Empty Chair

Eleanor's fork paused mid-air, the piece of steak hovering as the Marquess's words settled over the table.

"No doubt the Crown Prince has found yet another excuse to keep him away."

"It's no surprise. His Highness has always clung to Eiser like a lifeline, hasn't he?"

Alger grunted in response, barely acknowledging the news, though Eleanor caught the subtle tightening of his jaw.

The Marchioness, on the other hand, sighed with the weariness of a mother accustomed to her children's absence. "That boy," she murmured, her voice tender despite her words. "Always at the Crown Prince's beck and call."

Eleanor forced a small smile, pushing her food around on her plate as the conversation washed over her. But her thoughts had already drifted elsewhere, pulled into the tangled web of the novel she knew so well, [World For Her].

So, it's all happening just as it did in the novel, she mused.

Eiser and the Crown Prince will return later than expected.

The statement echoed in her mind, but it wasn't the mention of Eiser that unsettled her—it was the uncertainty he brought with him.

Eleanor didn't particularly care about her eldest brother as a person. She had no sentimental attachment to him, no desire to rekindle some sibling bond. But what did concern her was whether Eiser Gwendolyn would prove to be a problem.

Would he interfere when she started laying out her plans to quietly sidestep the Crown Princess Selection? Or would he be like Alger—overprotective, yes, but ultimately an ally?

Her gaze flicked toward the empty chair at the head of the table, positioned beside the Marquess. That seat, reserved for the future head of the Gwendolyn family, sat there like a quiet reminder of the unknowns ahead.

Eiser's character in [World For Her] had always been somewhat ambiguous. Charming, diplomatic, and ever the loyal friend to the Crown Prince, he was more of a background figure—always present but never fully fleshed out. He'd played his role perfectly, keeping close to power without getting his hands dirty.

But now, in this reality, Eleanor needed to know where he stood to her.

Would he defend her if the Crown Prince tried to insult her during the Crown Princess Selection? Or would he step aside, prioritizing his friendship with royalty over his sister's well-being?

I need to figure that out before he returns.

A nudge from Alger snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Eat," he said quietly, his voice flat but insistent. His sharp blue eyes lingered on her face, reading her far too easily.

Eleanor blinked, realizing she had been gripping her fork tightly enough for her knuckles to pale. She loosened her hold, letting out a slow breath before stabbing at a piece of steak with more care this time.

She wasn't about to let Eiser—or the idea of him—ruin her precious meal.

The Marchioness, ever attentive, noticed the brief pause and tilted her head, her soft eyes filled with concern. "Are you alright, ginger?"

Eleanor gave her a polite smile. "I'm fine, Mother. Just a little tired."

"..." It appeared the three of them feared Eleanor might believe Eiser's absence meant he was indifferent to her injury after the accident. Yet, Eleanor's thoughts were far from what they assumed. Unaware of this, they continued their subtle attempts to distract her.

"Alger, I heard that one of the souvenirs you brought from the south was made..."

The Marchioness's worry didn't completely fade, but she let the subject drop, turning the conversation back to lighter matters—the southern estates, recent correspondence from noble families, trivial things Eleanor barely registered. Her focus remained on the empty chair and the shifting possibilities it represented.

Eiser, she mused.

Her eldest brother was more than just the future Marquess. He was the Crown Prince's closest friend, a man with a golden tongue who could charm and corner anyone with equal ease. Compared to Alger's stoic demeanor, Eiser was effortlessly charismatic, the type of person no one wanted as an enemy.

And that's exactly why the Crown Prince clung to him. Their friendship wasn't just about camaraderie—it was a calculated move, a way for the Crown Prince to stay in the Gwendolyn House's good graces.

Eleanor recalled how, in the original plot, the Crown Prince had discovered the Emperor's plans to arrange a marriage between him and a foreign Princess. Displeased with the idea, the Crown Prince orchestrated a sudden, extended trip beyond the empire's borders, dragging Eiser along under the guise of diplomatic exploration. The Marquess had granted permission without hesitation, pleased by the closeness between his son and the future ruler.

And so they left, Eleanor thought bitterly, leaving chaos in their wake.

Six months later, the absurd Crown Princess Selection Tournament would be announced—a spectacle of opulence and politics, designed to find the next empress while the Crown Prince gallivanted across continents, blissfully unaware of the circus unfolding in his absence.

