With only a week left until the banquet, Ashmille County thrummed with activity. Couriers darted in and out of the estate gates, carriages arrived every hour bearing bolts of imported silk and polished silverware, and every servant moved with urgency. The air buzzed with anticipation.
But beneath the gilded frenzy of decorations and preparations, a quieter operation pulsed with equal importance—one Lord Thalor Archwingg watched personally. While the duchess oversaw the banquet itself, her husband's focus remained where his expertise lay: the empire's largest port.
The Royal Ship carrying the Crown Prince of Truvania had departed from the central harbor that morning, and Lord Thalor had ensured every detail was perfect. The sea routes had been revised, safe passages opened, all pirate zones flagged. Ashmille's logistical network worked like a living machine, and Thalor was its architect. From salt shipments to military freight, nothing entered Truvania without passing his domain.
And still, as Seraphyne stood by her window, watching the estate bustle like an overcharged beehive, her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
She was remembering the book.
Specifically, the chapter where everything began to unravel.
In The Villainess' Ever After, the Crown Prince's ship was ambushed just before reaching Ashmille. Bandits—rogues desperate for ransom and glory—had planned it for weeks. The Prince and his personal guards were caught in a skirmish, outnumbered and vulnerable.
And then—Ellise.
The villainess, already showing odd signs of "change" throughout the earlier chapters, had intercepted the scene. She called for backup as if it were a coincidence, but it was all too perfectly timed. She arrived, blades and banners flashing, knights in formation, and turned the tide with effortless poise.
From that moment, the Crown Prince began to see her differently.
And when the night of the grand event arrived, instead of celebrating his engagement to Seraphyne, the Prince hesitated and said he needed more time. That he wished to reconsider the matter. He simply wanted to know more of Ellise after that incident because he was taken an interest in her, realizing that Seraphyne's character was too plain.
But now, with full knowledge of what lay ahead—and a new life resting in her hands—she had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
The day of the banquet arrived. Seraphyne turned from the window and grabbed her riding cloak.
Her plan was simple.
She knew from both the novel and her own daily patterns that the estate always assigned at least four knights to shadow her whenever she left. Even without her permission, they were trained to follow, remaining hidden unless danger arose.
So she would go to the western cliffs—exactly where the Crown Prince's ship would dock and the ambush would take place.
With her in the vicinity, her knights would act. They'd protect her first, of course—but in doing so, they would reach the Prince in time. The danger would pass, the banquet would continue, and she would remain the beloved, serene Seraphyne.
That was the plan.
It was late afternoon when she arrived at the bluffs overlooking Ashmille Bay. The salty breeze tugged at her cloak, and the clouds above were starting to darken into smoky gray. The sea below glittered faintly, and in the distance, the royal ship gleamed like a polished jewel cutting across the waves.
She moved carefully across the uneven terrain, staying close enough to the cliff's edge to watch for movement. The rocky shoreline where the bandits would strike was just beyond the next bend.
Then—
Shouting. Steel clashing against steel.
Seraphyne rushed forward.
From the hilltop, she saw the chaos unfold below: the Crown Prince—elegant even in combat—was flanked by three of his personal knights. Their formation was tight, but they were surrounded. At least a dozen bandits had emerged from the tree line, weapons drawn, faces masked.
Seraphyne's heart pounded. Now. Now the knights should move.
She turned back, scanning the surrounding hills and woods.
But no one came.
She looked again. No armor glinting. No footsteps. No orders barked.
Where are they? she thought in panic. They're always following me!
She remembered too late—earlier this morning, she'd overheard the guards being pulled off rotation. Her father had ordered every knight available to reinforce the estate perimeter today to prepare for the Crown Prince's stay.
She'd thought it wouldn't matter. She'd thought they would follow anyway.
I'm alone.
Seraphyne's stomach dropped.
And down below, the Crown Prince's guard line was breaking.
"We're doomed," she whispered. "We're actually—"
"GET DOWN!"
A commanding female voice rang out like a whip across the cliffs.
Seraphyne spun, stunned.
Riding hard from the east path, flanked by riders clad in black and silver, came Ellise Viremont.
Her expression was cold, focused—eyes narrowed like a hawk. Behind her, a squad of knights galloped in perfect formation. And just behind them—
Arthur.
His expression was grave, but he gave Seraphyne a quick, worried glance before joining the charge.
The mounted force split expertly as they reached the chaos below, moving to flank the bandits. The surprise attack shattered the enemy formation, and within moments the Crown Prince was secured. The last of the attackers fled into the woods, their plans in ruin.
Seraphyne couldn't speak.
She watched as Ellise dismounted smoothly, gave a command to her lead knight, then turned—elegantly, almost theatrically—to face the Crown Prince.
Just like the novel, Claire realized.
Except…
Ellise wasn't supposed to be here.
She wasn't supposed to be this perfectly timed, this composed, this prepared.
Unless—
A chill passed through Seraphyne's chest.
She's still reincarnated.
The polite smiles, the formal greetings, the calm and controlled behavior… it all made sense now. Those weren't the traits of the original Ellise. They were too intentional. Too measured.
Claire stared at the woman she had once admired from a reader's distance.
She's like me.
Her thoughts spiraled.
If Ellise was reincarnated—then she knew the story, too. She would anticipate the plot. She would reshape it.
Just like Claire had hoped to.
So then… what happens to me now?
Was she still the protagonist if someone else was guiding the plot?
Could there be two?
As she stood frozen on the cliff, the sea breeze tugging at her cloak, Claire realized her carefully laid plan had already been rewritten—by the very person she had once dreamed of becoming.
And the story, now, was no longer hers alone.