My old life wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but there were things about it that now felt like a small gift. My father came from a family of uniformed personnel, my mother was a doctor, both people who knew the weight of order and poise. I'd only been to two formal gatherings back then, but they'd drilled me on the kind of decorum that wasn't so different from what they called "proper etiquette" in this world.
So I wasn't too worried about my manners. When it came to eating with fine silver or sipping tea from delicate cups, I'd already pored over a book Zilda had given me, and I figured I could just mimic Evander, or the other ladies. It was the little things that scared me more, the inside jokes, the names I should remember, the way the real Norielle would have laughed at a particular story.
The tea party spot was all cool greens and blues, no loud colors to mess with the calm vibe. Winding stone paths led to four round wicker tables under a white awning with blue ribbons that matched the flowers. There were tall sky-blue delphiniums, nodding bluebells, and tiny forget-me-nots mixed in with lush green ferns and hostas. Even the grass looked extra green, like someone had fussed over it for this.
I was sitting at the same table as the red-haired hostess, four of us total, in soft cream and white dresses that stood out against the green and blue. We smiled nicely as we talked, one blonde lady passed me lemon scones, and the other lady at our table laughed quietly at something the hostess said, covering her mouth the proper way. The hostess herself sat up straight, her red hair catching the sun as she gestured with her teacup while she spoke.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zilda standing with Samuel in his black knight uniform. Crisp black tunic with silver trim, dark pants, and shiny boots. He stood still as a rock, eyes steady on the garden, just a quiet guardian among all the softness.
A cold sweat trickled down my back, and I quickly reached for my teacup, my fingers fumbling slightly with the handle before I got a grip. Mimic, mimic, I told myself, watching how the dark haired woman beside me lifted her cup with just her fingertips, sipping slowly without making a sound. I did the same, the hot tea burning slightly as it went down my throat, while my eyes darted to the unusual green roses in the distance.
"It seems young Lord Valois has taken a liking to you, Ielle," the hostess said, her voice even and measured as she leaned in slightly, her jewelry making no sound at all. "Sending his second-in-command knight to escort you… that's not like him."
My mouth went dry. I had no idea how to reply, should I blush? Smile? Look down? I didn't know Norielle's attitude, her history with this red-haired woman, or even the hostess's name. I just sat there, teacup in hand, my mind completely blank.
"Lady Cristina, that can't be true at all," a blond-brown haired lady said, setting down her cup with graceful ease. "We all know how the Valois clan values dignity and protocol. That cold crimson-eyed young lord, he'd never do something like that out of fondness. Isn't that right, Lady Elodie?"
Cristina. Of course, Cristina Deran, the friend of the villainess who'd tormented the female lead in the story. My eyes snapped to the dark-haired woman beside me. Elodie von Cerin. Evander's cousin.
Elodie sighed, but there was no softness in it. Her ash-silver eyes landed on the blond-brown haired lady with a sharp, fierce glint. "The matter of his feelings is none of my concern," she said, her voice low but clear enough to hush the table for a beat. "But are you questioning my maternal family's personality?"
The edge in her words was unmistakable. She was pissed. Beauty wasn't the only thing she and Evander had in common, they shared that same quick, fiery temper too.
As expected, this whole thing was suffocating. My stomach was already twisting from all the tea, thank god the cookies and desserts were decent enough to take the edge off.
"And let me remind you, Lady Frera Polio," Elodie added, her tone dripping with dignified sharpness that made the contradiction of her words sting more, dignified yet cutting,"I never allowed you to keep calling me Lady Elodie when my title is already Duchess of Cerin."
Lady Frera froze, fear flitting across her face. The silence that followed was so loud it felt like it could pierce our ears. Cristina sighed in exhaustion, while I sat there, watching carefully- trying to piece together why their relationship was so strained, why Frera seemed to have it out for me.
"Ielle," Cristina called, a small smile on her face as she tried to smooth over the tension. "How is your business going these days?"
My heart sank. What business? I-Norielle was running a business? The blankness in my mind deepened, and I had to fight the urge to spill my tea all over the table.
I forced a small smile and lifted my cup, my voice coming out softer than I'd intended. "It's fine for now… and I'm planning to expand it in the future." The lie tasted like ash in my mouth, but it was the only thing that came to mind.
Cristina had done it- she successfully shifted the mood. The ladies around us perked up, their eyes lighting up with interest as they leaned in to join the conversation. I just sat there, nodding along at every question, my smile fixed in place, hoping to god none of them asked for details I couldn't possibly answer.
The long day had finally come to an end. The ladies drifted off one by one, bidding us warm farewells before climbing into their carriages. Soon, only the three of us remained, standing outside the mansion near the trickling fountain, where the cool green-and-blue garden faded into the softening twilight.
