The butler flinched the moment he saw me walking toward the emperor's chambers, his eyes wide, pale hands trembling like brittle glass about to shatter. It was as though he'd seen a ghost rise from the graves that lined the palace's history—no, not just a ghost, but my ghost. Madeleine Ceres Habsburg—the cursed villainess, the forsaken daughter.
His breath hitched. I could see it in the way his throat bobbed, his lips parted in disbelief. Coward.
How pitiful. I mentally rolled my eyes. How foolish must one be to believe rumors blindly, without ever seeing the person with their own eyes, without weighing the truth themselves?
They never saw Madeleine burn a village. They never saw her poison a duchess or curse a child. Yet they fear her like the plague, like a dark omen whispered through trembling lips. It's not fear—they just need a villain to devour. Someone to laugh at. Someone to blame.
And Madeleine fit the mold perfectly.
"Your Highness," the butler rasped, the bow I was owed conspicuously absent, "His Majesty cannot receive visitors at the moment."
His tone—it grated like sand in my ears. No deference. No regard. Not even pretend courtesy. Even the maids I passed in the hallway bent their backs, half-heartedly, yes, but this old man? He stood tall, chin up, eyes filled with insolence as if I were nothing but vermin.
I tilted my head, my voice chilling and soft. "What is your name?"
He blinked. "Wagner, Your Highness."
That insolent name clung to his tongue like oil. His tone dared to ring with annoyance. It made my fingers twitch with a craving—for violence. I wanted to lunge forward, twist his wrinkled neck until it snapped with a satisfying crack, until his face turned violet and bloated, the last expression on his face frozen in horror.
"A man with no surname… dares not to bow to one of imperial blood?" I said, each word dipped in venom. "Is this the etiquette in the Main Palace now?"
Lyle, silent and unreadable beside me, caught the flick of my eyes. His hand moved to the hilt of his blade.
With a hiss of metal unsheathed, the sound of cold steel filled the corridor. Wagner's face drained of color. He dropped to his knees with a dull thud, Lyle's sword kissing his throat.
"Please! Have mercy, Your Highness!" Wagner's voice trembled like a cracked bell. "This old man forgot where he stood—"
I stared down at him, unmoved.
This scene? The old Madeleine would have never dared. She would've stayed behind her doors, weeping, wondering why the world spat on her name. But I am not that girl. And I'm not going to rot in her silence.
"People here have never respected me… Is my reputation truly that vile?" I murmured, more to myself than to Lyle. Then, louder, colder, I screamed at my mind. She died unjustified. And all you insects did was dance on her grave.
But I would not stain my hands yet. The emperor's hounds are always sniffing for excuses to devour me alive.
I smirked. "Put it back, Lyle. This mongrel is not worth dulling your blade."
Lyle obeyed without a word. Wagner collapsed onto the floor in relief, gasping.
We continued down the corridor. When we reached the emperor's office, one of the knights knocked, voice neutral.
"Your Majesty, Her Highness Madeleine requests an audience."
There was no response, but the door creaked open anyway.
How appropriate.
I stepped inside with Lyle. The emperor did not even lift his gaze from his desk.
"Greetings to the Noble Sun of the Empire," I said with a practiced bow, the sarcasm threading each syllable.
"Sit," he said curtly, still not looking at me.
Of course. I sat immediately. My legs ached, strained from the hall, and I knew from experience he would let me stand the entire conversation if I delayed. I still remember the last time—how my knees buckled, how he smirked.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
Again, no eye contact. I let out a breathless chuckle.
"I understand now why the servants treat me like a stray mutt," I said, fingers tightening on my lap. "They reflect what they see at the top."
That got his attention. Slowly, he looked up, golden eyes narrowing.
"The reason why the butler—your butler—acted with such insolence," I continued, my voice steady, "is because the emperor himself treats his own daughter like she is not worth a glance."
His brow twitched. "What are you saying?"
I stood, letting the weight of my words grow claws.
"You let me be disrespected. Mocked. Accused of crimes I never committed. While your beloved empress and your precious other daughter feasted on my reputation, poisoning everyone around them. And you—you said nothing."
He did not respond. A shadow crossed his expression.
"You should have killed me along with my mother," I said quietly. "At least then, I would not be forced to live this hell. Forced to breathe in a world that wishes I was buried and forgotten."
He flinched, a flicker of discomfort cracking his usual stoicism.
"I did not become the villainess because I wanted to." My voice shook with restrained rage. "I became her because that is the story you let them write. You stood by while they twisted my name into a curse. You—"
I cut myself off, teeth grinding together. I let the pause stretch. I wanted him to feel the silence wrap around his throat like a noose.
"You were never a father," I whispered. "Just a coward behind a crown."
His hands curled into fists on the desk. He opened his mouth to speak, but I had already turned.
"When I return," I said, stopping at the door, "it will all end."
I left, slamming the door behind me.
My knees gave out instantly. The moment the adrenaline drained, I collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Lyle caught me with precision—one hand on my back, the other supporting my arm.
"I'm fine," I muttered, brushing him off as I stood.
No, I was not.
But I did not have time to be weak.
"Send a letter to my grandfather," I said. "Inform him I will visit. Prepare a carriage. One that can outrun the devil himself."
"They would not approve your departure without the Emperor or Queen's seal. Shall I send mine instead?"
I nodded. "Yes. Your carriage will do."
Back in my palace, I summoned my three ladies-in-waiting.
"I'm leaving," I said flatly. "Aneira, pack my clothes. Belleann, deliver this letter to the Archduke without alerting the court. Darcy, assist with the packing and prepare a case of formal jewelry."
They stared at me, eyes wide, but thankfully asked no questions.
"I would not bring any of you with me. My grandparents does not welcome anyone from the palace."
Not a lie. Just not the whole truth. They loathe the emperor. And me? I need to stay alive.
"But Your Highness—" Aneira protested.
"I will have Lyle. And I am sure the duchy can spare a maid who does not serve poison with her tea."
I glared at her. She flinched and backed away with the others, leaving only Lyle and me.
"Sit," I told him. He obeyed.
I sipped my tea, cold now, and bitter.
"Do you think I will survive?"
A beat passed.
"I am here," Lyle replied. "I would not allow your death."
Strange. That was not in the book.
Lyle was a man forged from ice and iron—silent, unmoved, even at Madeleine's death. But I remember the line. The single moment the author allowed a crack in his armor.
"Lyle's eyes widened. His hands trembled. His breath hitched as the priest declared her fate."
I studied him now. The fine lines of his jaw. The way his posture remained unnaturally straight. I could not find anything in his face but stoicism.
And yet... why that line in the novel? Why would the author show that if he truly did not care?
Was there a chance—a tiny chance—that he had loved her?
Would Madeleine ever have a love story of her own? Was she ever meant to?
I shook my head.
No. This was not that kind of story.
The male lead is a useless sack of noble blood. A polished puppet. A joke.
But Lyle... Lyle might be something else.
I stood. "We leave tonight. Tell the stables."
"Yes, Your Highness."
As he walked away, I glanced out the window, watching the gray clouds gather like smoke.
When I return, I will not be the same. And they—every last one of them—will know the name Madeleine not as a villainess...
But as vengeance itself.
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