Chapter 008: Night Intruder

Whether it counted as a twisted sort of wish fulfillment, Lina Riley felt utterly terrified.

How could someone be this ghostlike? Lina, who had died once, didn't recall ever sensing such a cold aura. Even though her mind whirled in alarm, her body reacted swiftly—she tried to climb off the bed and salute, but the intruder pressed her shoulder back down. The moment her head hit the wooden frame, stars erupted across her vision.

Pain furrowed her brow. Lifting her gaze, she saw the very cause of it still smiling, altogether too close. A stove kept the room warm, so it wasn't cold inside, yet those fingers, fresh from the wind and snow, pressed against her shoulder through nothing but her thin underclothes.

Lina glanced at the hand resting on her shoulder, seizing on it as a conversation point. Her calmness always rose the more perilous the situation became. Though her fright had yet to fade, she forced it down and, bowing her head, tried to show respect. "Your Highness, you came through all this snow—might I pour you some hot tea?"

Lucille Everard noted Lina's quick composure, and something like approval flashed in her eyes. Releasing Lina, she casually sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze drifting to the teacup nearby. Sophia Riley had visited earlier, and Daisy Harper had poured tea for her, but now it was cold. Lucille stared at the tea with thinly veiled disdain before scanning the room's furnishings.

The furniture was old, and the table and chairs had been repaired more than once. Even the paint was peeling on the bed and window frames, revealing the worn wood underneath. Reginald Riley truly neglected his second daughter. Pity he'd misjudged her.

Lucille said nothing, which only increased Lina's panic. Her thoughts whirled, trying to guess the purpose of this late-night visit. With each idea, her fear only grew. Memories of her former life circled in her mind: once Victoria Ashwood set her sights on the throne, Lina, though she disapproved at first, had to admit the current monarch was too weak by comparison, and she eventually caved, orchestrating everything for Victoria's benefit.

Soon, The Princess Royal sensed Victoria's ambition and tried to kill her with poisoned wine. Lina's intuition had never failed her—on the day Lucille moved against Victoria, Lina's nerves buzzed with unease. Scaling the palace walls at risk of her life, she rescued Victoria and fled, an arrow whistling by her ear. Glancing back in terror, she saw The Princess Royal atop the wall, colder than the moonlit night, bow still vibrating in her hands. A breeze stirred her clothes as she smoothly nocked another arrow, aiming it at Lina's head.

Lina didn't dare look again, ducking behind cover in a mad dash. Yet no arrow ever landed. Still, she never stopped running.

And now…

In her former life, their relationship had been mortal enemies, to the point that Lina's nightmares were always of Lucille. She stayed on guard against her at all times, fearing she might lose her life any moment. Who could've guessed that in this life, so soon after it began, she would share a bed with the very person she once fought to the death?

As for that bow—well, it was so shoddy that she'd always missed Lina.

"Such a hovel."

Lucille's scornful words dragged Lina back to the present. Bowing her head, she answered respectfully, "My father lives frugally, and he imposes the same standard on me."

Suddenly, Lina's chin throbbed with pain as Lucille forced her to lift her head. She was smiling, but her eyes were icy. "I hate liars—especially those who serve me."

Her grip was fierce, as though she wanted to shatter Lina's jawbone. Lina, however, found it bearable. She meekly yielded. "Forgive me, Your Highness."

She dared not meet Lucille's gaze, and her eyes shifted aside—where they caught sight of suspicious red marks on Lucille's collarbone, still visible from that ridiculous night. Ordinarily, her clothes would conceal them, but in such close quarters, with her every movement, they showed.

But Lina scarcely had time to observe them before Lucille let go, causing Lina's head to bump the mattress again. Thankfully, the bedding was soft, though she still felt lightheaded.

Before Lina could react, Lucille's hand moved to her neck. Those icy fingertips, so like a serpent's, sent a shiver of fear through her. Once more, her life was in someone else's hands, and Lina, beyond dread, also felt anger.

She had survived a second time and cherished her life dearly. Summoning courage, she met Lucille's gaze and spoke in a low, cool voice, "What do you want from me, Your Highness?"

In her mind, she saw two possible paths. The first: bank on The Princess Royal's need for talent amid unsettled times, forging a tenuous alliance that might protect the people she cared about. The second: flee on her own, vanishing into anonymity—leaving Daisy, Sophia, and others vulnerable to retribution. Lina was no match for Victoria's heartlessness. She would choose the first route, though the risk was terrifying. Lucille remained as unreadable as a lunatic; one never knew when she might decide to behead her subordinates.

