The second day at Rosevale Royal Academy began with an unexpected summons.
Priam was organizing Seraphina's study materials when a messenger arrived—not a servant, but a royal page dressed in the Prince's colors. The young man's presence alone was enough to make every servant in the corridor stop and stare.
"Message for Lady Seraphina von Ashcroft," the page announced formally, holding out a sealed letter bearing the royal crest.
Priam took it with a bow, noting the weight of the parchment, the quality of the seal. This was no casual note. "I'll deliver it to my lady immediately."
The page nodded and departed, leaving a wake of whispers behind him.
Priam found Seraphina in her sitting room, reviewing the academy's political theory syllabus. She looked up when he entered, and the moment she saw the letter in his hands, her entire body went still.
"Is that...?" She couldn't even finish the sentence.
"From His Highness, my lady." Priam handed it to her carefully, watching as her fingers trembled ever so slightly while breaking the seal.
She read in silence, her violet eyes moving across the elegant script. Priam waited, trying to read her expression—hope, excitement, caution all flickering across her features like shadows in candlelight.
Finally, she looked up. "He's invited me to join him for a private tea this afternoon. In the royal gardens."
"That's excellent news, my lady."
"Is it?" Seraphina's voice was unexpectedly sharp. She stood, pacing to the window. "What if this is a test? What if he's simply being polite to all the high-ranking ladies? What if—"
"My lady," Priam interrupted gently. "May I speak plainly?"
She turned, her expression guarded. "When do you ever do otherwise?"
"His Highness doesn't extend private invitations lightly. If he wanted to be merely polite, he would have arranged a group gathering. This is deliberate. He wants to know you better."
Seraphina pressed her lips together, then nodded slowly. "You're right. Of course you're right." She took a breath, composing herself. "I need to prepare. What should I wear? What topics should I prepare to discuss? Should I—"
"My lady." Priam moved closer, keeping his voice calm and steady. "Do you remember what worked at the reception?"
"Being myself," she said quietly.
"Exactly. Don't overthink this. He already saw the perfect, poised Lady Ashcroft at the ball. Now he wants to see who you are when you're not performing for a crowd."
Seraphina studied him for a long moment. "You're asking me to be vulnerable. To a man who could crush my family's standing with a word."
"I'm asking you to be genuine. There's a difference." Priam paused. "But if you'd prefer, I can help you prepare a script—"
"No." The word came out firm. "No, you're right. If I want him to actually see me, I need to..." She trailed off, then smiled slightly. "I need to trust your bizarre servant wisdom."
"I live to provide bizarre wisdom, my lady."
She actually laughed at that, a real laugh that transformed her entire face. "Alright. Help me choose something appropriate. Something that says 'I'm worthy of a prince's attention' without screaming 'I'm desperate for a prince's attention.'"
They settled on a dress of deep emerald green, elegant but not ostentatious, with silver embroidery that caught the light. Her hair was styled simply, allowing her natural beauty to show through rather than hiding behind elaborate construction. As Priam helped her with the final preparations, he noticed her hands had stopped trembling.
"Better?" he asked.
"Better," she confirmed. Then, more quietly: "Thank you, Priam. For everything."
"It's my honor to serve, my lady."
As the appointed hour approached, Priam escorted Seraphina to the royal gardens—a sprawling paradise of manicured lawns, flowering trees, and ornate fountains. In the center stood a pavilion where afternoon tea had been arranged. Crown Prince Aldric was already there, dressed less formally than at the reception, reviewing what appeared to be a document.
He looked up as they approached and stood, offering a genuine smile. "Lady Ashcroft. Thank you for accepting my invitation."
"The honor is entirely mine, Your Highness." Seraphina curtsied, her movements fluid and natural.
Priam bowed and prepared to withdraw to a respectful distance, but the Prince surprised him.
"Your butler as well," Aldric said, his sharp blue eyes fixing on Priam. "Priam Ashford, isn't it?"
Oh no. Priam kept his expression neutral. "Yes, Your Highness."
"I've heard interesting things about you. Stay within sight, but give us privacy for conversation." It wasn't a request.
"Of course, Your Highness."
As Priam withdrew to stand near a fountain—close enough to be summoned, far enough not to overhear—he caught Seraphina's brief, startled glance. The Prince is observing everything, that glance said. Even my servants.
The tea proceeded. From his position, Priam could only watch their body language, not hear their words. But what he saw was... promising. Seraphina wasn't performing. She was engaged, animated, occasionally laughing at something the Prince said. And Aldric—the supposedly cold, analytical future king—was leaning forward, clearly interested in what she was saying.
It's working. She's actually connecting with him.
Priam should have felt triumphant. This was exactly what he'd been trying to engineer—a genuine connection that would keep Seraphina from spiraling into destructive schemes. If the Prince actually liked her, she wouldn't need to eliminate rivals or plot violence.
So why did he feel this strange hollow sensation in his chest?
Because you're getting too invested, he told himself firmly. She's not yours to care about. She's a villainess you're trying to save from her own fate. That's all.
