The winter of the Aethelgard Empire's 1108th year did not bring snow; it brought ash.
Clara knelt on the cold stone of the Imperial Execution Square. Her hands, once stained with the ink of a scholar and the tea she brewed for her family, were now bound with coarse rope that scraped the skin each time she moved.
"Clara Valeria, eldest daughter of the House of Valeria, you are hereby condemned to death for the crime of poisoning Lady Leanne Valeria and betraying the trust of your household, by the command of Duke Nikolai von Solari."
The Duke stood over her, his silver pauldrons catching the light of a dying sun. He did not look like a hero; he looked like a man finishing a chore he found particularly distasteful.
"This is what you get for harming my beloved. Just looking at this imbecile makes me want to puke. Behead her."
His voice was full of hatred. It carried across the execution square as if the wind itself had chosen to deliver it. His red eyes ablaze, staring intently on the figure below. The gathered crowd fell into a deeper silence, the kind that settled heavy in the chest.
Clara did not look up. Her knees pressed into the stone, her bound hands resting in her lap as though she were kneeling in prayer rather than awaiting death. A loose strand of hair clung to her cheek, stirred gently by the evening breeze.
For a moment, the Duke watched her, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled slowly, the sound faint beneath the distant rustle of banners above the square.
"Proceed."
*******
Seven days. That was all the time Cindy had to reconcile with the fact that she was no longer herself, but Clara Valeria, a mere footnote in the novel she had binged reading when she was alive, A Golden Crown for My Beloved.
She had been at her part-time job as a librarian, restoring old books and uncovering secrets long forgotten. One day, while carefully inspecting a seventeenth-century tome on The Language of Flowers and Toxins, she discovered a hidden compartment within its spine. She didn't know it at the time, but breaking the centuries-old glass vial inside would be her undoing. The concentrated scent of bitter almonds, a hint of cyanide or perhaps a rare dried fungal spore, filled her lungs and left her body trembling as consciousness slipped away.
Now she had woken up as Clara Valeria, the heroine's jealous older sister, destined to become the villainess's pawn in a failed attempt to poison her own sister. She had been living in this twisted reality for a week, and today marked a turning point: the Baron household was to adopt a refugee from a fallen kingdom, the very heroine of the story, Lady Leanne Valeria herself.
Her plan for survival was simple. No grand schemes, just strategic alliances.
Using her knowledge of the plot, she had two primary objectives.
The Shield: befriend the heroine until her protection was guaranteed.
The Saboteur: befriend Princess Veronica von Aethelgard, the jealous villainess destined to ruin her new home over her obsession with the cold and heartless cliché Duke of the North, Nikolai Solari. In the original story, the princess had framed the Baron household for treason, bringing them to ruin. Befriend the villainess, no matter how bratty or cruel, and maybe, just maybe, they would have a chance of surviving.
Because I just want a carefree life. Leave me out of this angst! I've suffered enough in my past life!
The main story of the novel hadn't even begun yet. She had time to prepare, carefully plan her moves, and stay out of trouble.
As long as she didn't interfere with the heroine's story or the romance with the male lead, surely the plot wouldn't shift too much, right?
After all, I am only ensuring my survival.
And the survival of House Valeria.
Bring it on!