Seeing Lina's glint of hostility, Lucille's smile broadened. In her eyes, Lina's anger was inconsequential. She found it entertaining. "That look—like you're staring at a madwoman. You're angry, aren't you?"

She spoke not as a question but with a note of amusement.

In the end, Lina steeled herself. She carefully masked all emotion, reverting to a subservient demeanor. "No, I'm not."

Lucille lightly tightened her grip, and Lina swallowed hard.

"I said, I dislike being lied to."

"…I understand, Your Highness."

Lucille smirked. "So let me ask again: are you angry?"

"…Yes."

Only then did she remove her hand from Lina's neck. Lina's fists, hidden beneath the blankets, slowly unclenched. Communicating with Lucille was always uniquely nerve-racking, like swinging at the edge of a cliff, one wrong move away from falling into the abyss.

"Even after what you did to me, you dare feel anger."

That half-laughing comment sparked a flicker of guilt in Lina. But she truly hadn't done it on purpose, so she could only mumble, "I'm sorry."

That apology held such aggrieved earnestness that Lucille found it oddly delightful. Indeed, circumstances forced that event, and Lucille had discovered that her ailment—the so-called "poison of lust"—had subsided a little. Only a touch, but even the famous quack doctor hadn't achieved as much in over ten years.

Of course, she wasn't about to credit Lina. She'd wait for that fraud to return and confirm.

Meanwhile, Lina's thoughts whirled chaotically, searching for some way to pacify The Princess Royal. She combed through her past-life memories for anything that might please Lucille, but found nothing. Lucille's face had always been set in cool disinterest; Lina couldn't recall her ever truly being happy.

Recalling Lucille's earlier statement, Lina hesitated, then asked outright, "Your Highness, what must I do so you aren't angry anymore?"

Lucille pretended to ponder while slyly watching Lina's face. Seeing Lina's anxious eyes, Lucille curled her lips. "Seven days from now is the martial exam. Take first place and show me what you've got."

Lina's face went white. She'd deliberately avoided registering, planning to hide her skills. That spelled doom. As Lucille stood to leave, she forgot she was barefoot in her rush and grabbed Lucille's sleeve. "But I—didn't sign up for it!"

In her haste, she yanked too strongly, tearing a section of Lucille's robe. Under the moonlight, the marks on Lucille's right shoulder came into stark relief, blatantly suggestive. Lina's cheeks first flushed with mortification, then drained of color.

Jolted, she released her grip like it was hot iron and dropped to her knees, voice trembling. "Forgive me, Your Highness!"

Lucille, for her part, wasn't sure whether Lina was truly terrified or not. She pulled her clothing back together, displeasure in her face, but said nothing—merely vanished under the moonlit sky with a few quick leaps.

Lina remained kneeling for a long while, waiting in vain for a response. At last, she risked glancing up, only to see Sophia standing there, eyes ablaze with curiosity. Lina's face darkened. "When did you arrive?"

Any other time, she might've sensed Sophia's approach, but Lucille always put her on edge. She was too rattled to pay attention. Lina had forgotten to stand, and Sophia crouched beside her with a wide-eyed grin. "What did The Princess Royal bring you?"

The floor was freezing, so Lina stood, dusting snow from her knees, her expression troubled. "A very big gift."

Sophia rose as well, determined to get answers. "What sort of gift?"

Lina stopped brushing at once.

If there was anything off in this new life, it was definitely this older sister's behavior. In their previous life, they barely intersected. Now she hovered constantly. After a moment's thought, Lina feigned an anxious look. Though her acting skills were poor, Sophia was sufficiently naive.

She lowered her voice. "The Princess Royal came to see me, and in the course of our talk…"

Lina trailed off, piquing Sophia's curiosity. She was practically on tiptoe, certain she was about to hear some high-level royal secret.

Seeing she had taken the bait, Lina paused dramatically. At last, she murmured in an even quieter tone, "She may plan to depose Her Majesty."

"That's impossible! Why, just today, she told me to help guide Her Majesty."

Closely watching Sophia's reaction, Lina saw only genuine shock. She seemed unfeigned. The chill moonlight poured over them, and Lina felt her racing heart begin to steady. She recalled how in her past life, The Princess Royal's desire to remove the monarch eventually became common knowledge. Lucille also briefly considered Victoria Ashwood as a replacement, though ultimately decided against it, leaving Victoria bitter and resentful.

