Chapter 19
Later, after being treated by her companions, Vidalia ate the small gifts they had brought her. Without even realizing it, her room had turned into a kind of improvised meeting space. The girls were there—simply present—never forcing her to speak. They laughed, joked, exchanged anecdotes from the day, as if trying to chase away pain and fear through the warmth of their presence.
And it worked.
Vidalia was deeply grateful to them. She had been certain she would spend the week lying still, suffering in silence, terrified of being reprimanded if she failed to work properly. Yet she already felt better. Ruby's fast-acting healing balm had soothed her burns, and her companions' presence warmed another wound—far older, far deeper.
Beneath her veil, she watched them quietly. A small smile formed on her lips, despite the pain still tugging at her cheek.
Her eyes narrowed as she began to think.
How can I reach my sister now?
She didn't know when a vengeful spirit had awakened within her, but she didn't resent it. All her life, she had been mistreated, humiliated, ignored. If she wanted to finally live in peace—free—in this new life, she would have to fight for it.
An ironic smile crossed her lips. These sound like the thoughts of a cliché protagonist.
Except she wasn't one. She wasn't the heroine of this novel.
She glanced down at Naya, curled up on her knees, and thought of those who now surrounded her. That teasing boy with the easy smile, always ready to defend her without expecting anything in return. That new friend who, despite her status, treated her as an equal. Her grandfather… and that strange family she was discovering, step by step.
No, she wasn't the heroine of the story.
But she could become the heroine of her story.
And above all, for the first time, she was no longer alone.
Vidalia took a bite of her sandwich, a little embarrassed but genuinely happy. A thought of revenge slipped into her mind—quiet, still vague, but slowly taking shape. She no longer wanted to be trampled on.
What is done to me, I will repay a hundredfold, she promised herself.
But for now, she was still too weak. Too insignificant. She had no money, no influence, no means. She needed to think. To find a solution.
Her gaze drifted to Naya. As often happened, the tiny fairy seemed to understand her without a word. They were on the same wavelength, connected by an invisible thread that belonged only to them.
Then she observed the six other maids—and the quiet young valet she remembered was named Kervin. Could they be useful to her?
The thought crossed her mind—and she immediately distrusted it.
Too many coincidences.
She couldn't afford to trust just anyone, even those who seemed kind to her. She had nothing to offer them. Nothing to bind them, should they one day decide to reveal everything to her sister or stepmother in exchange for a few gold coins.
She turned instead to Ruby and Zoé. They were watching her too. And in their eyes, there was neither pity nor pretense—only sincere kindness. Zoé gently stroked her head, and Ruby smiled at her like a reassuring older sister.
Vidalia returned a shy smile. She could trust them. She knew it. Her instincts had never failed her.
She rubbed her eyes, an instinctive gesture betraying her fatigue. Zoé noticed immediately and exchanged a quick glance with Ruby. Ruby nodded and rose softly to her feet.
"It's getting late, girls," she said with a stretch, feigning lightness. "The princess needs her rest."
The others understood without argument. They gathered their things, offered Vidalia tender smiles, wished her good night, and left the room one by one in an almost sacred silence.
When quiet settled again, Vidalia clenched her fists in her wrinkled dress.
"Why are you kind to me?" she asked in a trembling voice.
Ruby and Zoé froze.
Vidalia slowly lifted her head. "After all, I'm just the bastard daughter of the count you serve. You have nothing to gain."
A heavy silence followed—the kind where even the air seems to hold its breath.
"I have nothing," she added softly.
Ruby ran a nervous hand through her red curls. Then, without a word, she knelt before Vidalia, took her hands in hers, and squeezed them gently.
"Listen, Vida," she said softly, her gaze locked onto hers. "We're not doing this for money or favor. We're helping you because we want to. That's all. Because it would be indecent to look away."
Her smile was gentle, sincere, and a little sad. "I wish we could do more, but we're orphans too. We don't have much—no power, no means."
Zoé crossed her arms, leaning against the bed. "Your sister is frankly awful. With you, it's constant. She ignores the others or yells at them—but with you… it's personal." She rolled her eyes. "Classic young noble behavior, right? And your father? He doesn't care, does he? That's why Madam thinks she can do whatever she wants."
Vidalia nodded, her eyes glistening.
"I'll tell you a secret," Ruby whispered with a conspiratorial smile. "The day you entered this room, I felt something. I wanted to protect you."
Vidalia blinked, surprised.
Ruby shrugged. "I don't know why. But when I saw your small veiled figure, I was shocked. Then sad. That I couldn't see your face. And when you told us your secret… my heart broke. Since then, I've just wanted to protect you even more."
Zoé nodded. "Me too, Vida. Being an orphan—we know what that's like. But we had people at the orphanage. And above all… we were never alone. We had support. Care. Freedom."
