Living Is Never An Option For The Villainess

by Succ0bus

Summary:

Rashta is dead. A transmigrator takes her place to finish what she started—but unfortunately, she fails over and over again.

In which I throw random darts at a board to decide which characters to pair together to create the most chaos possible.

Notes:

This ended up just being a wild mix of all my interests, ranging from Game of Thrones to SVSSS and crappy webtoons I like reading because I’m a masochist. The characters might read OOC at times (probably most of the time) , and certain canon events are changed—mainly because my memory is bad, but also because I’m not willing to read through the entirety of The Remarried Empress again to take notes on everything (especially because of the damn foreplay chapters).

I’ve never written a fanfic before and English isn’t my native language so I’ll apologise for my poor grammar skills in advance.

The Chapters will be longer, the Prologue will be the shortest, I promise.

Hope you enjoy experiencing my mind palace at its fullest.

Chapter 1: Prologue

“Funny—alas, it is you who keeps me company on this late summer night.”

Perched atop the highest tier of the Eastern Empire’s imperial palace was a gardened balcony the Empress took great pride in. Extravagant tea parties were held there, the lush greenery and vibrant flowers, scrupulously tended by the workers at the Emperor’s request, only enhancing the experience of sipping tea while gazing out over the capital.

Taking a walk in this very garden was an activity Rashta had grown accustomed to during her time in high society—something she did whenever she felt particularly stressed about courtly matters, which had become more and more frequent as the years dragged on.

Tonight was no different from any of her previous visits. She felt at ease, even if the situation didn’t call for it.
Gazing out from the railing carved of fine marble, she saw chaos stretching as far as the eye could see. Crimson flooded the capital, and the sound of clashing metal and hooves striking stone echoed in the air.

“Your Majesty sounds rather displeased,” said the newcomer, his voice smooth and pleasant to the ear.
Within a few strides, he stood beside the woman who dressed in white, her hood casting a shadow that enveloped her entire face. It was windy for a summer night.

“Displeased? How so?” She hummed, her eyes remaining set on the scene of one of her own officials barking commands as the bodies of his comrades began piling by his feet.

Silence stretched between the two, with neither of them in a hurry to break it.

“By dawn I shall no longer be Empress,” her words were empty and weightless but held a firmness as if it were absolute— as if there was no escaping this fate, “if you’re here on behalf of the rebellion, I won’t put up a fight.”

“What cruel prejudice you hold against me,” he laughed, “I’m not the kind of man to punish a wife for her husband’s failings.”

He tapped his fingers against the marble as he leaned over the ledge with the same carefree demeanour he always carried himself with— as if there was nothing more to life than frolicking in palaces and wearing expensive garments, noble-bred indeed.

“Then just what kind of man are you, Heinrey?”

“An eye for an eye, a limb for a limb,” he straightens himself before reaching out to pull down her hood, revealing her ivory hair which shimmered brightly under the moonlight, “debts must be repaid and I am a man that doesn’t enjoy being indebted to others.”

Rashta lifted her gaze to meet with Heinreys twin amethysts.
“You may ask anything of me, if you wish to leave everything behind I shall spread my wings and take you as far away as they can—“

The sound of sardonic laughter erupted, it was humourless, dry and hopeless, something almost pity evoking had Rashta been someone to pity.

“You humour me,” her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she turned to face the other, “you’re suggesting I run away with you and prove that I, the Empress am nothing more than a fraud and coward who can’t even stand behind her own cause?”

Heinrey opened his mouth before closing it again.

“If it means I have to die to prove my sincerity, I will gladly die a thousand deaths. I will not turn my back to those who I promised a better life, I will not run from the responsibility of not being able to uphold an oath I swore for all to hear.”

“You’re willing to die for your ideals?” He scowled, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm, a foreign expression, one which Rashta had never seen before spread across his face.

The thudding of wood hitting wood had been acting like a metronome for far too long now, with one last ‘thud’ the main gate finally sprung open as the battle cries of desperate soldiers erupted and bounced off of the palace walls.

