3 - Change
Morning sunlight filtered through gauze curtains the color of blush roses, illuminating the long dining hall of the Vernon estate. Mariana sat at the far end of the polished table, posture stiff as a board.
Today was the luncheon with her mother.
The Grand Duchess Darelene Cerys Kylin la Vernon.
In the novel, Darelene was described as the "Jewel of High Society"-a woman whose beauty never faded and whose smile could slice deeper than a blade.
Elegant. Poised. Impeccable. Comparable to the Empress, be it status, wealth and pedigree.
And terrifying. Mariana folded her hands neatly on her lap, resisting the urge to fidget.
"Her Grace, the Grand Duchess."
Every maid and attendant bowed in perfect unison as the doors opened.
Darelene entered like a swan gliding over still waters.
Her light pink hair was styled flawlessly beneath a delicate lace hat, her gown a muted ivory trimmed with gold embroidery.
Not a single movement was wasted. Even the sound of her heels against marble felt calculated.
Mariana swallowed.
Oh. So this is where I get my looks from.
"My dear daughter," Darelene greeted smoothly, taking the seat opposite her. "I trust you are feeling better."
"Yes, Mother," Mariana replied softly.
The word felt foreign on her tongue. In her previous life, she never had the chance to call anyone that.
Darelene's gloved fingers paused ever so slightly before she picked up her teacup.
Interesting.
The original Mariana would have complained about the temperature of the tea by now. Instead, her daughter merely sat with lowered lashes, composed and quiet.
"How unfortunate that you fell into the pond," Darelene continued. "The entire garden party was in disarray."
"I apologize for embarrassing the family," Mariana said sincerely.
A spoon clinked against porcelain. The Grand Duchess' sharp blue eyes lifted.
There it is. That was new.
Mariana nearly bit her tongue.
Too much? Too little? Was she overdoing it?
Darelene studied her daughter's face, searching for signs of fever or lingering confusion.
In the novel, this was the point where the villainess would insist it was someone else's fault-that a maid had tripped her, that the Saintess had distracted her, that the world conspired against her dignity.
But this Mariana merely lowered her head politely.
"...You have nothing to apologize for," Darelene said at last.
Mariana blinked.
Wait. That wasn't in the script.
"You are a Vernon," the Grand Duchess continued coolly. "Your dignity is inherent. A single mishap does not tarnish it."
Oh. Oh. That was kind of comforting. Mariana felt something warm bloom in her chest. "I will conduct myself more carefully henceforth," she said, meeting her mother's gaze with steady resolve.
Silence fell between them.
The maids served roasted pheasant, buttered asparagus, and freshly baked bread. The scent was mouthwatering. Darelene observed how her daughter ate-small bites, no dramatic sighs, no complaints about seasoning. Even her posture had changed. More restrained. More aware. More... mature.
"Mariana."
"Yes, Mother?"
"You seem different."
There it is. Mariana's heart thudded violently. Abort mission? Fake fainting spell? Dive under table? She forced a gentle smile.
"Perhaps nearly drowning has made me reflect."
Darelene's brows arched slightly.
Reflect. That was not a word her daughter favored.
"How so?"
Mariana hesitated.
Careful. Don't sound like you've been possessed by a modern soul with internet access.
"I simply realized that I have been... childish," she admitted. "I wish to become someone the Vernon name can be proud of."
The fork in Darelene's hand stilled. For a fleeting moment-just a flicker-something softened in her gaze. Then it was gone.
"You are already a Vernon," she replied evenly. "Pride is not something you must beg for."
Mariana's throat tightened unexpectedly.
Oh no. Why is that hitting emotionally?
She nodded instead. "I understand."
Darelene leaned back gracefully.
Children matured after accidents sometimes. Shock altered temperament. It was not unheard of. Perhaps fear had humbled her. Yes, that must be it.
Her daughter had always been passionate-too passionate. If that fervor cooled slightly, it might actually benefit her future as Crown Princess.
"I hear the Crown Prince returns within the week," Darelene said casually.
Mariana nearly choked on bread.
"Yes, Mother."
"You will attend the welcoming banquet."
It wasn't a question.
"Of course."
Darelene's eyes sharpened. "You will behave." Ah. There's the political undertone.
"Yes, Mother," Mariana repeated calmly.
Another pause.
No protest. No flushed indignation. No dramatic vows of eternal love.
Darelene lifted her teacup once more.
Strange child. But perhaps this change was a blessing.
After all, emotionally volatile fiancée was dangerous in the Imperial Court. If Mariana had truly grown more controlled... Then the Vernon family would benefit. Darelene brushed aside her faint unease. Accidents change people. Nothing more.
-
Meanwhile-
Within the towering halls of the Imperial Palace, tension coiled like a drawn bowstring.
The Imperial Court was in session.
Nobles lined both sides of the grand chamber, cloaks heavy with embroidery denoting rank and influence. At the center stood the throne dais-though today, the Emperor was absent.
In his stead stood the Crown Prince.
Zafiel Abaddon von Clematis.
His black military coat was immaculate, silver epaulettes gleaming beneath the chandeliers. His presence alone pressed down upon the assembly like a physical weight. Reports were read. Borders discussed. Tax disputes argued. And through it all, Zafiel remained silent. Observing. Calculating.
Then-
"Your Imperial Highness," a portly nobleman stepped forward. "I believe increasing patrols in the western district is an unnecessary expense. The rebellion has already been suppressed."
Count Helios Varent.
Zafiel's gaze shifted lazily toward him. Unnecessary expense, interesting phrasing.
"My spies," the Count continued smoothly, "have reported no further unrest." Your spies. Zafiel descended the dais slowly. Each step echoed. The court grew quiet.
"Your spies," he repeated.
A bead of sweat trickled down the Count's temple. "Yes, Your Imperial Highness."
Zafiel stopped before him. Deep purple eyes locked onto trembling brown ones.
"You are well-informed."
"I-I strive only to serve the Empire."
The Crown Prince tilted his head slightly. "Indeed."
Before anyone could react-steel flashed. A thin, precise movement. A soft sound-wet and abrupt. The Count's words died in his throat. Literally. A crimson line appeared across his neck. Then it opened.
Gasps erupted throughout the chamber as blood poured onto polished marble.
The Count collapsed, gargling, lifeless within seconds.
Zafiel flicked his blade once, crimson droplets scattering across the floor.
"He was corresponding with rebel remnants," he stated calmly.
"Encoded letters were discovered this morning. "
Silence.
No one dared breathe.
"I have no tolerance for treachery," Zafiel continued, voice devoid of emotion. "Let this serve as clarification." Two knights stepped forward to drag the corpse away. Zafiel sheathed his sword. "Court is dismissed."
As nobles fled in hushed terror, none failed to understand the message. The Crown Prince did not negotiate with traitors. He eradicated them.
Zafiel turned toward the towering windows overlooking Clematis. The Empire was fragile. Enemies lurked behind smiles and titles. Even within allied houses.
His thoughts drifted briefly-To the Vernon family. To his fiancée. Mariana.
Emotional. Difficult. Politically valuable.
He exhaled. If his plans failed-
His gaze hardened. He would not hesitate. Not for anyone.
Far away, in a sunlit estate filled with tulips and delicate porcelain teacups-Mariana sneezed suddenly. "Why do I feel like someone just committed murder?"
The wind outside rustled the flowers gently.
As if in answer.