He looked more stunned the longer he stared. Like he couldn’t decide whether Marshmallow was sacred or snackable.

But then... he looked back at .

And suddenly, his eyes were full of... sparkles? No, worse. LOVE. The kind you find in bad romance novels. The kind where the guy sees the heroine across the room and says sothing dramatic like, "I’ve been waiting for you all my life."

Except I was three.

I an, I don’t mind being admired. I’m beautiful. It’s fine. But this?

This man was CLEARLY shooting love lasers from his eyeballs.

Weirdo alert.

He took a step forward, his voice gentle and weirdly soft. "Your Majesty—"

But before he could finish, Grand Duke Regis glided between them like a butler-slash-bouncer with a smile so elegant it felt suspicious.

"I may excuse you," he said politely, "but I think it’s better His Majesty speaks with the Princess... alone."

Huh? I tilted my head like a confused puppy. What’s this? What’s going on? Why does it suddenly feel like a conspiracy is being slow-cooked around ?

Even Theon chid in, casually placing a hand on the green-haired man’s shoulder. "Yes... I agree. Perhaps it’s ti we gave them so privacy."

Everyone nodded. Just like that.

Even Osric looked confused, his brows furrowed as he followed the adults out like a sheep in a flock.

Now I feel like I wanted to grab soone and shout, "EXCUSE , WHAT IS HAPPENING?" But Papa was still warm, and I was too tired for drama.

As the door closed behind them, I was left alone with Papa. Well, alone except for Marshmallow, who was snoring dramatically like he wanted to be cast in a theater play about naps.

And then...

I peeked over again. The green-haired man hadn’t taken his eyes off . Right before the door shut completely, I caught one last glimpse of him staring at like—

Like he’d just found the aning of life...in a three-year-old girl.

Then Papa patted my head gently. "Do you want sothing?"

I blinked up at him, half-lting into his chest. "No... I better not."

He raised a brow. "Why? Don’t you like snacks?"

I pointed dramatically at Marshmallow, sprawled out like a fainted fluffy dumpling. "That guy over there? The second he senses snacks, he turns into a beast of gluttony. He’ll devour everything before I even lift a finger."

Papa looked over and deadpanned, "I see. Is that why he looks like a pig now?"

I nodded solemnly. "Yes. He’s lost the way of the divine."

We both fell into a comfortable silence, leaning against his chest, his hand still stroking my hair gently. My eyelids fluttered... Sleep was so close, like a soft blanket being pulled over my brain.

And then—

"Do you miss your mother, Lavinia?"

...HUH?

I blinked, hard. My almost-sleepy brain did a full restart.

What kind of random character-developnt-triggering question was that?

My eyes narrowed suspiciously as I stared up at Papa’s face. He looked perfectly calm, stroking my hair like he hadn’t just dropped an emotional bomb out of nowhere. I tilted my head to analyze.

Papa looked completely normal. No strange expression. No dramatic violin music. Nothing.

Just a casual question tossed like a stone into a peaceful lake. I plopped my cheek back on his chest, now wide awake.

Hmm... very suspicious.

"... I don’t know who my mother is, Papa," I said, after a beat, flopping back onto his chest with a soft plop. "I’ve never seen her."

Papa was quiet.

"So," I continued, "how would I miss soone who doesn’t even exist in my life?"

He looked a little taken aback. Then he smiled softly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It was true, though. I’d never heard whispers, never seen a portrait, never even accidentally stumbled on a hint. Not even a passing ntion in those gossiping maids’ tea sessions.

But I think Mothers were for other people.

As far as I knew—from both palace rumors and the original novel plot—so maid gave birth to . That was it. End of footnote.

And honestly? It didn’t matter. Papa and the rest of the people in the palace gave everything a mother could. Food, warmth, love, and the occasional chaos. All the essentials.

So no, I didn’t miss her. There was no hole in my heart or longing sighs while staring at the moon. I was fine. Perfectly fine.

But—

"Still... you need to know about the woman who gave birth to you," Papa said, interrupting my confident monologue.

I looked at him.

Then, he reached beside his chair and pulled out a slim stack of papers. "This is her."

Huh? her?

I blinked. I don’t know why, but my hands moved on their own, reaching out like I was being drawn by magic. He placed the top page gently in my hands. And there she was.

The woman who gave birth to .

She had long, dark hair that shimred like ink under candlelight, and eyes so green they looked like forest leaves after rain. Her features were sharp yet soft—graceful, poised, and elegant. Not the kind of face that scread "common maid."

There was sothing... different about her.

Sothing almost otherworldly. And for a full ten seconds, I couldn’t say anything. I just stared.

She was really gorgeous. And then it hit .

I GOT GOOD GENES. I AN, LOOK AT HER. I WAS DESTINED TO BE STUNNING.

My heart swelled with so much pride I thought I might explode. I an, forget modesty—this was destiny. I was obviously created by the universe to bless the empire with cuteness and future beauty.

But then I noticed sothing else.

She had the sa eyes as the green-haired man. Sa shade of soft, glowy green—like enchanted forest leaves after rain. My brain started doing that suspicious toddler math. Pretty mother... green-haired man... Both had shiny green eyes... and they were both staring at like I was the moon and a cookie combined.

Huh. Suspicious.

Papa cleared his throat, still holding in his lap. "Lavinia," he said, his voice gentler than usual, "this is Lady Sylvaine, emissary from the Kingdom of Nivale."

Nivale?

Never heard of it. Which wasn’t saying much, okay? I’m three. My world knowledge is mostly cookies, naps, and dramatic flair.

But still... Nivale?

That na sounded distant. Elegant. Icy, maybe?

I tilted my head, suspicious. "Papa, I am three. I never heard of such a kingdom."

Papa chuckled and patted my back. "It’s an elven kingdom in the far north."

...

Excuse , what?

Elven kingdom?!

ELVEN.

My whole tiny body stiffened in his arms like I’d just been dunked in cold water. Slowly, I turned my head at the picture I was holding, back to stare at Lady Sylvaine...I an at my birth mother’s picture again.

She was still looking at . Elegant. Poised. But—

"...She doesn’t look like an elf," I mumbled suspiciously, squinting harder. "Where are the pointy ears?"

Papa huffed a soft laugh and brushed his hand gently over my head. "That’s because she was only half-elf."

I blinked. "Half?"

He nodded.

I stared harder. Still no pointy ears. Still just the glowing green eyes that looked like they’d been carved from jade.

"So..." I frowned deeper, clutching the picture with both hands like it might explain itself if I stared long enough. "You’re saying I’m also... half-elf?"

"Technically, that would make you a quarter-elf," Papa said with an amused smile. "But yes."

My mouth dropped open. "And that weird grandpa," I pointed accusingly in the direction of the mysterious man who had been standing here and staring at earlier, "he’s related to my mom?"

Papa looked proud. In that smug, my daughter is a genius kind of way.

He nodded. "That ’weird grandpa,’ as you so kindly put it, is your maternal grandfather. Your mother’s father. A pureblood elf."

I opened my mouth.

Paused.

Closed it.

Then opened it again. "So... that explains the ears."

"Exactly."

"And the staring?"

"Well... probably also the attitude."

I gave him a look. A this-is-a-lot-to-handle-at-three look. I held the picture a little tighter. My thoughts are buzzing now. Quarter-elf. A maternal grandfather I’d never heard of. A birth mother who apparently had elf blood and glowy eyes.

I didn’t know what this ant for yet—but sothing told ... sothing new was going to start.