The Villainess is the Villainess [Otome Isekai LitRPG]

Book 3: Chapter 26 - Life Reset [Part 1]

- Tennessee Williams.

Everything tilted toward chaos. A lesser soul might have panicked, might have fumbled as a dozen variables spun like knives in the air. Seraphina did not. She knew chaos for what it was: a door left ajar. Chaos was change; chaos was opportunity.

For the briefest moments, she considered that Elidion, in a fit of stupidity, might attempt to seize her within the Academy itself. But Meridian’s Academy was famously neutral ground, a politically sacrosanct area. Even the King would not dare set that precedent; to do so would be to turn every lord of the realm against him. Then again, men grow desperate when the board looks poorly for them.

And Elidion’s position on the board was poor indeed. Only a few of the great houses stood with him. Much of his strength was borrowed—drawn from the loyalty of her father, his cousin, Duke Anatoli de Sariens, the Red Ogre. There, she suspected, lay the root of it all. Elidion wished to replace Anatoli with someone, or something, equal in power and influence and more easily managed. Her father had never cared for the small deceits of the Royal Court in Aran; he kept his gaze fixed on his duchy’s charge, a length of the border where Aranthia held against the Empire. The Church, by contrast, could offer a king soft power at home and long fingers abroad. A marriage to the so-called Saint would yoke altar to throne, and by slow degrees turn Aranthia into a theocracy.

That, Seraphina would not abide. Her only true dedication was to the twin constants she trusted: money and power.

On a more personal level, she loathed religion and all its shackles upon the mind—the dogma that bound living thought to the mad certainties of the long, imperfect dead prophets and uncaring gods. Not to mention the mental contortions required to square reason with ancient superstition. Faith could drive decent folk to indecent acts and furnish those with black hearts a license to commit greater evils. In a world unshackled from such a curse, humanity might have already colonized Mars. She smiled thinly at the thought. Only stupid sheep could worship a dead man on a stick.

Steps rang softly on stone as she walked with her Knights, their tread filled with purpose as they crossed the courtyard, passing by a burbling marble fountain. There were also the tangled strings of the human heart. Old journals from the Succession Wars she had acquired at great expense, the gossip salted in their pages, told an interesting story about her mother and Elidion. Once, it seemed, they had been in love. When the crown came within reach, Elidion chose power over a woman’s hand, wedding Seraphina’s paternal aunt, Lydia, to clinch de Sariens' steel for his claim to the throne.

Lydia, according to the setting and this body’s memories, had died far too young. She had always been kind to Seraphina.

It was ironic in the extreme that her mother had chosen her father, she mused as her hand plucked a random leaf from a bush, shredding it slowly with her delicate finger.

Had she settled? Or had she chosen the better man?

And, if that tale held any truth, if even half of it did, it explained much: her mother’s machinations, and Elidion’s resistance to the marriage long agreed between Seraphina and the Crown Prince, Velens. Old wounds bled into present chaos.

But, if she were able to play her cards right, the Kingdom of Aranthia might just have its first Queen Regnant.

Footsteps slapped hastily against the stone behind her.

“Lady Seraphina!” Eloise’s voice came breathless, her face flustered as she paused to catch her breath.

“Whatever is the matter, dear Eloise? You shouldn’t be rushing about in such a manner; it is a little unseemly,” Seraphina chided gently.

“It’s the Prince!” the dark-haired girl cried between ragged breaths.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Seraphina sighed, half hoping.

“No, Lady Seraphina! He has woken up!” Eloise explained hastily.

The blonde girl had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Yes, yes, but what does that have to do with me? Am I supposed to care?”

“Well, he is asking to see you…” Eloise answered, looking down.

“He has no right,” Sir Filippe interjected suddenly, his brown eyes flashing.

Seraphina flicked open and shut her mother’s fan as she chewed on the news. “I don’t see why I should grant the royal brat the honor—do you?” she asked her escort.

To a man, they all shook their heads.

“Well, there you have it. I shall decline the royal invitation,” Seraphina said with a pleasant smile. “Now then, I must see Rashana; one hasn’t time to waste on foolish Velens…”

“Sera!” called a familiar voice.

“Speak of the devil,” Seraphina muttered, opening her fan and covering her mouth.

“Rashana, darling, I was just on my way to see you!” Seraphina said, schooling her surprise behind a pleasant smile.

“And I you…!”

Eloise started to look quite flustered. “Lady Seraphina, you don’t understand! The Prince… he wishes to make a formal apology to you… and there is something wrong with him!”

“Wrong with him, you say? What, between the whoring…” Seraphina spat acidly.

“Milady,” Sir Gravens warned politely.

Eloise covered her mouth in shock at her mistress’s crude words.

As for Rashana, she looked as if she had been punched in the gut. Had Seraphina not known better, she would have called it shock—of all things.

“Well… we hel— I mean, we must find out at once! This is important, Sera!” added the half Al-Lazarian girl, determination hardening her voice.

The blonde girl’s eyes narrowed. “I agree that we must find out, Rashana, yet a part of me thinks this is some childish scheme—to have the last word, or to paint me in a certain light.”

“Please, Lady Seraphina!” Eloise insisted, looking rather cutely cross. “The Prince hit his head, which means there have been complications in his recovery.”

Rashana crossed her arms, the bangles at her wrist chiming. “We were friends with Velens well before your parents agreed to your match. We owe it to him, as his childhood friends, to at least see if he is in good health. Boys will do the silliest things when pressed.”

Seraphina looked at her quizzically, raising an eyebrow. “I owe it to him, do I? Maybe I owe him another knock to the head.”

“Such petty talk is beneath you, darling,” Rashana chided, her smile thin. “And yes, Seraphina—especially if he wants to try to make amends. No matter how you spin it, you are at least partially to blame for this spiraling as it did,” she said, shaking her head. “You know Velens, and I know you. You are better than this, Sera.”

“How dar—” Seraphina half-snarled.

“I dare, Sera, because I know you!” Rashana bit back smoothly.

“He is still the future king. As loyal subjects, we…” Eloise decided weakly.

“Fine, fine! You win,” the blonde noblewoman replied in exasperation. “If you all want to see the Crown Prince, let us pay a visit to the glorious Crown Prince.”

Honestly, whose side were her friends on? she wondered, a little bitterly.