Callis was huffing light breaths from his hurried pace across the castle grounds.
He stopped suddenly at the entrance, caught off guard by the presence of Rouche Berk.
“What are you doing here?” Rouche demanded, equally perturbed at meeting Callis here.
“I have come to escort the Lady Saint,” Callis said.
“Yes… And why is she here?”
“I do not know that myself,” Callis admitted.
Rouche didn’t understand why the Saint kept trying to meet with Seria.
But he did know that nothing good could come of the two ladies being alone together.
Rouche turned to enter when Callis stepped into his path.
“Your Grace, when do you plan to seek an annulment for your marriage with Seria?”
Rouche let out a dry chuckle.
He faced off with Callis, one eyebrow arched high, his crimson eyes glaring with impatience.
“Annulment?”
“Seria was my betrothed.”
“She was.
But now the Lady Sterne is my wife.”
“Your Grace!” Callis gnashed his teeth.
“Have you received formal approval from the royal family yet?
According to imperial law, until such approval is granted, Seria is not the Archduchess of Berk, but she remains Seria Sterne.
I am truly grateful that you saved her life.
House Hanneton is beholden to you, and you will be repaid this debt.”
“You are amusing,” Rouche sneered.
“You and Seria no longer have ties.
Thus, you have no reason to repay anything.
The debt is not yours.”
Callis clenched his fists, his black eyes simmering with suppressed rage.
Rouche, however, was only mildly irritated by this absurd melodrama unfolding within his own castle.
Such shameless displays of emotion were precisely why he loathed visiting the capital.
“I plan to annul my engagement with the Lady Saint,” Callus pressed further.
“And more, you know that the Marquis of Keliden gave me permission to marry his only daughter.
Forgive my forwardness, Your Grace, but have you even sent word to House Keliden in this regard?”
Such conventions of the nobility were of no concern to Rouche.
This was an unplanned marriage, decided in a time of crisis, meant only to save a life.
The damned nobility and their flimsy conventions could go to hell for all he cared.
And with each protest and complaint that Callis uttered, Rouche found himself losing more and more respect for his counterpart.
Was Callis not the cause of this mess?
Who was he to talk and make assumptions about Rouche’s rash marriage to Seria when he had done the exact same thing?
“For someone who so remorselessly endangered his fiancée’s life, you certainly have a lot to say,” Rouche said.
“Archdu—” Callis began to defend himself, but he was cut off by an uproar from inside the annex.
That could only mean one thing.
The two rivals glared at each other.
They both knew what this must mean and that there was only one way to deal with it.
Without another word, they both rushed into the annex.
* * *
“Seria may be pretty, but her mother was nothing but a lowly actress.”
Such were the words of a certain ill-fated nobleman in the novel.
Seria Sterne overheard him thus slandering her and her mother at a masquerade ball.
This nobleman did not receive a measly splash of wine to his face.
No, Seria grabbed him and plunged him headfirst into a freshly opened barrel of ale, and then she went about tearing down his entire life in front of everyone present.
After that, he was said to have fallen from grace, banished from every social circle in the capital.
Seria’s reaction in that instance was a deep-seated, instinctual protectiveness over her very identity.
And just like some of her memories, that instinct still lingered after I inhabited her body.
Whenever someone mentioned either her mother or the Kelidens, my entire body would be inundated with a fearful, boiling hostility towards whoever dared to bring them up.
In those moments, I no longer felt like myself at all.
I felt like I truly was Seria and always had been.
So when Lina said what she said, it stung me.
I felt a flare of hot wrath building.
But then, Lina had the nerve to keep going…
“Seria, I don’t mind at all what your background is!
Who cares if your mother was a commoner?
I mean, I guess I come from commoners, too.
I mean, it’s a world without nobles or royals, anyway.
What I’m trying to say is that none of that stuff makes any difference to me, and we can be the best of friends because we basically come from the same background!
We’re not all that different!
Right, Seria?
Seria, why are you so…”
Seeing my face transformed with hatred, Lina trailed off.
The others were still and silent.
They were watching me, not Lina, because my entire body had begun to shake, quivering with suppressed rage that stretched back over the past several days.
Lina speaking this way was merely the tremor that caused the eruption.
Lina flinched when my hand shot into the air.
It was cocked back, poised to lash out with a swift strike of Lina’s face.
All that Lina could do was shut her eyes.
She was too burdened with fright and shock even to raise her own hands to protect herself.
In a flash my hand moved, swung briskly in a crookedly shaped arc that brought it smacking right into…
…my own cheek.
Silence filled the room.
I exhaled deeply, reeling from the shock and seeing stars flash before my eyes.
My cheek stung with the sensation of a hundred pinpricks, and soon it began to throb painfully.
Looking back down at Lina, I inhaled deeply.
There were tears collected in her eyes, but she was not crying.
She was only staring at me in confusion, the stunned silence of someone who has just narrowly escaped certain disaster.