Rashta glances down, earlier it had been a battle of few men, now it turned into a chaotic gladiator arena.

“Although,” she began, her lips pressing into a thin line before she opened her mouth again, “I might just have to take you up on that offer.”

At that, Heinrey’s fist unclenched and he quickly adds: “Anything, you may ask anything of me.”

“Take care of my son.”

“Rashta, you don’t think I’m that stupid, right? I don’t believe you’d be out here asking for death without some peace of mind that he was alright.”

For the first time that evening— the smile on Rashta’s lips reached her eyes. Even if she hated to admit it, there was something soothing about hearing her name roll off his tongue so naturally.

By dawn, the entirety of the imperial palace had been massacred, and the bodies of anyone who sided with them were paraded through the streets. But one recognisable figure was notably missing.

.
.
.
.

System: Loop 32 complete. Generating analysis…

Chapter 2: This Villainess Is Prepared To Give Her Best Performance

Was it really living, if Rashta spent her days twiddling her thumbs, wondering which cruel and creative method the world would use to kill her next? By now, she had a routine.

Mondays were for the guillotine.

Tuesdays, poison slipped into her food.

Wednesdays brought swords—always classical.

Thursdays, she sacrificed herself for people who couldn’t care less.

Fridays were reserved for last-second emergency suicide.

Lately, Saturdays had been added: a casualty in someone else’s rebellion.

Dying could be considered her hobby by now.

As usual, she sat in the vast nothingness after each lifetime, accompanied only by the system. Red text flashed across the computer-like screen, alerting her of the supposed bad ending she had received—the one she had always received. Rashta wondered if there was even a different ending to begin with. The text disappeared, replaced by a list of all her actions, each graded and color-coded depending on whether it was a morally good or bad deed.

It included: rescuing a stray kitten, helping Navier escape a loveless marriage, saving Heinrey from dying, conspiracy against the state, treason, mass murder, child negligence, sabotage, property damage, revoking freedom of speech, solicitation, blasphemy, and her personal favorite: advocating the overthrow of the government.

“F for Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed.”

Rashta didn’t think it was all that bad—it could always be worse—but the robotic voice of the system kept repeating itself like it was having a personal meltdown.

“Alright, we get it,” she groaned, to no one in particular, before clicking the X in the corner and ignoring the small information box.

The screen disappeared, along with the light it emitted, leaving her in complete darkness.

This was the beginning of her isolation.

Between each rebirth, there was a predetermined amount of time she had to spend in the loading screen. It was like being put in time-out—if the teacher locked you in a soundproof room, shut all the blinds, and made you reflect on your past actions by having you watch the footage of your entire life over and over again.

That wouldn’t be as bad if it didn’t look like it was edited together by a 12-year-old who just learned how to use transitions.

The system box appeared once again, this time without text, but with the aforementioned film. It would repeat itself over and over again, for as long as it pleased, before the loading bar was full.

—

System loading complete: New Quest

—

Her fingers dug into the cold ground, grime piling under her nails with the old blood.

It felt strange—bittersweet, even, like she was grasping at a distant memory. It truly had been a long time since she’d felt the earth beneath her fingertips.

Living among the nobles, in their world of endless wealth, was exhausting. There was nothing to hold onto, no one to confide in—just layers of silks, jewels, and treasures built on the blood of those wearing rags, with the same dirt under their nails like she had now. Like she had in so many lives before.

She remembered the first time she woke up here, all disoriented and uncomfortable in this new body. It was in the exact same forest as now. The same clunk of metal bit into her flesh, anchoring her in place, too wounded to run— too scared to scream— left to lie there with only her thoughts for company.

And always, the same questions echoed through her mind:

Where am I?

Who am I?

Why am I here?

But by the time she began to believe her own answers, having lived the life of Rashta, she would die—again.

It was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on her, was it the universe? The system? Or did God truly exist just to torment her?

Each time she felt as if she made progress, as if she outgrew the role that was thrust upon her, everything would reset and she would be forced to restart.

