Chapter 149: The Name That Changed Everything

Chapter 149: The Name That Changed Everything [Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Garden, Post-Wedding Chaos] "Yes, yes, let’s go already—I’ll feed you something before you start chewing my sleeves!" I huffed, patting Marshi on the head as he gave me that intense, judgmental glare he reserved specifically for moments when he thought he was being starved. His tail flicked impatiently like a war drum. I led the way toward the long, sparkling dessert table, eyeing the towers of cream puffs and towers of fruit custards like a weary soldier stumbling into paradise. "I wonder where Osric is..." I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. And that’s when it happened. A voice—far too close, far too smug—whispered in my ear. "Are you again looking for him?" I shrieked internally. Marshi shrieked externally. We both jumped like we’d been struck by lightning and spun around in synchronized horror. "Caelum!" I yelled—and immediately slapped his shoulder so hard his entire body tilted sideways like a collapsing tower. "Owwww!" he yelped, clutching his shoulder like I’d just dislocated it. "What is wrong with you?! Why do you always hit me like I’m a mosquito from the nether realms?!" "Because you behave like one, you idiot!" I snapped. Marshi growled his agreement and promptly slapped Caelum’s foot with his tail. It made the perfect whap sound. "Betrayed," Caelum whispered dramatically, looking between the two of us like we were the villains of his tragic opera. "Utterly betrayed. Even the beast is against me." I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly spun out of my head. "What do you want?" "I merely," he said, placing a hand over his heart like he was about to serenade me with sad violin music, "wanted to accompany you to the dessert table." "I have Marshi," I said flatly. "I don’t need you." That clearly wounded him. He made a sound—somewhere between a dying seal and a child denied candy—and pouted, actually pouted, like I’d just kicked his lunch tray over. "So unfair," he mumbled, lips jutted out, voice soft as he began fake-sulking. "I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to get close to you. To... to open up. To build a bond. But you won’t even open the door to your heart—" "The door to my heart," I said sweetly, leaning forward, "is sealed. With magic. And dragons. And possibly a moody troll." He gasped, placing a hand dramatically over his mouth like I’d just confessed to burning his childhood teddy bear. "She is so cruel," he whispered to no one in particular. "So cold. So heartless. A true tyrant. The real daughter of the emperor. Cold-blooded. Steel-hearted. Ice-veined—" "Greetings to Her Highness, the Crown Princess." The dramatic nonsense screeched to a halt. Caelum froze mid-whine. I straightened and turned—and the entire world seemed to tilt just slightly. Standing a few steps away, in a graceful seafoam green gown embroidered with ivory threads that shimmered like moonlight, was a young woman. Poised. Elegant. And possibly the calmest person in a ten-mile radius. Her hair was woven into delicate braids, pinned with pearls. Her voice had that rare softness—the kind that made people go quiet just to listen. Her gaze met mine with just the faintest smile of respect. Her eyes were calm. Her smile was perfectly polite. "Ah... and you are?" I asked, arching a brow. She gave a graceful bow, her hands folded so precisely it could’ve been taught in a finishing school. "Sirella Talvan," she said with that smooth, refined tone that practically smelled like old books and court etiquette. "Daughter of Count Talvan." Oh. Of course. She looked like him. Just... significantly less terrifying and less likely to lecture a dinner table about grain taxes. She straightened again and added with a gentle smile, "It’s an honor to finally meet the Crown Princess. My father speaks very highly of you." I blinked. "He does?" She let out a soft laugh—pretty and polite, the kind you give at banquets when someone makes a joke that’s not funny but also technically not rude. "In his own... scholarly way," she said delicately. "He calls you... and I quote... ’a lazy intelligent young woman with unexpectedly logical insights.’" Marshi coughed. Or maybe choked on air trying not to laugh. Caelum, unfortunately, did laugh. Out loud. Like a snorting goose. I elbowed him in the ribs without breaking eye contact. "I’ll take that as a compliment," I said with a sugary smile. "It’s not every day I get praised and mildly insulted in one breath." Sirella paled. "I—I’m so sorry, Your Highness! I didn’t mean it like that; I only thought—I mean—" She flailed softly, panicking with all the grace of a noble trying not to sweat in public. She was so cute I had to hold back a giggle. "It’s alright," I said, my tone warm and teasing. "Honestly, I like people who are honest." Her shoulders relaxed a little. She blushed—not like a dramatic romance heroine, but more like someone who’d finally exhaled after holding her breath all morning. "I... I’m really happy to finally meet you, Your Highness," she said, smiling shyly. "And it’s good to see you, Lady Sirella," I replied, nodding graciously. She blushed again. But then... my gaze shifted. To the girl standing just behind her. I don’t know why—but I felt it before