Chapter 1: The Gilded Cage and the Executioner's Countdown
The first sensation was not pain, but the crushing weight of silk. It was the finest damask, cool against her skin, yet it felt like the heavy, suffocating cloth of a shroud.
Evelina's eyes snapped open. The ceiling above was a dizzying masterpiece: carved scenes of celestial glory where solemn saints and gilded cherubs gazed down from impossible heights. It was an astonishing, utterly terrifying sight.
Where am I?
A throbbing ache in her head brought back fragmented memories: the smell of burnt rubber, screeching tires, and then... nothing. Those were her memories—of a modern, anonymous life. The recent ones belonged to someone else entirely.
She was Lady Evelina Blackwood. The notorious, arrogant, and utterly foolish villainess of the novel, The Saintess and the Emperor.
A chill colder than the silk sheets gripped her. She hadn't just read the book; she was trapped inside the book, occupying the body of the character destined to die a messy, public death for her wicked, childish jealousy.
Evelina swung her legs out of the impossibly luxurious four-poster bed, landing barefoot on a rug softer than moss. A massive mahogany vanity mirrored her new reality: glossy black hair, sharp sapphire eyes, and an expression that, even in shock, seemed perpetually disdainful. A perfect villainess.
A wave of fragmented memories—the original Evelina's life—washed over her. The petty rivalries, the unrequited obsession with the Crown Prince, the escalating schemes. The climax of the novel was set to happen soon, and the result was clear.
The timeline slammed into her mind like a physical blow. The original Evelina was scheduled to attempt her final, fatal act of revenge in exactly one month. The executioner's block awaited shortly after.
"No," she whispered, the sound a low, aristocratic hiss. "I refuse to be killed because of a fictional author's cruel whim."
She was no longer the foolish girl obsessed with an unworthy prince; she was a modern mind armed with complete foreknowledge of the Empire's political and personal weaknesses. But knowledge wasn't a shield; it was merely a map of the minefield she had to cross.
Evelina crossed the enormous salon of the Blackwood Ducal Residence. Fleeing the Empire was impossible. Pleading innocence was pointless—her reputation was already irrevocably stained. She needed an impenetrable fortress, a shield that even the Emperor wouldn't dare strike.
Her gaze fell upon a miniature silver statue on a side table—a representation of the High Priest of the Holy Church.
There was only one man.
High Priest Cassian Lyra.
The very thought of the Empire's 'Saint' sent a strange, cold shiver down her spine. The man was a human glacier, a political powerhouse of the Church, famed for his unnerving beauty and absolute lack of human warmth. He was untouchable, unreadable, and completely uninterested in romance or politics—a perfect non-target for the novel's heroine.
The Church and the Empire were engaged in a subtle, decades-long power struggle. A swift, forced political marriage between a prominent Ducal daughter (even a notorious one) and the High Priest would dramatically stabilize the Church's position against the Crown. It was a move too politically significant to be reversed lightly.
Marry him. Use the Church as your wall.
It was a desperate gamble. Cassian Lyra was known for his stringent, almost fanatical discipline. He would likely despise her on sight. But he was also a man of logic and duty. If she could present the marriage as a necessity—a strategic masterstroke to secure his institution's power—he might accept.
Evelina sat at her desk, the fine silk of her nightgown pooling around her. She picked up a heavy gold pen and began to write, not a love letter, but a meticulously calculated political proposal.
This man is the only key to the cage, she determined, her sapphire eyes hardening with cool resolve. He may hate me, but I will make him value my survival over my death.
Her future depended on his acceptance. And she was about to make the 'Saint' an offer rooted in pure, ruthless self-interest. The executioner's block was counting down, but now, Evelina had a plan. She was going to bargain with the most formidable power in the Empire for her life.