Chapter 17 The Victory Lap
My knees turned to literal jelly the second I rounded the corner and Didier was out of sight.
I didn't care that the other coachmen were staring at me like I was a psycho, walking around with the front of my dress soaked in dark red stains.
I just half-ran toward the carriage lot.
The second the Varannes servant opened the door, I basically threw myself inside.
BAM!
I slammed the door shut and slid the iron lock.
The moment the wheels started rolling over the gravel and away from the palace gates, I completely cracked.
I shoved my face into my hands and just started laughing like a lunatic in the dark.
It was that kind of hysterical laugh that slowly morphs into tears because my brain is just fried from sheer stress.
I wasn't sad. It was just the panic leaving my body.
Holy shit. I actually survived.
It felt exactly like back at my old work firm when my team somehow killed a massive brand boycott overnight and got a fat year end bonus.
Except this time, the bonus wasn't extra cash, it was keeping my freaking head attached to my neck.
I had just completely derailed the most critical death plot in the novel, made the Crown Prince look like a clueless idiot in a dark hallway, and turned Gisella from a jealous monster into a high society saint.
"You're out of your mind, Anna," I muttered to myself, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
Thinking back to how I stared Didier down made my skin crawl a bit.
If that guy had been a real, bloodthirsty tyrant, I'd be a corpse right now.
Luckily, he was just a typical spoiled prince who got completely flustered the second someone didn't play by his script.
I leaned back against the seat, trying to relax even though the wet dress was freezing against my thighs like an ice towel.
But as I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart, something felt weird around my ribs.
I looked down, feeling around my chest. The tight corset, the one that had been actively trying to crush my lungs since dawn, suddenly felt loose.
I breathed in deeper. Yeah, definitely loose.
Turns out, getting a whole pitcher of wine dumped onto thick linen and then aggressively yanking a blonde out of the splash zone had stretched the laces out.
I dropped my head back against the wooden wall of the carriage and let out a long sigh.
"Well, at least the ruined dress was good for something," I mumbled. Smelling like a literal wine barrel was a small price to pay for finally getting actual oxygen into my lungs without feeling like I was being strangled by my own clothes.
The next morning, I woke up with a massive crick in my neck.
The faint smell of rose wine was still sticking to the ends of my hair, even though the maids had scrubbed it three times last night with the most aggressive herbal soap they could find.
I was sitting in the dining room wearing loose, comfortable loungewear, chewing on a piece of toast and sipping warm chamomile tea to soothe my stomach.
The house was dead quiet. Until Hans, our head butler, walked in.
Usually, the old guy glides around the house like a slow, dignified ghost, but today he was practically booking it.
He was holding a morning newspaper, the ink still smelling fresh off the press.
His wrinkled face looked completely stressed, but his eyes were wide and buzzing as he dropped the pages right next to my teacup.
"Lady Ilse," Hans said, his voice actually shaking. "You need to read the front page. The entire capital is talking about you."
I set my tea down and pulled the paper over. My eyes locked onto the massive, bold headline stamped across the top column.
"Generosity in the Rose Garden: Viscountess Ilse de Varannes Protects the Crown Prince's Choice From Embarrassing Scandal."
Uhuk!
I completely coughing into a napkin while scrambling to clear my throat.
I quickly dragged my eyes down the long opinion column.
The palace journalists had absolutely run wild with it.
They painted the whole thing as this massive, dramatic, heroic sacrifice where a noblewoman ruined her own expensive outfit just to keep the Empress's party pure and protect Lysandra.
They even praised Gisella, calling her "mature" and a "dignified future Empress" for putting the dignity of the court over personal feelings.
I just stared at the paper, eyes bigger.
I mean, yeah, my plan last night was to shut Didier up and clear Gisella's name. But a national headline turning me into a heroine? I definitely didn't see that coming.