I even saw her properly. A ripple in the air. A hush in the noise. Like the whole party just... paused. And then I saw her. Tall. Poised. Her raven-black hair falling like ink down her back, the ends curled ever so slightly. Black eyes—glassy, gleaming, deep—like a starless sky that refused to give you a reflection. Her gown was simple. Elegant. Not sparkling. Not loud. But somehow, she radiated. A presence. An aura. The kind of girl whose back never bent. Whose lips stayed sealed even when every eye turned. The kind of girl who didn’t need help... because she was already halfway through slaying the world by herself. Strong. Sharp. Unbothered. Typical female-lead energy. A strange heaviness settled in my chest. And then—Marshi moved. Fast. He darted in front of me like a furry shield, tail lashing, teeth bared in a low, untrusting growl. His body bristled as he stood protectively between me and the girl. The elegant girl flinched back slightly, startled. Sirella turned, blinking in surprise. "Oh—what’s wrong? He was quite until now..." I couldn’t answer. Because I was staring at her. That girl. That beautiful, dangerous girl. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know how. But something in my gut twisted. Tightened. It didn’t feel good. It felt... wrong. Like destiny brushing a cold hand across the back of my neck. Sirella followed my gaze—and then seemed to realize what was missing. "Oh!" she said quickly, stepping aside. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I forgot to introduce her." She turned back, gently taking the girl’s arm. "This is my adopted sister. I’m sure you’ve heard the name..." And then she said it. Said it like it was just another name. Like it wasn’t a bolt of thunder disguised as a syllable. "She’s my sister—Elaenia Valcorin. Though, now... she bears the Talvan name." The world... stopped. My heart lurched violently in my chest. What? My eyes widened. My whole body froze. Elaenia Valcorin. The heroine. The female lead. The future Grand Duchess. The one—The one who, according to every thread of fate and plotline stitched into this cursed novel world— Will be the reason for my death. I stood there. Motionless. Mute. Shock thundering in my ears like war drums. Marshi kept growling, his tail lashing harder now, low and protective like he knew. Like he remembered, somehow, what I didn’t. And me? I just stood there. Frozen. Staring at the girl who, by story’s end......will be the reason I disappear. My fingers curled at my sides, the silk of my gown suddenly feeling far too tight, far too warm. My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, the world around me blurred—only her name echoed, over and over again, bouncing inside my skull like a curse I wasn’t supposed to remember. Elaenia.Elaenia Valcorin. The heroine of this world. The woman fate loves. The one this story bends around. Sirella nudged her gently, not noticing the quiet tremor in the air, the crack in my voice that hadn’t even formed yet. "What are you doing?" she whispered, trying to smile. "Greet Her Highness." Elaenia nodded, stiffly, clearly shaken by Marshi’s growl—still low, still protective, like a growl wrapped in suspicion. He stood between us like a knight in fur, unblinking, unmoving. And yet...She bowed. "I... I greet Her Highness the Crown Princess," she said softly, her voice trembling like a flower in a storm. I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My voice had curled up and died somewhere in my throat. I just stared at her—no anger, no hatred... only confusion. Dread. A crawling feeling in my chest that whispered, Run. Run. Now. I wanted to leave. To turn around and vanish into the rose bushes. To teleport into Papa’s war room and slam a door between me and this moment. I looked around frantically, searching—Papa. Where was Papa? He was always here when the world tilted. But he wasn’t. Not this time. And instead—I saw him. Osric. Across the garden. Just a few steps past the dessert table. He was holding a glass of wine. And he was staring. At her. At Elaenia. His eyes—his usually calm, composed, terrifyingly unreadable eyes—were blazing. With shock. With recognition. And worse—With rage. He clutched his wine glass so tight, I half-expected it to shatter. His jaw clenched. His body went rigid. And his stare...It wasn’t the look of someone meeting a stranger. It was the look of someone who’d already met them——and wished they hadn’t. His gaze didn’t move from her.Didn’t blink.Didn’t soften. Just cold. And furious. Like she’d burn something he loved. But that made no sense. He’d never met her. Not yet. Not even accidentally. He couldn’t possibly know her. Couldn’t possibly hate her. So why...? Why that reaction? Why that look? And more importantly... Why—how—is she the adopted daughter of Count Talvan? The man who was never supposed to adopt her. The very same man who, in the novel, vehemently opposed her becoming a duchess. What could’ve possibly made him—of all people—take her in? And why does it all suddenly feel like I’ve stepped into the part of the story that was never supposed to belong to me? I looked at her one last time—at her still bowed head, her trembling form, Marshi’s bristling tail, Osric’s burning stare. And in that moment... A chill ran down my spine. Something is wrong. And I’ve just met the beginning of it.