Or perhaps he simply didn't care, Eleanor corrected herself, her jaw tightening.

When they finally returned, the tournament would be in its final stages, narrowed down to just two contestants: herself, Eleanor Gwendolyn, and the daughter of a count. The Crown Prince's shock and outrage at the Emperor's interference were understandable, perhaps even justified. But what Eleanor could never forgive was his blatant disrespect toward the women who had been pulled into the farce—especially her.

He didn't even recognize Eleanor Gwendolyn, she recalled with a hollow ache. His best friend's sister, standing right in front of him. And he ignored her.

But what frustrated Eleanor most wasn't the Crown Prince's scheming. It was Eiser's role in it all. How could her brother stand by the Crown Prince's side when he'd humiliated her in front of the entire empire? Did Eiser even care?

The novel had been vague about his reaction. All she knew was that, by the end of the story, Eiser had convinced the Crown Prince to offer her a hollow apology—a mere sleight and a kiss on the hand at an imperial celebration. An apology that did nothing to erase the shame she'd endured.

Her jaw clenched at the memory of reading that scene.

No.

This time, things would be different. She wasn't going to let herself be a background character in Cecillia's love story.

A sudden chuckle from Alger pulled her from her thoughts.

"Don't stab your porridge like it's plotting against you," he remarked dryly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Eleanor blinked down at her bowl, realizing her grip on the spoon had tightened again. She exhaled, setting it down with exaggerated care.

"I'm just … savoring the flavor," she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

The Marchioness laughed softly, the sound filling the room with warmth. "Our ginger's grown quite spirited," she mused, exchanging a glance with the Marquess.

The Marquess nodded, his gaze softening as it settled on Eleanor. "It's good to see you like this," he said quietly. "After your fall … we were worried."

Eleanor felt a pang of guilt at their concern. They had no idea she wasn't the same Eleanor they had raised. But their warmth, their care—it felt real. It anchored her in a way she hadn't expected.

Still, she couldn't afford to get too comfortable. The selection tournament loomed ahead, and with it, the return of Eiser and the Crown Prince.

As the meal wound down, Eleanor carefully set her utensils aside and pushed back her chair, the soft scrape of wood against marble drawing brief attention.

"If you'll excuse me," she murmured, rising with slow, measured movements that still reflected her supposed recovery.

The Marchioness immediately straightened, her maternal instinct flaring. "Do you need help, darling? Alger—"

"I'm fine," Eleanor interjected smoothly, offering a reassuring smile. "Just a bit of rest will do."

Alger was already on his feet, his expression unreadable as he moved to escort her. She didn't resist when he offered his arm. Despite his gruff exterior and sparse words, Alger had proven himself reliable. His protective nature was more of an asset than a hindrance.

As they left the dining hall, Eleanor cast one last glance at the empty chair.

Eiser Gwendolyn, she mused, you'd better not be a problem.

....

The hallways of the Gwendolyn estate were quiet, the soft echo of their footsteps the only sound. Eleanor's mind churned, not with emotion but with strategy. If Eiser turned out to be another obstacle—like Cecillia or the Crown Prince—she needed to know sooner rather than later.

When they reached her chamber oak door, Alger stopped, his gaze cutting through her like it always did.

"You're thinking too much," he said flatly, though there was a subtle softness beneath the words.

Eleanor arched an eyebrow, mildly amused by his perceptiveness. "Maybe," she replied, her tone light but noncommittal.

Alger studied her for a moment longer, then gave a small nod, as if satisfied by her answer.

He turned to leave but paused at the end of the hallway.

"If you need anything," he said without turning back, "just call."

Then he disappeared around the corner, leaving Eleanor standing alone in the dimly lit corridor.

Eleanor watched him go, then slipped into her room, the soft click of the heavy oak door echoing in the quiet space. She leaned against it for a moment, letting out a slow breath.

The warmth of the dining room, the familial banter—it had all been a pleasant distraction. But now, back in the solitude of her chambers, the reality settled in again.

Eiser's return could shift everything.

But whether he'd be a complication or an unexpected ally, Eleanor wasn't sure yet. All she knew was that she'd be ready for either outcome.

Because in this world, there was no room for unpredictable variables.

Not anymore.