Chapter 24
The shop bell chimed behind them, and the cobblestones echoed beneath their footsteps.
Vidalia was no longer a mere servant.
She walked among her friends, wrapped in a cerulean-blue coat trimmed with silver, the wind playing with the light folds of her cape. In her eyes danced a discreet yet radiant joy, like a secret too beautiful to be contained.
The streets unfolded before her like the pages of a living book, filled with promise and color.
Late Morning — Market Stalls
Arzhel was buying caramelized apples from an old vendor, humming a falsely romantic sailor's tune. Camélia, arms crossed, rolled her eyes.
"You do know that excessive sugar dulls the nerves?"
"Ah, but I have no nerves—only a heart to give."
"Then give it to someone else."
Vidalia's laughter rang out, light and sincere, cutting short their verbal sparring.
Nearby, Adeline scanned the crowd, rigid and tense like a sword on watch, until Vidalia gently slipped her small hand into hers.
"You can relax a little, you know."
Adeline lowered her gaze. A discreet sigh escaped her lips, and she nodded solemnly.
"Just a little."
Mira, meanwhile, shot dark looks at Arzhel whenever he got too close to Vidalia. Yet she eventually offered a shy smile as she tasted a local sweet the girl had given her.
Noon — By the Canal
Sitting on the quay, legs dangling above the water, they ate still-warm rolls. All around them, children were launching paper boats. Mischievous as ever, Arzhel folded one shaped like a dragon. Fascinated, Vidalia tried to imitate him—Mira too, quietly.
Camélia, her back as straight as a reed, ate her soup in silence. But when Vidalia accidentally spilled some onto her tunic, a clear laugh escaped her—brief, genuine, almost stolen from her usual reserve.
Early Afternoon — The Antique Bookshop
Camélia and Vidalia leafed through an illustrated book of fairy tales, completely absorbed. Arzhel read a passage aloud with exaggerated theatrics. Mira leaned over their shoulders, carefully following the illustrations.
Adeline, who had never set foot in a bookshop outside the estate's library, remained frozen at the entrance. Vidalia approached her gently.
"There are stories about warrior women over there. Women who fought dragons."
A moment of silence. Then Adeline stepped forward without a word.
Half an hour later, she was reading while standing—upright as ever—but her eyes were fixed on the pages.
Late Afternoon — Fountain Square
A street dance was in full swing. Musicians spun melodies into the air, colorful ribbons fluttered, and the crowd danced beneath the fading sunlight.
Arzhel offered Vidalia his hand with an exaggeratedly gallant smile.
"A dance, princess of the day?"
"She is not a princess," Camélia cut in, stepping between them. "She is free today. She will dance with whomever she wishes."
Blushing, Vidalia took Arzhel's hand… then Camélia's, pulling them both into a clumsy, joyful circle.
Mira joined them, a discreet smile on her lips. Adeline, surprised, was tugged along by a boy who mistook her for a decorative statue. She let herself be pulled, bewildered.
Time dissolved into laughter, color, hesitant steps, and stolen glances.
Suddenly, Vidalia was swept away by the crowd. When she turned back, her friends were gone.
"Seriously… am I the only one who gets lost at moments like this?" she muttered in frustration.
The alley she had stumbled into was narrow, dark, and foul-smelling. Uneven cobblestones. Crumbling buildings. Shady shops.
She moved forward cautiously. She needed to find the others.
Especially since I haven't bought the grilled meat yet… she thought, meeting Naya's gaze.
The little fairy hovered beside her, one invisible eyebrow raised in silent reproach.
"I promised myself I'd try it, so don't judge me," Vidalia grumbled.
A noise made her jump.
"Naya… could you go look for them? I think I've gone too far…"
She surveyed the decaying houses, crooked signs, the strangeness lurking in the shadows.
"Please find Arzhel or Adeline. I'll wait here."
Naya hesitated, then slowly nodded, rising into the air with one last worried glance at her mistress.
Vidalia sighed and sat against a wall, burying her face in her hands.
The day had been perfect. She had never imagined experiencing such happiness. Her friends… they had brightened her dreams. She hoped she could relive moments like this again, soon.
Camélia was nothing like the cold, distant Camélia from the novel. She was gentle, unintentionally funny, endearing in her restraint.
Adeline and Mira had opened up, despite their reserve. Vidalia was deeply moved. They were Camélia's family, and she wanted to be accepted by them too.
And Arzhel…
Her heart fluttered at the thought.
He made her laugh. He understood her. He always looked at her as if she mattered. She wasn't foolish—she knew she appealed to him, and he didn't hide it. He supported her, encouraged her to move forward, to lift her head.
She blushed, struck by the realization.
Do I… like Arzhel?
Her cheeks burned hotter still. After all, she wasn't really a ten-year-old girl. So why did a thirteen-year-old boy affect her so much?
A shiver ran through her.
"Oh? And what do we have here?"
A hoarse, grating voice shattered the silence.
Vidalia looked up. Three men had entered the alley, knives in hand. Their greedy, malicious gazes stripped her bare.
"Boss, she's really pretty," one of them whistled. "She could fetch us a nice price."
"She looks like she comes from a rich family," another added, eyeing her clothes.
Vidalia backed away, her back hitting a damp wall. Even in a world of magic, predators existed.
She began gathering energy, slowly forming a dagger of water behind her back.
