She was laughing at something one of her companions had said, looking every inch the perfect princess in a gown of pale pink that sold off the innocent sweet princess look.
Three other women sat with her, and I recognized them instantly from the book's descriptions:
Penelope, purple hair styled in elaborate curls, sharp features, sharper tongue.
Ingrid, short brown hair, athletic build, known for her skill with a blade and her lack of tact.
Francesca, brown hair pulled back so tightly it had to hurt, pale skin, and a smile like a snake.
Arabella's inner circle. Her loyal followers. The mean girls who had made Roxanne's life a living hell.
Oh hell no.
"I don't feel so comfortable here, Your Majesty, and I still haven't gotten food," I whispered to the Emperor.
He patted my shoulder. "Nonsense! You're sisters now. You should get along. You can have some of the snacks on her table."
SISTERS?!
This man. This NAIVE FOOL.
He might be kinder in this timeline, but he was clearly still clueless about his own daughter's true nature.
"Go on," he encouraged. "I have matters to attend to, but I'll see you at the ball. Enjoy yourself!"
And then he left. Literally walked away, leaving me alone with the she-devil and her minions.
Great. Perfect. Just wonderful.
I took a deep breath, plastered on my most polite smile, and approached the table. All four of them looked up as I got closer.
Arabella's face hardened, her imperial green eyes narrowing dangerously.
Here we go.
"May I sit?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
Silence.
Then Penelope spoke, her voice dripping with disdain: "How dare a mere slave girl presume to sit in the presence of Her Highness, Princess Arabella?"
Francesca leaned forward, smile vicious. "Just because you have golden hair means nothing. You're still illegitimate. A bastard."
The girls snickered.
Breathe, Emily. Don't murder them. Murder is frowned upon.
I sat down anyway, reaching for a pastry. Arabella's hand suddenly slammed on the table, and an eyebrow shot up.
"You." Her voice was low. "You dyed your hair, didn't you? Or did you cast some spell? Are you a mage too?" Her eyes flashed. "Lift your witchcraft at once!"
I met her gaze evenly. "It's not witchcraft, Princess. It's called genetics. Maybe you've heard of it?"
"LIES!" Arabella stood, chair scraping against marble. "You think you can just waltz in here and claim to be royalty? You think you can steal what's mine?"
Ah. There it is. The real Arabella.
"I'm not stealing anything," I said, standing to meet her. "I didn't plan for this, it all happened by mere chance. I didn't plan how to upstage you all my life."
"You're a slave," Ingrid spat. "You belong in chains, not in a palace."
"Funny," I said, voice sharp. "I was thinking the same thing about women who falsely accuse innocent women and then frame them for treason."
The room went dead silent.
Oh, you stupid girl! You weren't supposed to say that.
Arabella's face went pale, then flushed red with fury. "How dare you—"
"How dare I?" I laughed, and continued despite knowing I should probably shut up and not let her know I was aware of her true behaviour. "How dare you, Your Highness. Sitting here playing the innocent princess when we both know—"
Her hand flew up.
I caught her wrist before the slap could land.
Our eyes locked. Hers were filled with shock and rage. Mine were probably filled with the accumulated fury of every chapter I had read where she had gotten away with her schemes.
"I'd think twice before doing that," I said quietly. "I'm not some helpless target you can abuse whenever you feel threatened."
I released her wrist and stepped back.
"Enjoy your tea, sister."
I turned and walked away, head high, heart pounding.
Behind me, I could hear furious whispers.
"The audacity—"
"Who does she think she is—"
"Your Highness, are you alright—"
Damn it.
I made it around a corner before stopping, pressing my back against the wall.
Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT.
I had wanted to stand up to Arabella. Had dreamed about it while reading the book. Slapping the bitch's face, perhaps ruining her favorite dress.
But maybe I had gone too far. Pushed too hard. Stoked the fire more than necessary.
Arabella was dangerous. Cunning. Patient.
And now I had just painted a giant target on my back.
I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.
You wanted to change the story, Emily. Well, congratulations.
You just declared war on the main villain.
This should go great.