84 - Deviation
The shift in atmosphere was immediate—and unmistakable.
It wasn’t just the way Archduchess Sadia Yulisius de Edinburgh and Grand Princess Mariana Cherustine la Vernon greeted each other. It wasn’t even the warmth, or the familiarity, or the subtle ease in their expressions. It was how wrong it felt—to everyone else.
The noble ladies seated around the long, elegantly arranged tea table exchanged glances. Subtle. Measured. But impossible to miss if one knew where to look. Because this… this wasn’t how things were supposed to be.
Archduchess Sadia—daughter of the elusive Archduke of Edinburgh—had always been described the same way. Sickly. Frail. Sheltered. A noble lady who rarely, if ever, attended social gatherings. A name more than a presence.
And yet, there she was. Alive. Radiant. Laughing softly as she lifted her teacup with steady hands. No signs of illness. No weakness. Nothing resembling the rumors that had circulated for years. It didn’t add up.
And then, there was Mariana. The so-called villainess of nobility.
The one whispered about in hushed tones. The one associated with arrogance, volatility, and scandal. The one who had, until recently, been a figure of unease in every gathering she attended.
And yet, the woman seated before them now was… composed. Calm. Graceful. Her posture elegant, her movements measured. Her voice soft, refined—eerily reminiscent of Grand Duchess Darelene. It was unsettling. Because this version of Mariana did not match the stories.
And somehow, even more shocking than that, she and Sadia looked… close. Familiar. Comfortable. As if they shared something beyond simple acquaintance.
“… how strange…” One Countess murmured quietly behind her fan.
“Like crows turning white…” Another whispered.
Still, propriety prevailed. No one dared question them directly.
Instead, they sipped the tea provided—rare leaves imported from the east, courtesy of Dowager Countess Bricella Ansol—and engaged in conversation as expected.
Fashion trends were discussed first. Silk imports. Embroidery styles. The rise of lighter fabrics for the upcoming season. Then came gossip. Quiet. Controlled. But sharp beneath the surface.
“… I heard the Crown Prince has executed three more houses…”
“… rebellion, they say…”
“… still, isn’t it excessive…?”
“… it’s frightening…”
The mention of Crown Prince Zafiel caused a subtle shift. Voices lowered. Expressions tightened. Fear—thinly veiled beneath politeness—lingered in the air.
One noblewoman sighed softly. “Even if they were guilty… such harsh measures…”
Another nodded. “It leaves little room for mercy…”
A third added, “It makes one wonder… who might be next…”
Mariana listened quietly. Observing. Processing. And then, she spoke. “Perhaps,” she began gently, setting her teacup down with a soft clink, “it is more effective to remove the seed of rebellion before it has the chance to grow.”
Silence. It fell abruptly.
Not because her tone was harsh—it wasn’t. But because her words… were not what they expected. Several pairs of eyes turned toward her. Some startled. Some curious. Some… cautious.
Bricella, in particular, stilled. Her gaze sharpened slightly as she studied Mariana—not with judgment, but with intrigue. “How interesting…” The dowager murmured.
Mariana met her gaze calmly. “There is a difference,” she continued, her voice steady, “between cruelty and decisiveness. If rebellion is allowed to take root, it risks far more lives in the long run.” A pause. Then, softer, “Sometimes, severity is chosen… not out of malice, but necessity.”
The room remained quiet. Because whether they agreed or not, they understood.
Bricella’s lips curved slightly. “You speak as though you understand His Highness well.”
Mariana hesitated for just a fraction of a second. “… I’m only speculating.” She replied lightly. But internally—
I wish I didn’t.
Across from her, Sadia had gone quiet, unusually quiet. Her earlier warmth had dimmed, replaced by something more thoughtful. Focused.
She watched Mariana—not as a noble observing another, but as someone piecing together something important.
And then, Sadia spoke softly. “Grand Princess,” she said with a gentle smile, “would you accompany me to the gardens? I heard the roses are in bloom.”
