The moment I was told that my engagement was being annulled, my mind went completely blank.
I had believed—truly believed—that I had done everything I could for His Highness. There were things I lacked, yes, but I had worked tirelessly to correct them. I studied relentlessly so that I could one day stand as the mother of the nation. I endured strict etiquette lessons, all so that I might become a worthy partner.
And in that instant, it felt as though everything I had done for him was denied.
I remember it clearly—the sensation of something inside me shattering.
My knees threatening to give way.Anger surging upward.The humiliation of being exposed before everyone.
The reason I was not swallowed by those emotions… was probably because of him.
As the carriage carried me toward exile, my thoughts returned to a red-haired man. A man who, at the very moment my engagement was broken, had spectacularly spat out his cocktail.
That absurd, out-of-place interruption grounded me.Because of it, I was able to reclaim myself.
That is what I believe.
And so, I did not scream or protest. I remained calm. I observed.
The plan to ruin me had been meticulous.A trap devised with full knowledge of my behavior.
I had sensed it vaguely for some time. It must have been in preparation for far longer than I realized. I do not know why Miss Evans—the so-called saint—went to such lengths. Perhaps the royal family itself wished to curb the growing power of House Monvoisin.
I do not understand.A marriage with our influential house should have benefited the crown.
What I did understand, once I regained my composure, was this:
Resisting would change nothing.
It had always been this way.
The first time Miss Evans trapped me, it began on a stairway landing. She approached me suddenly—someone I had never met before—and tried to touch a brooch my mother had given me. When I sharply told her to step back, she lost her balance and fell down the stairs.
She was unharmed. She could use healing magic herself.And yet, somehow, I became the one who pushed her.
No matter how desperately I defended myself, I was branded as unrepentant.
From then on, I was accused again and again—of bullying her, of breaking her belongings. Each time, witnesses and testimonies appeared as if prepared in advance. No amount of rebuttal could overturn them.
And every time, it ended the same way.
Miss Evans would tearfully say, "I was at fault too."The scene would close.And I would be left as the villain.
Eventually, I heard people whispering behind my back, calling me a villainess.
…A villainess.
How ironic.
If there were a story in which Miss Evans was the heroine, then perhaps I truly would be the villain.
That is why, in that moment, I chose not to resist. Had I done so, I would only have been condemned as unrepentant, and the Evans Theater would have begun again—exactly as intended. I would have become the blade used to cut down my own family.
So I accepted it.
To spare my father and mother, I bore all the blame myself and accepted exile alone.
I was born a noblewoman. I have always known that I might be used as a political tool.But the right to pull that trigger belongs only to my parents—not to His Majesty, not to the prince, and certainly not to Miss Evans.
If I were to be used as a weapon to weaken my family…Then I would rather choose death.
…No. That is not the truth.
The truth is that I was exhausted.
I had devoted myself to His Highness. To the nation.And none of it reached him.
I failed my parents' expectations.I was called a villainess.
So in the end, perhaps I truly was one.
I imposed my efforts on others in the name of His Highness.I fled in the name of my parents.
If that is the case, then whoever coined the term villainess may have seen straight through me. If I ever met them, I might like to hear their thoughts.
As resignation and self-mockery weighed on me in the carriage, the one who stayed by my side was Rita—the maid who had cared for me since childhood.
I wanted to apologize to her.I wanted to thank her.
She was dragged into this because of me. She chose to follow me.But a noble lady cannot bow her head to a servant.
If I made it safely beyond the border, I resolved to thank her properly. To give her generous wages and set her free. To stop being a villainess, and become an ordinary girl.
And if possible… I wanted to thank him too.
Because of you, I did not lose my pride at the very end.
It was while thinking this that we were attacked by the knights we believed were our escorts. They dragged us from the carriage, saying this was no longer the kingdom.
I had been taught only basic defensive magic—offensive spells were deemed unnecessary for a future queen. I was subdued easily.
I did not fear death.But my pride—the pride he preserved—
As I grasped a stone nearby, another out-of-place intruder appeared.
A large young man, his long red hair tied back.
Just as before, he burst into my crisis.
And yet, for a moment, I did not recognize him.
Because he was nothing like the man I knew.
At the academy, he stood out for his height and hair, but I only knew him as polite and quiet. That was why his earlier outburst had shocked me—and steadied me.
But the man before me then was entirely different.
Travel clothes instead of a uniform.A massive sword befitting his powerful frame.A rough presence.Crude speech.
Nothing about him resembled an educated noble.
He looked more like a wanted criminal.
And yet—why did my chest burn when he appeared?
Why did his confident, blazing red eyes stir the heart that had been crushed by resignation and self-loathing?
I do not know.
But the stone clenched in my right hand—my refusal to give up—was something I felt proud of for the first time. I realized, in that instant, that my heart was still screaming that it did not want to surrender.
That is why, when the archmage Eleonora entered my body, I did not lose myself.
That—and because he knocked her unconscious.
When I awoke next, I was in bed. An uncomfortable bed. A stained old ceiling. A ready-made nightdress.
The unfamiliarity of it all pressed reality harshly upon me.
Still, I could stand again.
Because of him.
A man who bowed to servants, yet carried himself with dignity and conviction. Someone utterly different from me.
I became interested in him—shamefully so.
Perhaps he could accept me.An exiled woman.An unstable vessel for an ancient archmage.
And yet, when it came time to tell him… I lied.
I do wish to help Eleonora. She was trapped like me, branded a witch, and sealed away. As the bearer of her soul, I know that truth.
Helping her might ease my own heart—one despised as a villainess.
But what about him?
I expected too much.Then doubted him.
I hate my own ugliness.
Still, for reasons I do not understand, I desperately did not want to be abandoned by him.
So I lied.
—Abandoned by the world.
In truth, I was not abandoned.
I abandoned my world.
I fled from my family, claiming it was for their sake.
Is Father disappointed in me?Does Mother resent me?Is my brother angry?
I do not know.
But since I cannot return, I must live on—alone, or together with her.
Fortunately, Arcus and his father are kind people. This time, I must not become a burden. That will be my repayment to the man who saved me.
And someday—I hope I can apologize to him for the lie I told.