The dining room of House Vance was designed to inspire fear.
Elena knew this as she read the flavor text in the game.
The long table could seat forty, but the Duke preferred to eat alone, flanked only by the ghosts of his ambitions.
Knowing something and experiencing it were two separate things.
She pushed the double doors open and felt the air cool.
Morning light filtered through stained glass in heavy shards of color, bathing the whiteness of the marble floor in blood and gold, and making Elena pause before the great table that dominated the room.
At its head sat Duke Aldric Vance.
He was fifty-two years old, with ice-gray hair, and eyes the color of a cloudless sky before it snows.
He was studying a ledger and sipping at a black coffee when Elena entered, his pen scratching over parchment as he wrote.
There were two paths built into this sequence in the game.
In the first, the most common, the player arrived late, demanding to know why her betrothal to young Duke Ashford had not occurred sooner.
The Duke would explain that her value as a political piece had declined, and refuse to permit the engagement.
The second path was less common, but more rewarding.
Arriving late, but demure, the player could beg for mercy, and be told that weakness was an even worse failing than arrogance.
Neither path had a happy ending.
Elena chose a third path.
She arrived late, and took a seat at the Duke’s right hand, the empty place belonging to his deceased wife.
It was not a place of honor.
The Duke’s pen hovered over the page.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, its brass bell probably worth more than a warship.
Elena kept her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, and her expression carefully arranged into something that resembled bored confidence, though she felt nothing of the sort.
The violet eyes she’d inherited from her mother studied the ornamental centerpiece—a silver bowl of fruit that no one, not even the Duke, would eat.
“You’ve lost weight,” the Duke said, still not bothering to look at her.
“The Ashford boy prefers curves.
You should keep that in mind, before your fitting next week.” Elena felt her stomach twist, but forced herself to hide it.
The Ashford boy.
Duke Ashford was sixty years old and dying of lung rot, with no sons to inherit his title.
The engagement her father had planned to announce in three weeks would be a convenient fiction, binding her to a man twice her age in a hollow marriage, and leaving her ripe for the hanging when the war came and her father’s treason was finally exposed.
She knew the script for this meeting, and her part in it.
“I’ve changed my mind about the fitting,” Elena said, using the villainess’ voice, the one that dripped with careless malice.
This was the voice her father had used on her all those years ago, when he’d decided she would grow up to be a disappointment.
“Actually, I don’t think I’ll be getting married to Duke Ashford at all.” This was the first time the Duke looked at her, and his expression was as cold as the game had described, but something else had changed.
The expression that had been on his face when he looked at his players, before he killed them, was no longer one of cruel amusement.
It was something else, something that almost resembled calculation.
“And why is that?” “Because he’s going to die before the wedding,” Elena said, which was true, in the game.
Duke Ashford was a sickly old man, and in another month he would be dead.
The engagement had been a setup from the beginning – her father wanted the territory that belonged to House Ashford, and the marriage itself was never going to happen.
“And I’d rather not waste a perfectly good wedding gown on a funeral.” The Duke set his pen down.
“You know something.” It wasn’t a question.
Elena smiled – the kind of smile that said she knew things that people didn’t want her to know.
“I know a lot of things, Father.
I know that the Ashford mines have been barren for years, and that you’ve quietly bought up his debts from three different merchants.
I know that when he dies, you’ll have enough reason to declare his widow unworthy of inheriting his lands, that you won’t even have to marry me off at all.” She leaned forward, letting the morning light glint off the silver strands in her hair.
“I know that you don’t really want me to become a bride, do you?
You don’t want me to be compliant , you want me to be…
convenient.” The Duke was silent for a long moment, and in that moment, Elena realized that in the game, no one had ever spoken to him like this.
The villainess was always angry, but anger was a kind of weakness, and a weakness that could be exploited.
This was something else, something dangerously close to…
self-possession.
“You’re ill,” the Duke said at last.
“I’ll have a physician sent to you.” “I’m not ill,” Elena said.
“I’m glad you’re not paying attention to me, because I’m going to be leaving breakfast early.
I have an appointment at the Academy.” “The Academy doesn’t open its gates to you for four days.” “Then I’ll arrive early.
I’m sure they’ll make an exception for a Vance.” Elena turned to go, her heart pounding in her ears.
“Oh, and Father?
The ledger you’re holding?
Page forty-seven.
The number’s wrong.
Someone’s been skimming from the eastern tariffs.
You might want to look into that, before you accuse me of being the family disappointment.” She didn’t wait for his answer.
She walked out of the dining hall, heart hammering in her ears and hands clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.
She didn’t realize she’d reached the grand staircase until her knees began to shake, and she didn’t stop until she was on the second floor.
What did I just do?
In the game, the villainess never spoke to her father, not like this.
She always acted behind his back, and in public, she was always obedient, because obedience was the only way to survive in this world.
But Elena wasn’t the villainess.
The real villainess was still trapped inside her, screaming, plotting, and dying, while Elena spent her life in hospital beds, reading strategy guides for medieval fantasy games.
She was a sick little girl, and this was her punishment.
She stumbled into her room and shut the door, and found the golden threads still there, thicker and brighter than they’d ever been.
They wove into her vision, connecting her to the Duke downstairs, where he still sat at the head of the table, writing.
The connection was very thin, almost fraying, as if the link between them wasn’t strong enough to support the weight of their relationship.
In the corner of her vision, the death counter ticked down.
[183 DAYS REMAINING] But beneath it, a new set of text had appeared.
[HIDDEN CONDITION TRIGGERED: DEFIANCE] [REWARD: INFORMATION — EASTERN TARIFF LEDGER ANOMALY CONFIRMED] [RELATIONSHIP STATUS: DUKE VANCE — SHIFTED FROM ‘CONTROLLABLE’ TO ‘UNPREDICTABLE’] [WARNING: HOSTILE ATTENTION DETECTED] Elena laughed, breathless and trembling.
“Great.
I get experience points for making my own father want to kill me faster.” She needed a plan.
The Academy was going to be her next destination, that much was clear to her.
But she needed resources, allies, something besides the vague confidence that had gotten her this far – and for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, Elena Vance felt something besides fear.
A sound from the window.
Elena turned her head, seeing the inner courtyard, and the small stable at the far end of it.
A slave was getting beaten by one of the grooms, curled on the ground and covered in straw.
The man had silver hair, and Elena recognized him at once.
She knew the man, and she knew the scene – in the game, it was the kind of thing that was supposed to make the heroine more sympathetic.
Not that it had ever worked, since the heroine was always the passive observer, watching suffering from a distance.
The girl in the castle didn’t have the resources, or the will, to intervene in anything that happened outside of the cathedral walls.
The slave was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for much longer.
He had a broken leg, and the infection would probably kill him within the week.
That was how it always played out in the game.
Unless…
unless the heroine did something about it.
Elena walked to the window, watching the groom spat on the slave and walk away.
In the corner of her eye, she could see the golden thread, and something else.
One of the strands had caught on the man, glowing with something that wasn’t gold.
It was attached to the stables, and from there it stretched out to the edge of the estate, and something else, something she couldn’t see.
[???
DETECTED] [DISTANCE: 200 METERS] [CONDITION: CRITICAL] Elena turned away from the window, and stared at the glowing thread in fascination.
Could it be…?
I came here knowing nothing.
No powers, no sword skills, not even a plan besides running away from the dining hall.
But what if the things the game made you ignore were the things that actually mattered?
Elena grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe.
She didn’t know what she was searching for, but she had a suspicion.
And for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, Elena Vance felt something other than fear.
[TICK: Defiance bonus confirmed.
Hidden asset detected.
First investment opportunity approaching.]