"A late congratulations to you, Duchess Cerin," Cristina said, a wide smile breaking across her face as she turned to Elodie. "So… how's life with Duke Dearon? Do tell, our cold little Elodie's finally gone soft for her husband?" She teased, nudging Elodie's arm playfully.
To my surprise, the corner of Elodie's mouth lifted into a genuine smile, small, but real. "He's tolerable," she said, but her ash-silver eyes held a glint of warmth that hadn't been there earlier.
Then she turned to me, her expression softening further. "I didn't want to ask in front of everyone, but… how are you, Norielle?" Her voice was quiet now, carrying over the fountain's gentle gurgle. "I was disappointed when you couldn't make my wedding, but I was so much more worried after your accident."
Elodie's friends with Norielle? In the novel, she'd been inseparable from Ipomoea the female lead. I had no idea she'd shared such a close bond with the villainess before the story even began.
I forced a warm smile and reached out to hold both her hands, my fingers wrapping around hers. "I'm fine," I lied, the words rolling off my tongue so smoothly it was almost frightening. "Truly. I'm just more saddened that I missed your big day, I've been kicking myself about it. I'm so sorry, Elodie."
As expected. Strict parents make great liars.
Elodie gave my hands a gentle squeeze, her eyes soft with relief.
"Then how about we go out the day after tomorrow?" Cristina suggested, her face lighting up with a sudden idea. She glanced between Elodie and me, that wide, easy smile back on her lips. "Are you both free for that day? There's a new flower market opening in the eastern district- they're bringing in rare blooms from across the empire. I know how you two always loved wandering through markets together."
Elodie nodded, her genuine smile still in place. "I can clear my schedule," she said, turning back to me. "What about you, Norielle? Will your… business allow it?"
The word business made me flinch internally, but I just squeezed her hands back. "Of course," I said, my voice steady. "I can put things on hold for a day. It sounds lovely."
Cristina clapped her hands together softly, her red hair catching the last rays of sunset. "Perfect! We'll meet at the market gates at noon, just like old times."
Old times my ass. Shit this is bad, I can barely breathe today, how will I even handle the next time.
***
Now I'm stretched out in my bed, the soft silk sheets cool against my skin, still replaying every awkward moment from the tea party in my head. Zilda moves quietly around the room, clearing the tray from my dinner, just a simple bowl of soup and some bread, which I'd picked at, too distracted to eat properly.
She pauses when she sees me staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with all the names and unknowns.
"Zilda," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, "am I really acquainted with Lady Deran and Duchess Cerin?"
She turns to me, her brow furrowing slightly as she sets the tray down on the dresser. "Is your memory still that hazy, my lady?" she asks, her tone gentle but laced with concern.
Losing memories. It was the only reason I could give for the way I fumbled through this life, the only cover for the fact that I'd woken up in this body with nothing but the faded plot of a novel to guide me. A true miracle, they'd called my survival, but I could not remember if this incident had actually happened to the real Norielle in the story.
"Yes," I say, my voice catching slightly as I push myself up on one elbow, looking at her directly. "I'm miraculously still alive and well… but I think my brain- my memories are not functioning the way they should be."
Zilda crosses the room in a few silent steps, her movements practiced and no wasted motion, just the steady grace of someone who tended to this room a hundred times over.
She pulls the windows shut first, latching each with a soft click that echoes faintly in the stillness, then draws the heavy velvet curtains closed, wrapping the room in a warm, dim hush. When she turns back to me, her dark eyes hold a flicker of concern, I realize, but it's gone almost as soon as it appears, masked by the calm reserve she always wears.
These are the eyes that watched over the real Norielle for years. And then I remember, in the novel, Zilda had taken a blade meant for her mistress, falling to the ground with Norielle's name on her lips, quiet, even then, no dramatic cries. The thought hits me like a punch to the chest, and a sharp pang of guilt twists in my stomach.
"But you don't have anything to worry about," I say, forcing my eyes back to hers and keeping my voice steady. "Even if those memories never come back… everything will be fine. I promise you."
She gives me a small, slight smile, nothing big, just a soft curve of her lips that says she hears me, and with a quiet nod, she turns and leaves the room holding the try, closing the door behind her with a sound so gentle it's barely there.
Alone in the warm dimness, I let my head fall back against the pillows.
Worrying about Norielle's old acquaintances feels trivial now. What I really need to figure out is how to avoid not just my own death, but Zilda's too. I have to rack my brain to pull every last detail of the plot from the fog, because if I'm going to survive, I have to keep from becoming the villainess the story made her out to be.
But my eyes are already growing heavy, and I know thinking while sleepy will only lead to muddled thoughts. For now, sleep has to come first. I'll face it all tomorrow, when my mind is clear.