"Hey! Leave her alone!"
A young voice rang out.
Vidalia looked up, half relieved, half incredulous.
Seriously? A kid? That's my savior?
But when she saw his face, her breath caught.
A thirteen-year-old boy stepped forward confidently. He wore a long military-style jacket trimmed in midnight blue and gold, a short sword at his waist, boots polished to a shine, and a cape fastened with a brooch bearing a heraldic lion.
Wavy black hair framed a determined face, steel-gray eyes sharp and piercing. His noble bearing, calm and assured tone… he commanded presence despite his youth.
It was Victor Linwood—the third main protagonist of the novel.
Heir to an ancient knightly lineage, a precocious strategist, a born protector… and in the original story, one of the hero's most precious allies.
And today, he stood before three armed men without flinching.
"And what do you think you're going to do, you little brat?" the leader sneered. "Why not pretend you saw nothing, hm? That'd be wiser… and save you some unpleasantness."
The men drew their blades with a metallic rasp. Victor, unfazed, frowned and took a stance with a determination unexpected for a child his age.
What? How? Why?
Vidalia froze. Why was Victor here? Why was a scene meant for Angela happening now?
She took a deep breath to calm herself. After all, Victor was a knight-in-training. It was natural for him to intervene in the face of injustice. That was what heroes did.
And Victor was a hero.
She watched him closely, a smile tugging at her lips. She remembered how much she had adored him in the novel. Victor Linwood—the silent knight, loyal to the point of self-erasure, secretly in love with Angela, never confessing his feelings. Even when Angela admitted she loved Edgar, Victor had stayed by her side without complaint or bitterness.
A troubling mix of bravery and shyness… so endearing.
The leader suddenly lunged. Vidalia startled, senses sharp—but she wasn't worried. She already knew what would happen.
Victor was still a child, yes. But one trained with the sword for years. His body moved with agile precision, dodging the strike fluidly. His slender blade flashed, disarming the first bandit with a clean strike to the wrist. The second tried to flank him, but Victor spun and struck with the pommel of his sword, sending him sprawling across the stones. Enraged, the leader attacked with force—but Victor parried, slipped beneath the guard, and swept his legs out from under him.
In mere seconds, all three men lay groaning on the ground. Victor remained standing, sword lowered, gaze calm.
He finally turned to Vidalia, slightly out of breath.
"Are you all right, miss?" he asked gently, stepping closer—then stopping short. His eyes had met hers, and he froze, visibly blushing.
Vidalia raised an eyebrow, half amused, half exasperated.
Even Victor can't resist my face… she thought, suppressing a sigh.
"I'm fine, thank you very much," she replied, taking his hand to stand, then quickly dusting off her dress.
Victor seemed to search for his words.
"Forgive my question, but… may I ask what led you alone into this district? It is not a safe place for a young lady, especially at this hour."
She offered him a polite smile. Still as respectful as ever… but a little slow too, she thought fondly.
"I simply got lost, knight. I was with my friends and wandered off."
She took a step forward. Better not prolong this meeting. If he recognized her later, when she was beside Angela, complications would follow.
"My name is Victor Linwood," he introduced himself with an awkward yet sincere bow. "If I am not imposing… may I know yours?"
Vidalia hesitated.
Is Victor… flirting with me?
She stifled a laugh behind her hand. This was absolutely not in the novel.
Victor—the faithful one, the eternally silent lover of Angela, who looked at no other woman. Was this because of her presence in this world? Was the story changing?
"Vi… Vidalia," she finally answered, keeping her tone neutral. After all, he would likely never see her again.
"Vidalia…" Victor repeated softly, as if savoring the name. "What a gentle name… it suits you perfectly. May I escort you out of this alley? It would be an honor."
She hesitated, then nodded with a smile.
"That would be kind of you."
And the sooner I lose sight of you, the better, she added inwardly—though she couldn't stop a small, tender smile from lingering.
Not far away, perched atop the dark rooftops of a dilapidated building, a hooded figure watched the scene below. Two scarlet eyes glowed beneath the hood, shining with an unsettling, almost supernatural light, as an unreadable smile formed in the shadows.
Sorel approached silently, as detached as ever. Boredom seemed to flow through his veins like slow poison.
"Ah, Sorel…" sighed Arzhel's calm yet icy voice. He leaned casually against the ledge, his head resting on his gloved hand. "What should I do for Vidalia… to belong to me? To me alone."
He spoke with deceptive softness, each word oozing refined obsession—contained, elegant in its madness.
Sorel did not answer. He merely cast him a sideways glance, weary yet attentive.
"But how could I blame her…" Arzhel continued, a glimmer in his voice, a barely veiled smile on his pale lips. "She is so perfect… so pure…" His tone lowered, almost intimate. "She shines with a light I would never dare to stain… yet cannot share."
He slowly straightened, and his aura seemed to thicken around him—oppressive, icy, heavy with restrained power. A ripple of shadow slid over his shoulders like an invisible cloak.
"I will do everything for her. Absolutely everything," he declared calmly. "And if she wishes to surround herself… with friends… so be it. I will not stop them."
A silence fell, sharp as a blade.
Then he added, his voice deeper, imbued with unyielding resolve:
"But in the end… she will be mine. No matter the cost."
And with a barely audible rustle, Arzhel's figure dissolved into the shadows, leaving behind only the weight of his words… and a chilling promise.