Revisiting those bloody days brought a twinge of sadness. "You can't take every royal word at face value, Sister. You're too innocent."

Yet deep down, Lina was also warning herself about Victoria.

"You seem upset," Sophia said, stepping closer with concern in her eyes. The wind gusted, and Lina remembered how frail Sophia was. She shouldn't stand outside for too long, especially alone without a maid. If she fell ill, Reginald would vent his fury on Lina. Though Lina wasn't afraid of him, she disliked the hassle.

She coolly ended the conversation. "It's late. You should return."

Sophia looked a bit hurt but restrained her feelings. She turned to go, only for Lina to call out again. Sophia perked up—only to hear, "Keep tonight's conversation a secret."

"…I understand."

Once Sophia left, the lively night finally drew to a close. Lina leaned against the doorway, gazing up at the moon. She was exhausted in both mind and body. In her past life, by the time Sophia died, Lucille's intent to replace the monarch was already well-known. If Sophia had been reborn, she wouldn't have been so surprised. But Lina felt certain Sophia's reaction was genuine. Perhaps she was simply naive, or else well at concealing her thoughts.

Either way, Lina wouldn't need to sustain the lie—it would burrow in Sophia's mind. She'd seen no one else around.

Sleep beckoned. Lina yawned, stepping back inside. Only then did she realize she was shivering, having dashed outside barefoot in her nightclothes. She used her inner energy to banish the chill, then crawled under the covers.

Before drifting off, she thought: With the harsh snow, The Princess Royal's attire seemed so light—if she wore heavier layers, that fiasco with her robe might not have happened.

"Stop thinking about her. Go to sleep," she scolded herself.

Snuggling in, Lina soon dozed off. Again, she dreamt of that grave, that indistinct figure, and the gentle flute melody that lured her into forgetting both the burdens of her current life and the scorching misery of her past. She dozed against her own headstone, half-awake, half-asleep, dimly sensing someone gently touching her cheek.

She slept soundly, whereas Sophia lay awake until dawn. The next morning, she dressed with difficulty, glimpsing her pallid face in the bronze mirror and giving a rueful laugh. When she finished tidying up, she found herself holding her palace entry token and let her thoughts wander—visualizing The Princess Royal's gentle manner, then recalling her sister's occasional flashes of cunning. The royal family was one thing, but even her once-docile sister seemed like someone who couldn't be underestimated.

Mulling it over, she decided to go to the palace instead of idling at home. Autumn Clarke, as usual, accompanied her. But on her last visit, The Princess Royal had been present; this time, Sophia had to face Emilia Everard alone.

Emilia was still in her private quarters. Catching sight of Sophia's arrival, she exclaimed in distaste, "Go back."

Autumn started to speak up, but seeing Emilia's impatience, she sighed. "Let's go, Miss Sophia."

Sophia left empty-handed. Any lingering sympathy for Emilia vanished instantly, though she dared not show it. Just before stepping out, she glanced back at Emilia—who was reading, ironically, a rather questionable book.

Following Autumn out, they neared the palace gates. Suddenly, Autumn paused. "This is where we part ways, Miss. Please forgive me."

They were close enough to the gate that Sophia didn't mind. Ever gracious, she replied, "It's all right. You have your duties."

Autumn watched Sophia go, wishing in vain that Emilia didn't detest her so. With regret, she left, unaware that someone else was approaching Sophia from behind.

Sophia spotted Victoria Ashwood, immediately frowning. She bowed properly. "Your Highness."

Something about Victoria's gaze unsettled her. Before Victoria could speak, Sophia said, "I'm in a hurry, so I must go." Then she departed as if chased by wild beasts. Victoria wanted to speak but found the words useless. She reached out, hand dropping in frustration, her eyes flaring with resentment.

Unseen overhead, Lucille Everard was watching. Autumn Clarke noticed Lucille's presence and grew nervous, guessing she was changing her strategies. Her concern lay in preventing the overthrow of Emilia. Summoning her courage, Autumn asked, "Your Highness, what do you think of Victoria Ashwood?"

Lucille turned a cold glare on her. "Autumn, you're asking too many questions."

Autumn's legs nearly gave out, but Lucille seized her arm, preventing her from kneeling. Lucille's enigmatic chuckle followed: "That was your last chance."

Autumn, trembling at the brink, murmured, "Understood."

Lucille let go and continued her vigil. After a moment, she clicked her tongue. "Don't know why, but just one look at her makes me dislike her."