Mariana caught it instantly. The tone. The intent. A private conversation. “… of course.” Mariana replied just as smoothly. She turned to Bricella. “If you’ll excuse us?”
Bricella waved a hand gracefully. “By all means, enjoy the garden.”
And just like that, they left.
The moment they stepped outside, the air changed. Cooler. Quieter. Freer. The manicured gardens stretched before them, vibrant with color. Roses, lilies, and climbing vines adorned stone paths and arched trellises.
But neither of them paid much attention to the scenery, not really. They walked in silence for a few moments, ensuring distance. Ensuring privacy.
Then, Sadia stopped. Turned and dropped the smile. “… you spoke to her.” She said. Not a question. A statement.
Mariana’s breath caught slightly. “You figured it out that fast...?”
Sadia folded her arms. “Mariana, you just casually implied understanding of Zafiel’s mindset and then looked like you wanted to scream internally.” A beat. “So yes.”
Mariana sighed. “… fair.” Silence lingered briefly. Then Mariana spoke. “… I heard a voice last night.”
Sadia’s posture straightened immediately.
“Female,” Mariana continued. “She called me ‘Iana.’”
Sadia’s eyes widened. “N-No way…”
Mariana nodded slowly. “She said her name was… Astrid.”
That did it. Sadia froze completely. “The Astrid?” She asked carefully.
Mariana gave a small, helpless nod. “The Goddess.” She confirmed.
Silence. Heavy. Unbelieving.
“… okay…” Sadia muttered, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, that’s… that’s new. That’s very new.”
“She spoke to me like we were… friends.” Mariana added. “Said she was lonely.”
Sadia blinked. “The Goddess is... lonely...?”
“Yes.”
“That’s... terrifying.”
“Very.” Mariana exhaled shakily. “She thanked me for becoming the Saintess. Said I’m the ‘sole light’ of this world.”
Sadia frowned. “That sounds like main character energy on steroids.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Too bad.”
“… yeah.” A pause. Then Mariana’s voice lowered. “I asked her about the original Mariana.”
Sadia stilled. “And?”
Mariana hesitated. “She... doesn’t know.”
Sadia’s eyes snapped to hers. “What do you mean, she doesn’t know?”
“She said… the soul might have been erased.”
Silence. Cold. Unsettling.
Sadia’s expression darkened. “… that’s not normal.”
“No, it’s not.” Mariana’s fingers curled slightly. “If even a Goddess doesn’t know what happened to a soul…” she whispered, “then something is very, very wrong.”
Sadia nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s not just ‘plot deviation’ anymore.”
Mariana swallowed. “It gets worse.”
Sadia looked at her.
“She said she can’t help me escape Zafiel.”
“… figures.”
“But not just because of rules.” Mariana added.
Sadia’s brows furrowed.
“She’s… afraid.”
That made Sadia freeze again. “Afraid of what...?”
Mariana’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “… someone.”
Silence fell again, thicker this time.
“He said if she interferes…” Mariana continued, “… that ‘someone’ might come back.”
Sadia exhaled slowly. “Okay, so let me get this straight.” She began counting on her fingers.
“Plot is broken. Male lead is… whatever Zafiel is now. Heroine—me—is off doing side quests. Saintess—you—are talking directly to the Goddess. And there’s some unknown entity powerful enough to scare said Goddess.
” She lowered her hand. “We’re... not in a romance novel anymore. ..”
Mariana gave a weak laugh. “… yeah. I noticed.”
Sadia looked at her seriously. “We need information.”
Mariana nodded immediately.
“Real information,” Sadia continued. “Not just what we remember from the novel.”
“Because clearly,” Mariana added, “the novel isn’t reliable anymore.”
“Exactly.”
They stood there in silence for a moment. Two girls, two outsiders, standing in a world that no longer followed its own rules.
Sadia exhaled. “We’re going to have to figure this out ourselves.”
Mariana nodded. “… together.”
Sadia smiled faintly. “Yeah.” She said. “Together.”