3:47 AM. Screen glow. Bad decisions.
"Oh, COME ON!" I hissed at my phone, jabbing the screen hard enough to leave a fingerprint smudge. "She literally SAW Arabella poison the tea! How is she this STUPID?!"
My roommate, Lucy, mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, her sleep mask still firmly in place. Lucky her. She wasn't witnessing the literary assassination of Roxanne Valtoria, the so-called "villainess" of Thorns of the Golden Lily
Except Roxanne wasn't a villainess. She was a victim.
And I was about to watch her get beheaded. Again.
I had read this scene four times already—four!—hoping maybe the author would surprise me with a plot twist. A secret escape route. A last-minute pardon. Literally anything other than the Duke executing an innocent woman because his emotional intelligence was comparable to a frozen potato.
"The Duke's silver blade fell swiftly. Roxanne's eyes closed for the final time, a single tear tracing her porcelain cheek—"
"Porcelain cheek?! She's been in a DUNGEON!" I wanted to throw my phone across the room but settled for aggressively scrolling to the comments instead.
CrownPrincessSimp: OMG the duke is so hot even when he's murdering people 😍
ArabellasANGEL: Roxanne deserved it! She tried to kill our precious princess!
NoJamsJustTea: Author-nim when is the duke gonna realize he killed the wrong person??? My heart can't take this
I typed furiously: THE SIGNS WERE THERE. ARABELLA LITERALLY SMILED WHEN ROXANNE GOT ARRESTED. HOW IS EVERYONE THIS BLIND—
My bladder interrupted my rage-comment with an urgent memo.
Bathroom. Now.
I groaned, untangling myself from my blanket burrito. My laptop sat open on my desk, seventeen tabs deep into a research rabbit hole I had started at midnight. What had begun as "casual reading" had devolved into a full conspiracy board analysis of every time Arabella had gaslit, manipulated, or framed Roxanne.
The answer? Literally every scene she was in.
I shuffled toward the bathroom, phone still in hand, unable to stop reading even as I walked.
"The empire mourned the passing of the wicked princess. None knew the truth that lay buried with her—"
"MOURNED?! They threw a FESTIVAL—"
My sock hit something wet, and the world tilted.
For a fraction of a second, I was airborne, phone flying, arms windmilling uselessly, and then my head met the bathroom tile with a crack that echoed way too loud in the 4 AM silence.
Pain exploded across my skull, and my vision started to go black.
Somewhere in the void between life and death, my brain had the audacity to catalogue my concerns in order of priority:
1. What a stupid way to die.
2. What if my parents find my browser history?
3. Oh god, my LAPTOP is still open. On THAT forum. With THOSE fanfics bookmarked.
4. I never cleared my search history from that "how to know if you're attracted to 2D men" quiz
5. NOOOOOOO—
And then, with the certainty of a truck hitting an unsuspecting protagonist: I'm never going to know how this story ends.
That felt worse than dying, somehow.
~
CRACK.
Thunder.
My eyes snapped open.
Rain.
Cold, punishing rain hammering down through a canopy of trees I absolutely did not recognize. I was on the ground, mud squelching beneath me, soaking through fabric that was definitely not my oversized anime shirt
I gasped, lurching upright.
Wrong move.
Something heavy yanked at my ankle, and I looked down to see thick iron chains cutting into my skin, trailing off into the darkness between the trees.
My hands, pale, delicate, definitely not my usual vitamin-D-deficient gamer girl hands, were shaking as I touched my face, my hair.
Black.
My hair was black.
I was a redhead. I had been a redhead for twenty-three years. I had the childhood photos to prove it, the soulless ginger jokes, the—
Wait.
I looked down again. Torn dress. Chains. Mud-soaked and freezing. Dark hair plastered to my face.
Didn't I just die?
"—SPREAD OUT! She couldn't have gone far!"
My blood turned to ice.
Hoofbeats. Shouting. The jangle of armor and weapons cutting through the rain.
"YOU! SLAVE GIRL! COME BACK HERE!"
Slave girl?!
Panic shot through me like lightning, and without a moment's wait, I ran.
The chains dragged behind me, snagging on roots and rocks, but I didn't stop. I crashed through the underbrush, branches whipping my face, thorns tearing at the already-ruined dress.
What's happening?! What IS this?!
The voices were getting closer.
"THERE! I see movement!"
No no no no—
I pushed harder, lungs burning, legs screaming. The forest was a blur of darkness and rain, my bare feet slipping on wet earth—
A hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me sideways.
I barely had time to gasp before I was hauled behind a massive tree, a second hand clamping over my mouth just as I opened it to scream.
"Shhh."
The voice was deep, and had zero tolerance for disobedience.
I froze, heart pounding against my ribs, and looked up.
Gray eyes. Sharp as winter frost. Dark blue hair plastered to a face that was somehow both beautiful and terrifying. He wore a white shirt, soaked through, clinging to broad shoulders, and his expression was the emotional equivalent of a glacier.
He stared down at me with the kind of look you'd give a particularly disappointing insect
The hoofbeats thundered closer.
I didn't breathe
The horses passed within meters of us, and I could hear the riders cursing, the creaking of leather saddles. The man holding me didn't even flinch, one hand still firmly over my mouth, the other braced against the tree beside my head.
We stood there, frozen, as the sounds faded into the distance.
Finally—finally—he released me.
I stumbled back, gasping. "Th-thank you, I—"
His gaze raked over me. Chains. Torn dress. Mud-covered and shivering.
His lip curled.
"Pathetic."
And then he turned and started walking away.
Excuse me?!
I opened my mouth to protest, but my brain was suddenly screaming at me, pieces clicking together like the world's worst puzzle.
Dark blue hair. Gray eyes. Cold, untouchable demeanor.
Forest. Chains. Slave traders.
A meeting in the forest.
Running from slave traders.
Black hair.
Saved by...
Oh no.
Oh NO.
"Wait—" I choked out.
The man paused, glancing back with the kind of bored irritation usually reserved for telemarketers.My mind was racing, flipping through mental pages, and then it hit me like a second death:
Thorns of the Golden Lily.
There was no other explanation for it.
I was Roxanne.....
And this man, this cold, imperious man...was Duke Lucien Asterion.The same Duke who would eventually execute Roxanne Valtoria for treason.
The same Duke who was supposed to kill ME.
His eyes narrowed. "If you're waiting for charity, you'll be disappointed." He turned away again, boots squelching in the mud.
And me?
I stood there in the pouring rain, chained and covered in mud, staring at the back of my future executioner.
Ah fuck.