A second, a third, a seventh time, each death more gruesome than the last, until she stopped counting at some point.

With a final push, she flipped herself over. Even when the pain sparked, and the stench of iron hit her nose renewed, at least for that moment, she wasn’t busy brooding like an angsty male lead. Instead, she was busy wincing and cursing under her breath.

Rashtas' eyes darted around but the scenery remained a mosaic before her. She knew that even if she ran— which she had done sometime before, the plot would still somehow rope her back. That was her fate. She was to die.

Rashta let her head roll on the dirt, it was soft and loose as she pressed downwards to make a dent. When her vision cleared itself, she could finally see the crowns of the trees surrounding her. Vibrant green leaves that the sunlight peaked through such as the small birds that seemed beyond curious.

That's something she always looked forward to, the nature that was just as beautiful as the original work had described it to be.

The sound of boots padding against the ground broke her out of her trance.

“There’s someone over here!” The voice belonged to a youth– there was no mistaking it. It must be a squire, Rashta thought.

His pace fastened as he kneeled down beside her. Filling her vision with straw blond hair and dark eyes which refused to meet hers.

“Are you- are you alright Milady?” He stuttered.

“Do I look alright?”

It was Jeremiah. She had known him in her previous life. He had been her favorite subject, only seventeen when he entered her service, but full of potential and life. His overly naive and optimistic view of the world could be a bit tiring at times.

But, Rashta had to admit that sometimes that exact view on life is incredibly comforting. Especially during her drinking heists.

Looking at the boy now, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for that one time she had him refill her cup so many times in one night that he had to gallop across half the palace to find her another jug.

“Umm—”

“Return at once! Who allowed a mere squire to walk before the emperor? Tsk, ‘milady’ my arse, that’s a lunatic.”

Jeremiah practically jumped up from his spot before profusely apologizing, only to realize that Rashta was still looking at him. Feeling guilty for apologising and essentially agreeing with the knight’s words about her, he started apologising like Rashta was personally going to guillotine him. Not yet—it wasn’t Monday. It was a Tuesday when Sovieshu found her, so he was lucky. However she was considering it.

“There’s no need to be so harsh on him.”

There he was, in all his glory. There was a reason why the perfect female lead had fallen in love with Sovieshu and it wasn’t just his personality.

Handsome would be a clear understatement, the man looked like he was carved out of fine marble– sharp in all the right places, but soft where it would be seen as endearing. His pale skin paired with the ebony of his hair exuded a contrast that made him look inhuman but ethereal nonetheless. When Rashta first transmigrated here, she couldn’t help but think he was the perfect fit for Edward Cullen if castings called, hell she thought he looked closer to him than Robert Pattinson ever would.

“Your Highness..this woman..she..” The knight trembled as his lips turned into a polite smile. The type people give when they are at their wits end.

The emperor's eyes wandered from the knights to the bloody scene that was Rashta.

“Free her from the trap.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The two scrambled to her side, messing with the springs until the clamps fell open.

“Your Majesty really ought to think of the positions of traps such as these,” Rashta smiled. “There are quite a few commoners like myself who would prefer coming back from a stroll in the forest with two fully intact legs.”

With how many times she had been married to this man, Rashta knew exactly how to criticise him through the likes of humour. Sovieshu didn’t like it when women threatened his authority. He liked them vulnerable, young and in need of his protection– in need of him.

“His Highness just freed you. Instead of using that sharp tongue of yours, you should thank him for sparing your life!”

Sovieshu holds up a hand.

“There's no need, it was a mistake on my end to begin with. I shouldn’t be placing these things so carelessly,” he said, leaving the knight and even the good-hearted Squire dumb-founded for the second time.

He turns his focus back to Rashta, their eyes meeting for the first time in this life. There was none of the bitter sorrow of losing his first and only love to another man, none of the tiredness he would gain with age or the look of pure hatred when Rashta would just as much as speak.

“You’re quite the amusing one aren’t you?”

She lowered her gaze, deciding that looking at the grass was far more interesting than at her former husband.

