I could not help but grin as I read the headline splashed across the Empire's most influential newspaper.
"Villainess Strikes Again: Princess Madeleine Threatens Her Sister's Life?"
How utterly amusing. They truly believe I am a threat to Laura's life—and, well, they are not exactly wrong. If they insist on painting me this way, why not embrace the role?
Since I still have not found a way to return to my original body, I might as well enjoy myself while I search. There is something strangely liberating about not giving a damn anymore.
"Your Highness, His Majesty requests your presence in his office," Lyle said, bowing with practiced formality. His voice was calm, devoid of emotion, but I saw the faint twitch in his brow when I handed him the newspaper.
"Oh, this will be good," I murmured, rising to my feet with the grace Madeleine was infamous for. I smirked, letting the silk of my gown trail behind me like water as I followed him down the ornate hallways. The marble beneath my heels echoed sharply with every step—an announcement of my presence, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable.
Now, I wonder—what kind of father is he to this woman? Not that I do not know the answer already, but I would like to see it. Witness it. Taste the bitter dynamics of this so-called Imperial family firsthand.
We stopped in front of his door, and Lyle knocked with a soldier's precision. A second later, the door creaked open.
I stepped inside, clasping my hands in front of me. "Greetings to the Noble Sun of the Empire, His Majesty," I said, voice silky, tone dripping with sweet irony.
He did not even glance up from his stack of papers. The audacity.
I watched him in silence, observing his furrowed brows, the way he scribbled dismissively across the parchment like nothing else existed in the world but his empire and his precious other daughter.
After a full five minutes, he finally spoke—without even looking at me.
"When will you grow up and stop harassing your sister?"
My laughter escaped before I could stop it—sharp, biting, almost cruel.
"Is that truly why you summoned me?" I asked, folding my arms, a crooked smile curling my lips. "Not a greeting? No warm fatherly concern? Straight to the scolding. Classic."
His eyes snapped up, cold and cutting.
"You would do well to restrain your tongue, Madeleine."
"Oh, I am sure I would," I replied coolly, strolling toward the massive windows that overlooked the capital. "But I am more intrigued, Your Majesty, by how easily the mighty Emperor falls prey to idle gossip. I wonder... do you ever think before passing judgment?"
"Watch your tone."
"Do you ever watch your actions?" I turned back to face him, letting my amusement fall away to reveal something sharper beneath. "They whisper in the corridors, Father. About how the Emperor favors his mistress's daughter while treating his own flesh and blood like a blemish on the family name. You have given them the narrative, not I."
His glare darkened, but I did not flinch. I stepped closer, leaned toward him until my breath brushed his ear.
"If they already believe me the villain... should I not play the role to its fullest?"
I straightened, smiled, and turned on my heel.
"Thank you for the entertainment, Your Majesty."
The tension in his clenched fists as I exited was delicious. I passed Lyle, still smirking. "Lyle…" I paused. "Tell me, do you think I should conquer the throne?"
He did not even hesitate. He dropped to one knee, hand over heart. "I am at your disposal, Your Majesty."
I burst out laughing. Oh, this was going to be fun.
-----
Back in my chambers, I dove headfirst into study. History, noble bloodlines, military rankings, temple hierarchy—even market trade patterns. Every inch of this world was mine to know.
But there were gaps. Missing pieces. Names and events omitted in official records. I could feel it—like something was being hidden, locked away.
Then, I heard it.
"Adeline…"
A voice. My real name.
I whipped around. My room blurred. The tapestries faded. The ornate desk vanished. And before me now stood a hospital room, sterile white and humming with quiet machines.
There I was—my teenage self—sitting beside a frail girl in a hospital bed. Anneliese.
My little sister.
She was smiling as I read to her from a worn book. I moved closer, heart thudding, and looked at the title in my younger self's hands.
"Who Owns the Crown."
A gasp escaped me as memories—memories I had long buried—flooded back like a dam breaking.
Anneliese. My sister, born weak and sickly. The girl who held my parents' hearts while they forgot I even existed. Every day, I was reminded to be quiet, be still, be obedient. Because Anneliese needed their love.
I was expected to revolve around her.
School, friends, dreams—none of it mattered. Not compared to her.
I resented her. God, I loathed her.
She smiled when I visited, eager to hear stories. Her eyes sparkled when I read that book. But I never smiled back. Not truly. All I felt was bitterness.
And now, here I was.
In that very book.
In Madeleine's body.
And now it made sense—the uncanny familiarity of the Empire's names and history. This was "Who Owns the Crown." The novel Anneliese loved, the one she made me read every day.
But I would not repeat Madeleine's mistake. I would not die for a story's cliché ending.
"Your Highness…"
Lyle's voice snapped me out of the vision. My room shimmered back into focus. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. As I roamed my gaze to find him, I did not see him.
"You fell asleep reading," Aneira said gently. I waved her away.
"Call Lyle."
She bowed and left quickly. Lyle entered a moment later, his expression unreadable as always.
"Is there talk of my sister's marriage?" I asked.
"Nothing has been announced."
Then it has not started yet—the story begins with Laura's marriage to the Grand Duke of Dewei, the war hero. That was when Madeleine spirals into madness. That was when she starts harassing Laura. That was when she dies.
But now I control the timeline.
I studied Lyle. The man who, in the book, stayed loyal to Madeleine even after she was condemned to die. He hid her. Protected her.
But the novel never said why.
"What if," I began slowly, "His Majesty issued an Imperial Order for my execution? What would you do?"
"I would protect you. Clear a path for you to escape," he said without hesitation.
"Why?" I pressed, standing. "You know my place here. I am powerless. A scorned princess. Why risk your life for me when I have nothing to offer?"
His face did not change—but his eyes did. A flicker. A tremble in his jaw.
I smiled. "You hate them, do you not?"
Still, he said nothing. But his silence was louder than words. Not love, as I once thought—but hatred. Deep, bitter, consuming.
I stepped close, leaned in again, and whispered, "Abhorring someone is like drinking poison and waiting for them to die…"
I pulled back, tapping his shoulder lightly.
"I am willing to be the poison."
He did not respond. He did not have to.
This man never ceases to intrigue me.
"Get some rest, Lyle. We will talk tomorrow," I said. He bowed and exited silently.
I returned to my seat, surrounded by tomes and documents, and picked up where I left off.
Now that I know where I am—and who I am—I am at the advantage.
There is no going back to my world. And honestly?
I do not want to.
They have cast me as the villainess.
Let us give them a show.
"I will make sure I live to the fullest… drenched in happiness, power, and amusement."
Let them beg. Let them cry.
Let the real story begin.
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