Vidalia didn't know when the tears began to fall, but they were already carving burning paths down her cheeks. All of it—the warmth, the tenderness, the kindness—was new. So painfully new. She silently thanked the Goddess for this second chance. For this life. For this choice.
She would not give up. Not this time.
"Thank you," she said simply, her voice sincere and trembling. "Thank you so much."
She raised her hands and slowly removed her veil.
Ruby froze, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
Zoé whispered, stunned,
"By the Goddess…"
Vidalia scratched her cheek, embarrassed. "Everyone reacts like that," she murmured, cheeks flushed, without a trace of vanity.
Then she looked at them more seriously.
"Can I trust you, then?"
The two young women shook themselves as if waking from a dream. Their eyes filled with quiet resolve, and they nodded in unison.
"We stand with you, Vida. And we swear it—before the Goddess herself."
Vidalia's eyes widened, overwhelmed. Her heart tightened with burning emotion. She smiled—a real smile, bright through tears.
Ruby sighed dreamily.
"By the heavens… I'm in paradise."
Zoé nodded tenderly, a hand over her heart.
Soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across the stone floor. Dawn had not yet fully chased away the night's silence, yet in one corner of the bed, Vidalia was already awake.
She had slept surprisingly well, as though the weight on her chest had lightened—if only a little. The faint scent of dried flowers and beeswax still lingered in the room. Ruby and Zoé slept soundly on their mattresses, one softly snoring, the other curled up like a cat.
Vidalia rose quietly, her veil carefully placed back over her head. The light fabric brushed her cheeks but could not hide the discreet smile forming on her lips.
She approached the small table where the empty tray from last night still sat. A packet of biscuits had been carefully covered with an embroidered handkerchief. Ruby, no doubt—always thinking of the details.
She lifted it gently and sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap.
Last night, she had cried. In front of witnesses. She had lowered her guard. And yet… she felt no shame. For the first time, she had been heard, understood, loved without conditions. By girls with no titles, no fortune—but a far rarer wealth: loyalty.
She inhaled deeply.
It was time.
Not to overturn everything all at once—no. She had no strength, no resources, not even a clear plan. But a seed had been planted. It would need to grow slowly, patiently. Like a flower beneath the snow.
She looked at her two still-sleeping companions. Ruby's lips moved in her sleep, as if reliving last night's exchange. Zoé murmured something unintelligible and rolled onto her side.
Vidalia let out a silent laugh. Those two… they were her allies. The first ones.
She knew the road ahead would be long. Her sister would not let go—and her stepmother even less so. Nobility, appearances, buried grudges: everything around her breathed manipulation and silent cruelty. But she too had learned to remain silent, to observe, to endure.
Now, she would learn to strike back.
Vidalia pushed the breakfast cart at a measured pace, her small hands gripping the wooden handles. Steam from the cups fogged her veil even further. In the manor's corridors, agitation buzzed like a disturbed hive.
The entire staff had risen at dawn. Orders flew before the bread even left the oven. Prince Edgar was arriving today. It was the polite chaos of great occasions—the kind of commotion where every silence is suspicious, and every misstep could cost one's position.
Vidalia remained in the background, a simple shadow slipping through the turmoil.
Everything was unfolding exactly as in the novel. The details snapped into place like clockwork. Prince Edgar, already enamored with Angela, was coming to visit the count—and in a fit of romance, or weakness, he would accept the oath of loyalty of a family scorned by the nobility.
At this point in the story, Edgar was still a frivolous prince, known for his taste for women and his reputation as a fickle fiancé. The court had been merciless, dubbing him the lovesick fool in hushed salons.
But the narrative held a cruel twist for those who mocked him. The magical crystal mines—believed exhausted and blamed for the county's ruin—would prove richer and more powerful than ever. Rumor would turn to undeniable truth, and the county would reclaim its influence. Angela, stained by whispers, would be absolved. Edgar would rise as a respected prince—a strategist and a visionary.
Vidalia rolled her eyes. Noble intrigues exhausted her as much as their hypocrisy made her grimace. Smiling while plunging knives into each other's backs.
Maids rushed past her, arms laden with embroidered fabrics and refined perfumes. Questions flew from every floor.
"Has anyone seen the young master?!"
No one answered—too busy running in every direction.
But Vidalia knew.
Orion, ever true to himself, had left the manor long before dawn without a word. She had glimpsed him from her window—his upright silhouette disappearing into the morning mist, hood pulled low, like a knight riding off on a crusade into a world that didn't deserve him.
She had smiled then.
He was different.
Different from their father. From their half-sister. From this house of façades. He had never shouted. Never despised her. He had looked at her—truly looked at her—as a person.
And from the depths of her heart, she hoped he would never change.