"Lady Meredia, stand up! You cannot slouch like that before young noblemen!" the teacher barked. Sharp glasses sliding down her nose, eyes gleaming like a kitten that had personally decided I was its mortal enemy.
I swear I bowed at least forty-five degrees… but why do I have to bow? Shouldn't men be the ones bowing before me and kissing my hand or something?
I groaned, forcing myself to straighten, glaring daggers at the hag who clearly had a vendetta against me.
Then the door creaked open. Duchess.
Perfect. Just perfect. If I could, I'd dig a hole under the floor right now and vanish. These two women have stolen every ounce of my peace and sleep.
A week remained before my birthday. I had practiced walking in my gown, lifting it, even the subtle flick of my wrist, probably a thousand times. I was so done with this nonsense.
But Duchess? She wasn't tired. She was stressed and muttering about the royal family's lack of response to invitations sent a month ago. Everyone else had replied, of course. Everyone except the crown prince. And apparently, it was the end of the world if he didn't attend because he and Kirill were best friends since childhood.
Kirill had just shrugged when I asked him about it a few weeks back. "He's always been like this, Eri. I'd be shocked if he even sent a letter rejecting the invitation." He had wiped sweat from his forehead with my pink handkerchief.
Weirdest friendship ever.
I shuffled over to Duchess, trying to hide my exasperation. "Yes, mother?"
"Come with me right now," she said, voice tight with urgency. "I… I need your help."
And just like that, my three months of "noble life prep" had officially turned into hell.
Not a single ounce of Meredia's inherited luxury could I enjoy without someone fussing over me.
I trailed behind Duchess as she led me to her room and sank into the sofa.
"Eri, what shall we do about your hairstyle? Your hair… it's wavier than I expected. I wanted it left open, but with your gown… wavy hair might not suit it."
I froze for a moment, blinking at her like she had just grown a second head.
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!? THERE'S A WEEK! A WHOLE WEEK! It's not like I need my hair styled now. By tomorrow it'll probably look like a broom anyway!
Of course, I couldn't explode in front of her. So I plastered on a smile, sat beside her, and took her hands in mine.
"Mother, whatever you like will look beautiful on me. Don't stress yourself."
Duchess was pacing now, fingers tangled in her hair, muttering half to herself and half at me.
"What if the gown is too simple? What if the embroidery isn't perfect? And the slippers! Have they polished the slippers? Have they?!"
"Mother… breathe," I said, smiling like the angel I clearly wasn't feeling like. "It's fine. Really. Everything will be fine."
She didn't stop. Her eyes darted around the room like she was expecting a royal inspector to pop out from behind the curtains.
"And the seating arrangements! Have I sent enough servants? What if someone offends the royal family? Or what if—"
I felt my patience snap internally. Or what if I take this Crown Prince and—I clenched my fists so tight my knuckles ached—strangle him, break him in half like a rock, and throw him off a cliff. Who even ignores invitations?! What the actual hell is wrong with him?!
I caught myself muttering a weak, "Yes, mother…" just to get her to breathe for a second.
She sighed and dropped into the sofa, clearly exhausted from stressing herself half to death.
"You don't understand, Eri… if the crown prince doesn't attend… it would be such an insult to the family."
Oh, I understand perfectly. He's an absolute jerk.
I pretended to smooth out her nerves with a calm smile while internally screaming about the absurdity of noble etiquette.
.
.
.
.
Annnnnnnnnd just like that, the week flew by.
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at Meredia's reflection, and... damn. I had to admit it. She didn't look like some spoiled noble girl anymore. She looked like she had just stepped down from Olympus to flex on the mortals.
The gown was… insane. A corseted bodice, magenta melting into soft pink, golden embroidery crawling up like little flames licking the neckline and waist. The off-shoulder puff sleeves were sheer white, delicate, cuffed in gold like I was about to start a revolution and look fabulous doing it. A jeweled choker sat at my throat, matching the sapphire-pink stone cinched at the waist, wrapped in designs so detailed they looked illegal.
And then the skirt—holy crap. It bloomed outward like it had its own ego, layers of white, pink, and this loud orange at the hem, stitched over with golden embroidery in patterns that probably took five seamstresses crying into their needles to finish. Draped magenta panels fell over the hips, glittering and dramatic, giving the gown that "bow to me peasants" energy. The back laced tight, flowing into a skirt that shimmered like actual fire caught in silk.
