Chapter 11 Walking into the Lions Den
Prince Didier didn't say a word. He just sat there on his horse, staring down at me with his blue eyes narrowed into slits.
The silence stretched out, long and awkward, like his royal brain was lagging, trying to figure out why his little alpha male speech hadn't triggered any tears or hysterical sobbing from Ilse de Varannes.
Once he realized he wasn't getting any cheap drama out of me, he jerked his horse's reins back. He gave a lazy wave with his left hand, and the two armored guards blocking our carriage immediately stepped back to open the path.
Without another word, Didier spun his horse around and bolted toward the inner palace gates, leaving a cloud of dust in our faces.
"Ilse..." Gisella's voice came from behind me, completely stripped of its usual screeching tone. "W-were you really not scared? He literally threatened to throw your dad in a dungeon."
I turned around, slammed the carriage door shut, and smoothed out my boring grey skirt.
"An empty threat without proof is just noise, Gisella. If we panic, we show our cards. Now, drop your chin a bit, fix your tilted tiara, and remember: keep your mouth shut until we're actually at the party. Don't let your wrong plan that make us into trouble.
i'll make a plan and you should follow it at last. "
She actually nodded and obeyed. Fear is a great motivator for airheads, apparently.
The second we stepped out of the carriage and into the Empress's rose garden, the atmosphere shifted. The cool evening breeze did absolutely nothing to cut through the thick social tension suffocating the place.
Every single eye snapped to us. The gossip about yesterday's boutique fight and the Prince blocking us at the gate had clearly spread through the servant grapevine already.
Noble ladies holding porcelain teacups started whispering behind their silk fans.
High-tier guys gave Gisella the side-eye, while girls from rival factions openly sneered at her loud, fire-engine red dress.
Our outfits were a total joke next to each other. Gisella stood there looking like a walking hazard sign, and I was just the dull grey curtain hiding in her shadow.
I could feel her starting to shake next to me. Her feet glued to the grass, her fingers clawing into her own expensive fabric. Her massive ego was currently crashing hard against the wall of public humiliation.
Before her shoulders could slump completely, I shifted my stance. I stepped one foot forward, putting my boring grey self right in the line of fire to block the vultures from seeing her face. I popped my plain cloth fan open with a slow flick and swept a deadpan look across the entire garden.
Every time some noble gave Gisella a nasty look, I stared back. Dead eyes. Zero emotion. Defensive worker, be the shield for your client. Let me absorb the aggro and the hostile stares while Gisella keeps whatever dignity she has left as the future Empress.
"Keep moving, Gisella. Look straight ahead, ignore them," I muttered behind my fan, making sure only she could hear.
Gisella took a sharp breath and forced her spine straight. Good. The wallflower shield trick worked.
But while our side of the garden was a toxic waste dump, the other side near the marble fountain looked like a fan club meeting. A bunch of young knights in light armor and some altar boys from the holy temple were crowded around in a circle, laughing.
Right in the middle of them was Lysandra.
The original heroine was wearing a plain white cotton dress—the kind temple servants wear.
Not a single piece of gold on her. Her light brown hair was completely down, topped with a crown of fresh wild roses.
She was giggling, covering her mouth with one hand because some knight had just cracked a joke.
Her whole "innocent, humble, cute" aura had every guy there drooling like flies around honey.
"Look at that bitch," Gisella hissed through grated teeth. The crazy, homicidal look was back in her eyes the second she saw the fountain. "She's doing that fake innocent act so the men feel sorry for her!"
"Gisella, watch your mouth," I warned her, grabbing her arm tight before she could charge over and scalp the main character. "Let them swarm her. The more attention she gets now, the higher the expectations. We just wait for the right moment."
I ignored Lysandra and started scanning the crowd around the buffet tables. I needed to find the idiot servant Gisella had bribed.
My eyes ran over the staff carrying silver trays of snacks and drinks. Most of them were moving like clockwork, totally professional under the strict palace rules.
Until I spotted a skinny guy near the long serving table.
He was in the palace uniform, but his body language was a total mess.
He was sweating buckets despite the cool breeze, and his hands were visibly shaking as he held a massive silver tray.
On top of that tray was a heavy glass pitcher filled with thick, dark red wine the seasonal rose wine that smells like a vineyard.
The guy kept looking around, peering toward the crowd of knights by the fountain, and then his eyes darted straight to Gisella, giving her a nervous, panicked look.
Damn it. That was him.
My heart rate spiked as the servant started moving. He gripped the tray hard and took a weird, looping route that lined him up directly with Lysandra's back. Ten steps away. Five steps.
The guy started rushing his pace, faking a clumsy wobble like he'd just tripped over a rose root hidden in the grass. The heavy glass pitcher tilted hard on the tray, the dark red wine sloshing over the edge, ready to ruin that pristine white dress in three, two, one...