Chapter 3 — A Lesson in Kindness
Morning came softly to Aureline Manor, painting the halls in shades of amber and cream. The air smelled faintly of fresh bread and rosewater.
I tied the last ribbon of my apron, exhaled, and glanced at the mirror. The girl who looked back at me wasn't the same timid maid from before. Her eyes — my eyes — held quiet resolve. After all, I wasn't really Clara, just someone who had inherited her life, her skills, her memories… and her deadly past.
It still felt strange sometimes, how easily her instincts slipped into my body — how a single flicker of motion could make my hands reach for invisible blades, how every shadow whispered warning like an old friend. But I wasn't here to kill anymore.
Not this time.
This time, I was here to protect.
---
"My Lady," I said softly, knocking on the carved door of Seraphina's chamber. "It's morning."
"Enter," came the calm voice inside.
She was already dressed — an elegant white gown embroidered with faint gold. Her hair fell loose today, curling gently at the ends. A small, tired smile flickered across her face as she looked at me.
"You're early," she said.
"I could say the same of you," I replied, setting the breakfast tray by the window. "But I suppose villains don't get much sleep."
Her brow twitched, though her lips curved faintly. "You shouldn't say such things where others might hear, Clara."
"I'll whisper next time," I said. "Though you're not really a villain, are you?"
She raised her eyes from her tea. "No?"
"No," I said, stepping closer. "Just a woman who's learned how to protect herself in a cruel world."
Her fingers paused on the teacup. For a moment, something fragile passed through her gaze.
Then she sighed. "You have a dangerous habit of saying comforting things."
"Would you rather I stopped?"
"…No," she admitted. "I think I'd rather hear them."
---
A quiet knock interrupted us. One of the senior maids stepped in, bowing politely.
"My Lady, the royal summons has arrived. The carriage will be ready within the hour."
Seraphina's expression didn't change, but I saw her shoulders tense.
"The Crown Prince," she murmured.
My chest tightened. So soon? In the novel I'd read, this was the point where everything began to unravel — where rumors of Seraphina's cruelty would spread, where the heroine's light would start to outshine her.
But not this time. Not if I could help it.
"Shall I accompany you, My Lady?" I asked.
She hesitated. "It's only a formal luncheon."
"Which means formal daggers under the table," I said dryly. "I insist."
Her lips twitched, amusement flickering through the storm in her eyes. "You're impossible."
"I know," I said with a small smile. "But I'm also reliable."
---
By noon, we were seated inside the ornate carriage bound for the royal estate. Velvet curtains fluttered with every bump on the cobblestone road. The silence between us was comfortable now, tinged with something quieter — something like trust.
I stole a glance at her profile. Even at rest, she looked untouchable — beauty drawn with precision, grace honed by years of scrutiny. But her hands, folded neatly in her lap, trembled ever so slightly.
Without thinking, I reached out and covered them with mine.
She froze, startled. Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and uncertain.
"Your hands are cold," I said softly. "You shouldn't let the world see that."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Then, almost reluctantly, she relaxed — just enough to let her fingers curl faintly around mine.
"…Clara," she murmured, voice low. "You'll get me into trouble."
"Then I'll take the blame," I whispered back. "I'm good at that."
The carriage hit a bump, but neither of us pulled away.
---
The royal estate loomed like a fairytale carved from marble and gold. Every step echoed with power. Courtiers whispered behind fans, their smiles thin as glass. Seraphina walked beside me, her head high, her poise unbroken.
They called her the villainess behind their smiles. The snake in silk. The cursed beauty.
But standing next to her, I couldn't see any of that. All I saw was a woman walking into a battlefield made of elegance.
"Clara," she murmured as we entered the grand hall. "If anyone asks, you're simply my maid. Do not draw attention."
"Yes, My Lady," I said, bowing slightly. "But if anyone draws a weapon—"
"I'll scold you later," she finished smoothly.
I smiled. "As long as I get to keep my job afterward."
---
The luncheon was a dance of polite daggers. The Crown Prince — golden-haired, gentle-eyed — greeted Seraphina with the warmth of a man who'd long since moved on. Beside him sat the heroine of the story, Lady Eveline — pure, radiant, the kind of person who smiled as if she didn't know what betrayal meant.
I watched Seraphina carefully, expecting anger or jealousy. But instead, she simply smiled and poured her tea. Her calmness unnerved me more than any outburst could.
When Eveline complimented her gown, Seraphina responded kindly. When the prince mentioned old memories, she simply nodded and changed the subject.
It was elegance turned into armor — restraint sharper than any blade.
But I could see the truth behind it. Her hands clenched subtly under the tablecloth, her breath hitching when the prince laughed too fondly with the new lady.
I wanted to reach for her again. To shield her from all of it. But I was just a maid — and a reincarnated one at that.
Still… I couldn't stay silent.
When we were leaving, I leaned closer and whispered, "You were magnificent, My Lady."
She blinked, surprised. "Magnificent?"
"Yes," I said. "Because you didn't let them break you."
A faint, almost bashful smile curved her lips. "You think too highly of me."
"Maybe," I said softly. "But someone has to."
For a heartbeat, the villainess of the kingdom — the woman said to be cruel and heartless — looked at me as if I were the only person in the room. The world around us faded, and for that one fragile moment, I saw it again: the kindness she tried so hard to bury.
---
That night, after we returned to the manor, I found her standing by the balcony, her hair untied and glowing in the moonlight.
"You stayed quiet today," she said without turning.
"You handled it beautifully," I replied. "I didn't need to."
Her voice softened. "I could feel your eyes on me."
I smiled faintly. "Then they were doing their job."
She turned then, her gaze steady and unreadable. "You make it very hard to tell where the servant ends and the protector begins."
I stepped closer, until the scent of roses and ink filled the space between us. "Maybe because, to me, they're the same."
Something flickered in her eyes — emotion, unspoken and dangerous.
When she finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. "You shouldn't look at me like that."
"Then stop being someone worth looking at," I murmured.
Her breath caught — and for a moment, the world seemed to hold itself still.