“Did Viscount Aison really teach you such things?” I said to her, trying to steady my voice.
“If so, he seems to have forgotten the most important part.
Allow me, Lady Saint.
The words you have just uttered are the very words that people may not speak in my presence.”
“No, it’s not my tutor’s fault!
It’s my fault!
Seria, I misspoke.
I didn’t know.
Take it out on me, Seria.
Please, not him…”
How long must I endure shame and torment?
I have gone out of my way to be kind and generous and fit into this world in a respectable way.
And yet the main female character and the supporting male character are still on my back about every little thing, just like in the novel.
The more I hold back and strive to maintain a graceful way of being, the more they seem to come back at me with recriminations.
So is this it?
Is this my breaking point?
Is this the part of the story where the true villainess is created?
“So, Lina, I ought to be upset with you?” I asked.
“Is that it?”
“Yes!
Be mad at me, Seria.
I’m really sorry.
My teacher did nothing wrong.”
“All right.
In that case, I shall go to the Marquis of Hanneton, then the priestesses, and finally, His Grace, the Archduke of Berk.
I shall inform them all of how you have offended me here today.”
“Offended?
But, Seria…”
“Did your esteemed tutor not teach you about the grave offense of sticking your nose into the sensitive family affairs of the nobility?
Or, perhaps you wish to instigate a blood feud between Viscount Aison and my knight?
Of that, I would be more than happy to oblige.
And I know my knight would as well.
You have met Dame Abigail, haven’t you?
Then you must know that she will enjoy killing him.”
This final statement seemed to really hit a nerve.
Lina’s eyes grew wide as though she had just now realized the serious consequences of the game she was playing.
“Seria, I… I just didn’t know!” She clasped her trembling hands together in a gesture of prayer.
“Lina, listen to me.
Whether or not your marriage to Callis lasts, you are currently the Marchioness of Hanneton.
You are also the Saint and, like me, a Sterne.
You hold three titles of the highest esteem and honor, and yet you do not even try to carry yourself with the requisite decency.
Can’t you see that someone in such a position as yourself should not speak so carelessly out of turn?
Can’t you remain demure in the background without causing trouble for everyone around you?”
“Seria, I—”
“You are not a child.
You must take responsibility for the honorable titles you represent.”
She may have been the main female character of the novel.
She may have been dropped into the middle of this new and confusing world and not understand a thing about it.
She may have been coddled and tip-toed around and touted as some kind of divine messenger, but did that mean I was supposed to simply stand by while she insulted me again and again?
No, Lina needed someone to make her understand.
She had to become fully aware of her position in this world and the weight of her words.
And anyway, were we all that different?
Had I not also been lifted from my world and sent here unknowingly and against my will?
“Shall I go to the Marquis of Hanneton and relay your words to him?”
Now Lina began to cry.
Through her tears she mumbled, “No… no, not that.
I’m sorry, I…” Then she leaped up and hobbled from the room on her weak legs.
“Oh dear,” remarked Begonia.
“She causes trouble and then refuses to take responsibility.
What a pampered little brat.”
I took a deep breath and sat down, trying to compose myself.
I was about to apologize to Begonia and fix my disheveled hair when she pressed a silk pouch against my swollen cheek.
“Inside is an ice crystal,” Begonia said.
“A semi-precious stone that always retains a frozen temperature, always cold as ice.
Very useful for times like this.”
“You are prepared for just about everything, aren’t you, Begonia?” I marveled.
“Man or woman, if a customer intends to wear my work in public, their face may not be swollen.
It is one of my cardinal stipulations.
And it sometimes necessitates emergency remedies.”
“Is my cheek very swollen?” I asked.
Begonia nodded with a pained but polite smile.
“If you follow my advice, my lady, you will just make it to the ball on time.”
I sighed.
“What must I do?”
Begonia attached the pouch to my cheek by wrapping the strings around my ears before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“First, go outside and allow the cold winter wind to lick your cheek for an hour.
After that, we should be able to cover it up with a little makeup.”
Her assistant helped me into my cloak.
I pulled the hood down to my nose and then made my way outside.
I avoided the curious gazes of the knights.
They must have heard the commotion from inside, but I didn’t want them to see my swollen cheek.
As I trudged down the long corridor of the annex, my eyes on the floor, sighing about the unfortunate scene I’d just had to endure.
One after another, it seemed.
Before long I realized I’d taken a wrong turn and gotten lost in the corridors of the annex.
It was a large annex which even I had not fully explored yet.
I turned around to retrace my steps when I bumped into someone.
I stumbled back in surprise and would have tumbled over, if it hadn’t been for the hand that reached out to grab my arm.
“Where are you doing?”
I looked up in surprise.
“Your Grace?”
Rouche was looking at me with an odd expression, probably more confused than I was, stalking the corridors of the annex and cowling like a wraith.