But watching her laugh, seeing her face light up with genuine joy rather than calculated performance, Priam knew he was lying to himself. Somewhere between the carriage rides and the midnight conversations, between the strategic advice and the moments of vulnerability, he'd started to actually care what happened to Seraphina von Ashcroft.
Not as a game character to be managed.
As a person.
Dangerous, his survival instincts screamed. Emotionally compromising yourself with the villainess is how you end up executed alongside her when everything goes wrong.
Movement caught his eye. Two figures approaching the gardens—and Priam's blood ran cold as he recognized them.
Lady Elara Rosefield, looking concerned and confused.
And Lady Vivienne Nightshade, wearing an expression of calculated interest.
No. No, this isn't supposed to happen yet.
In the game, there was an event—"The Garden Confrontation"—where rival ladies would "accidentally" stumble upon the Prince's private meetings. It was meant to create drama and tension, to show the villainess's jealousy triggering violent reactions.
But it wasn't supposed to happen until much later in the story.
Priam had changed the script at the welcome reception. And now the story was adapting, throwing events at him out of order.
Butterfly effect. This is what happens when you rewrite fate.
Elara spotted the Prince first, her eyes widening. She started to turn away, clearly not wanting to intrude, but Vivienne caught her arm, whispering something. Elara hesitated, then allowed herself to be guided forward.
Priam calculated rapidly. He had maybe thirty seconds before they reached the pavilion. If Seraphina saw them approaching while she was having this perfect moment with the Prince, her paranoia would spike. She'd think it was a deliberate ambush, a scheme to steal the Prince's attention.
And then the villainess would emerge.
He couldn't let that happen.
Priam moved quickly but carefully, intercepting the two ladies before they could reach the pavilion. He bowed deeply. "Lady Rosefield, Lady Nightshade. Good afternoon."
Both women stopped, surprised by the interruption.
"Ashford's butler," Vivienne said, her dark eyes assessing. "How... convenient."
"I apologize for the intrusion," Priam said smoothly, "but His Highness is currently engaged in private discussions. Perhaps I could direct you to another part of the gardens?"
Elara looked genuinely apologetic. "Oh! I had no idea. I wouldn't want to impose—"
"But surely," Vivienne interrupted, her voice silky, "His Highness wouldn't mind a brief greeting? We're all students here, after all."
She knows exactly what she's doing. She wants to create a scene.
"Normally I would agree," Priam said, maintaining his pleasant, professional tone. "However, as His Highness explicitly requested privacy, I believe it would be most respectful to honor that request. I'm certain he would appreciate your discretion."
He emphasized the word 'discretion,' making it clear that pushing forward would be seen as improper.
Elara nodded immediately. "Of course. We wouldn't want to be rude."
But Vivienne wasn't giving up so easily. "How curious that Lady Ashcroft merits such special consideration. One might wonder what makes her company so... exclusive."
She's baiting me. Trying to get a reaction.
"Lady Ashcroft is the daughter of a Duke," Priam replied evenly. "As is Lady Nightshade. I'm certain His Highness would extend similar courtesy to you, should you receive an invitation."
The subtle jab hit home. Vivienne's smile tightened. "Indeed. Well, we wouldn't want to interrupt. Come, Elara."
As they departed—Elara with genuine grace, Vivienne with barely concealed irritation—Priam allowed himself a moment to breathe.
Crisis averted. Again.
But how many more would he have to deflect before the story stopped trying to correct itself?
When the tea finally concluded and Seraphina rejoined him, she was practically glowing. "That was... it was wonderful, Priam. He's so intelligent, so thoughtful. We discussed governance, philosophy, even literature. He actually listened to my opinions. Valued them."
"I'm glad, my lady."
She studied his face. "You seem troubled."
Because I just realized I'm not playing a game anymore. I'm improvising against fate itself, and I have no idea what consequences my interference will bring.
"Just ensuring your safety, my lady. The gardens can be unpredictable."
Seraphina's expression softened. "You're always watching out for me, aren't you?"
"It's my duty."
"Is that all it is?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications Priam wasn't ready to examine.
"We should return to your quarters, my lady. You'll want to rest before dinner."
Seraphina nodded slowly, accepting the deflection. But as they walked back through the academy grounds, Priam caught her glancing at him several times, her expression thoughtful and searching.
That night, alone in his servant's quarters, Priam stared at the ceiling and wondered what he'd gotten himself into.
He'd successfully prevented one scripted event. He'd helped Seraphina make a genuine connection with the Prince. He'd even deflected a potential confrontation that could have triggered her villainess behavior.
But the story was fighting back. Events were shifting, adapting, trying to force the narrative back on track.
And Priam was starting to realize that saving Seraphina might be far more complicated—and dangerous—than he'd ever imagined.
I need to be more careful. More strategic. I can't just react to every crisis. I need to anticipate them.
I need to understand the other players in this game.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would start gathering information. About Elara, about Vivienne, about all the other capture targets and rivals.
Because if he was going to rewrite this story, he needed to know every character's motivation, every potential plot thread, every possible trap.
The game had been simple when it was just pixels and dialogue choices.
But now it was real, with real consequences, real emotions, real stakes.
And Priam was in it far deeper than he'd ever intended to be.