The hair was a whole architectural marvel. Thick red locks swept high into a bun that probably had its own postal code, with curls left loose around my face for that soft, dangerous vibe. Golden pins glittered in it like "yes, this head belongs to royalty, thanks for noticing."
Makeup was flawless. Blush high on my cheeks, lips painted deep rose, eyes lined in kohl, lashes fanned out dramatically, lids dusted with gold and pink shimmer like my eyelids were auditioning for a jewelry ad.
I tilted my head, smirk tugging at my lips. Oh, Meredia. What a woman you were. Goddess-core unlocked. If you came face to face with me in my old world, I'd probably have bowed too. Maybe.
One of the triplets whispered behind me but it wasn't exactly a whisper, more like stage commentary. "Wow. She looks so pretty."
"Yes, I know. I'm sure all men will fall on her knees."
I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to groan. Yeah, no thanks. That'll be the last thing I want men orbiting me like flies.
The hair stylist fiddled with my bun again, tugging and pinning like she was defusing a bomb. Every time her fingers brushed it, I swore the whole thing would collapse and roll down my back like an avalanche. But somehow, it held miraculously.
Then the door swung open. Duke and Duchess entered.
She was still fussing over the royal family, glancing at Duke with this helpless expression. "My lord, what do we do about people asking—"
But he lifted his hand, palm outward, silently telling her to stop. His eyes weren't on her anymore. They were on me.
I turned to face them and took a step forward—woah, woah! What in the medieval torture are these heels? Who designed this? Weapons disguised as footwear? I flailed internally but somehow survived the walk, landing in front of them without face-planting. A win.
Duchess had gone quiet too. She just stared, completely lost in her daughter's beauty. And the Duke… he looked like he was about to cry.
Why? Why are you looking like you're about to break down? It's just a birthday, not my funeral—
Suddenly he pulled me into a hug, strong and tight, and patted my back. "Oh my little gem! You've turned eighteen now… you've grown up so much."
Yes, father dearest. Shocking news. Eighteen happens once a lifetime, you know.
He broke the hug, cupping my face in his hands, eyes glassy. "You were so little, getting ready for your fifth birthday… but now you've grown up, turning into a lady. Oh, how I wish I could turn back time to see you as my little girl again, to pick you up in my arms."
Duchess reached over, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "It isn't possible and shouldn't happen either. Meredia has to grow up. But she will always be our little girl."
Something ached in my chest at that. Their emotions weren't unreasonable. To them, no matter how tall or dressed up she got, Meredia was still that small child running through their halls.
After that emotional family session where Duke nearly drowned me in tears and Duchess nearly wrung her hands raw, they finally led me out.
The halls were glowing with lanterns and crystals, every surface polished until it shone like it was trying to blind me. My heels clack clack clacked on the marble as we walked, my skirts sweeping over the floor like a silk tide.
Guests lined the main hall already, nobles in every shade of velvet and silk, glittering in gold and jewels. The chatter dulled the second they noticed us or more accurately—me.
A herald stood near the grand staircase, puffed up with self-importance, holding a long scroll. He glanced at me, then unrolled it dramatically as if announcing a goddess descending from the heavens.
"Presenting… Lady Meredia Seraphine Valtoria, daughter of Duke Oberon Valtoria and Duchess Elowen Valtoria!"
Trumpets blasted. People clapped. Somewhere in the crowd, a woman gasped like she'd just witnessed a miracle.
I gripped my skirts, remembering all those miserable lessons of "step here, bow there, smile like you actually want to be alive." My feet obeyed before my brain could rebel. Down the stairs I went, every step perfectly poised.
Duke and Duchess beamed like proud parents at a school play.
The nobles murmured among themselves, eyes following me like hawks.
Yes, yes. Bask in my shiny presence. I am eighteen. My greatest achievement yet is not falling flat on my face in these demon-spawn heels.
When I reached the bottom, the Duchess leaned in with a soft whisper only I could hear, "From this moment, you are no longer a child in their eyes. You are a lady of Solterra."
That… hit different.
I lifted my chin, smiling faintly, even though my insides were crawling.
The debutante had officially begun.