I knew this world—I created it. But the storyline had somehow taken a different path from what I knew, from what I had written. Iris was supposed to be engaged to the Grand Duke's heir, Roy Francis. She met the prince once, and on that day, her downfall began.
But in this version of the world, I was engaged to the crown prince. The knight who sealed her fate was my knight. Everything seemed to be rushing toward my death. I wasn't Iris, yet I was also her. Pain here wasn't illusion or fiction—I felt it. Right now, my heart ached. I was scared and mortified. Scared because the plot had somehow rewritten itself, mortified because everyone knew I had been abandoned.
"I hate this," I whispered as hot tears ran down my cheeks. I hated the feeling of being looked down upon, of being left out. I hated secrets that weren't really secrets—because I was the only one who didn't know.
I sat up from the bed and glared at the crest carved into the headboard. The symbol was everywhere—on every piece of furniture in the estate. But how was I supposed to know it was the Imperial Family's crest? I never designed it when I wrote the book.
"They picked a very original, distinct one," I muttered, still glaring at it.
I wiped my tears and took a deep breath. I was tired of tossing and turning, and my body had started to ache. I got out of bed, picked up my robe, and put it on. I needed some air.
The silence in the house felt different now—more haunting, more eerie. The servants were no longer prattling about, and William was no longer five meters behind me. There were no guards in sight. But who would care for the spoiled Count's daughter?
My feet led me to my safe place—the garden. A sudden snort stopped me in my tracks. I ducked behind the fountain, which hadn't had water running in it for months. They had clearly gone with the "low maintenance" approach since I'm here.
Some guards were seated in my gazebo, playing cards and, of course, gossiping about a certain someone—me.
"She's infamous. Who doesn't know Tahenna's spoiled witch?" one said.
"She can't really be the lady who poisoned the Pope's daughter, can she?" another asked.
"I heard she beat up her maid after some gentleman rejected her," a third added.
"It's rumored she proposed to the crown prince. Wrote him a letter and everything. His Grace canceled their engagement after the Pope scandal," the last one said.
So those were the rumors circulating around the estate. Everything Iris had done was known—and maybe even exaggerated. I now understood that her original engagement had been canceled. But something was off. There was no religion in the original story. So how was there a Pope here?
I tiptoed out of the garden and rushed back to my room. The hallway was poorly lit, and I bumped into someone. Before I could scream, a hand covered my mouth.
"It's me, Lady Iris," he said.
"William? What are you doing up at this hour?" I asked, letting out a sigh of relief.
"My duty is to protect you," he said in his usual bored tone. "Let me walk you back to your room."
"No, I'll go by myself." I didn't want to bother him. I was angry—at him, and at the entire household.
"It's my duty to—"
"I'm tired of being monitored and treated like a plague-ridden person. Can I at least have one night alone?" I snapped.
His eyes darkened, and he stepped forward, a scowl on his face.
"Where were you at this hour? You shouldn't be walking around in improper attire," he whispered harshly.
Did he just talk down to me? I was his superior. Wasn't he supposed to be the uptight knight?
"First of all, where I was is none of your business. Secondly, it's night—this is proper attire. And lastly, how dare you speak to me like that?" I whispered back, furious.
"You've really changed. Now I see it. Do you really think he'll marry you?" he asked with a smug look.
"I don't care if he marries me or not. What I really want to know is—why are you speaking to me like this?"
"Did you really forget, or are you just pretending?" he asked, stepping closer. I backed away, but he stopped me by placing a hand on my back.
What was this—this inappropriate closeness?
"William... I don't know what you mean," I whispered. It was getting hot. He looked into my eyes, and I could see it—yearning. Had that always been there?
"What did she do to you?" he muttered, then turned and walked away, leaving me breathless and weak in the knees.
Iris... what did you do?