“Your Highness, she's badly hurt, if not treated immediately she could possibly contract a deadly infection,” Jeremiah stammered.

If this were like the first time Rashta transmigrated, Jeremiah wouldn’t even have to offer that line before Sovieshu decided to sweep her off her feet and carry her back home. But things were different now. She was different.

“Take her back to the palace and send for one of the imperial doctors,” Sovieshu didn’t look twice before turning around with the flick of his wrist. His frame got smaller the further he went until there was nothing left as the knight hastily joined him by his side.

Jeremiah sighed a breath of relief before turning around to face Rashta.

“Can you walk?” he asked, offering her a hand.

“I can try,” she replied, taking him up on the offer before stumbling, hissing when she misplaced the pressure onto her injured leg.

The two of them walked at a slow and unstable pace in utter silence, making Jeremiah squirm.

“Whats your name? I’m Jeremiah.”

From the earlier round of scolding, it seemed like the youth dropped the respectful address of “milady” completely.

“Rashta.”

They stumbled and limped over to the rest of the men who were tasked to accompany the emperor on his hunt.

The way back to the palace was well– interesting at best. Rashta didn’t remember it being as awkward as this.

Jeremiah kept asking questions along the lines of: “It's really hot out here isn’t it?” “Does it hurt?” “Have you ever been to the palace?” “Have you talked to his Highness before?”

Each one having less meaning than the last paragraph in an essay that you squeeze in just to get the whole thing over with.

At some point the other knights were fed up with his questions and Rashta's half-interested replies, so much so that they banned Jeremiah from talking all together.

After riding up that hill for what seemed like half a day, they finally reached the top, the imperial palace in full display.

As grand and majestic as it always had been, giant pillars etched into the sky, statues and murals made only by the most renowned artists across the continent: that was the royal palace of the eastern empire. A frivolous and vulgar display of wealth, to Rashta even a bit shameless.

By the time Rashta had been bathed and presented to the empire's most skilled doctors, it was already late in the evening. News of a random woman brought in by Sovieshu must have spread across the imperial ground by now. Rashta already began preparing herself for the incoming headache of having to deal with her favourite Blondie.

If there was one thing she wanted to avoid, or one person, it would be Navier.

Everyone else was a minor pain in the ass, Navier however was a massive one.

It was like playing a game of UNO. You think you've got pretty good cards when you draw a +2 card once in a while, but then it's Navier's turn, and she slaps down +4s until she wins, leaving you to hold fifty cards while the other players, who started out with more cards than you, scream "UNO!" first.

But instead of being some mediocre game that you can forget afterwards, that was Rashta's entire 32, going on 33 lives!!

“We will thoroughly examine you tomorrow for other injuries, please apply this balm until then, it’ll make sure the stitches I have sewn won’t get infected.”

“Thank you, I’ll make sure to apply it,” she replied as she looked at the jar in her hands.

That is if I could unwrap the bandages that were tied together so tightly I can barely feel my leg, she thought to herself.

The doctor bows politely before leaving the guest room that had been assigned to Rashta. It was a smaller one, less decorative and pretty than the other times she had stayed in a side room. The one thing that caught Rashta's eye was the easel and paint laying around. It must have been the same room they would offer to the artisans there to paint family portraits and what not.

Rashta leaned over as if she were to walk over, causing her to almost fall out of her wheelchair.

It was a temporary thing, something she would be rid of as soon as her leg had healed, but Rashta still despised how immobile it was.

She sat back onto the wheelchair made of pure wood before using her arms to move the wheels forward.

Slowly but surely she made her way to the easel where an untouched canvas rested. Rashta grazed the fabric of the canvas with her fingers, it had been a while since she had seen the tools used to create art instead of the finished product.

A knock came from the door.

There really wasn’t a second of peace for her today.

“You may come in,” she shouted, loud enough so it could be heard from outside the room.

The door creaked open revealing none other than Sovieshu.

Rashta knew what was coming next. There was no way she could live in such luxury for free without it coming at a cost—and visiting someone's bedchamber, especially that of the opposite sex, was highly inappropriate at this hour.

This was going to be a long night.

Notes:

No longer does the tag “not beta read we die like xx” apply to me because I was able to convince my pookie to be my official beta reader (reader is optional).
I’m so surprised that I ended up writing and finishing the chapter in a reasonable time, because the last actual fanfic I wrote was all the way back in like sixth grade… (It was MHA if you were wondering)

Also you might wonder why it took me a whole month to update, which I can proudly tell you, it wasn’t because of procrastination I was just really busy going to school, working, attending courses, yelling at adults to do their jobs and also having concerts with the entire orchestra back to back. It’s the Asian in me I guess.

Chapter 3: The Female Leads Guide To Infidelity

Summary:

Navier introduction baby!!

It was a well agreed upon fact that the Trovi Family produced the most extraordinary of women, especially noteworthy as its own history shifted in favour of the daughters of the noble house rather than its own heirs.

 

These women inherited neither gold, nor jewels—only prestige, and far more of it than wealth could buy.

 

One such woman was none other than the current Empress, Navier Trovi. It was said that upon hearing of the birth of such a lady, the previous Emperor, Osis III, paid a visit to her nursery personally, and upon first glance, decided that a fine young woman would be made out of her one day. With hair as radiant as the morning sun and eyes as green as the grassy plains, who else would deserve such beauty besides his own son, the crown prince?

 

And so, the fate of Navier had been decided while she still laid in her crib.

 

These days, she bore the stature of a true noble empress, the girlish fervour having long been subdued by the fastidiousness that came with living in the palace. Every glance, every fiddle of the fan and every ruffle of the skirt held its own meaning and its place in conversation.

 

“A slave woman, you say?” Navier asked in a hushed tone, her gaze settling on her own reflection within the vanity mirror, as the other noblewomen fussed over her appearance. Only Lady Laura was bold enough to broach such an improper topic: “She was a dirty thing. Not handsome in the slightest, dressed in rags and reeking of iron. If not a slave, then what well-bred lady would let herself be sighted by the Emperor in that manner?“

Laura spoke as she fastened the silver necklace around Navier’s neck. It was the first—and last—piece of jewelry she had received from her husband, mostly due to her lukewarm reaction to the thing. Ever since then, he had only handed her money to buy as she pleased. That was fine with Navier; she preferred dazzling gold over the sleekness of silver.

“But there is no need to worry, I’m sure His Highness will come to his senses once he sees you this evening,” Laura grinned with too much schadenfreude for Countess Eliza’s liking. In return she shot the younger woman down with a glare that immediately made the words die on the tip of her tongue. 

“Matters of the heart are difficult to understand from the perspective of an outsider,” Eliza began with her usual lecture. “If Your Majesty is interested in hearing the truth from His Majesty, then you should ask him personally.”

“As if he would tell Her Majesty the truth,” Laura muttered.

“A simple lie reveals more than hearsay,” Eliza replied bitingly.

Navier stood up from her vanity chair, stepping aside to leave room for the women to adjust her corset.

“Is it really as you say? Does the Emperor truly seem enamored with her?” She asked, again, turning around to finally face the others. There was an uncertainty in her voice that she had long since estranged herself from. Both Laura and Eliza widened their eyes at the question.

Navier knew it would be silly of her to be jealous— however, she couldn’t help the uneasiness that rose in her stomach at the simple thought. 

Her other ladies in waiting must have picked up on the tone of her voice, they exchanged meaningful glances before Eliza spoke up again.

“It is difficult to say.”

Out of all the noble women in Navier's court, Eliza was the most truthful when it came to sensible topics such as this one, which was something the Empress had always been grateful for. However, right now, what Navier needed was a firm denial. Even if it wasn’t true, even if they were lying to her, she needed that affirmation even if just for the moment.

Navier let out a sigh as she turned around to look into her mirror again. Her hair was pulled up into a low bun, away from covering her necklace and the crimson red of her dress. 

“Even if His Highness the Crown Prince takes a mistress, do not get in his way. It is but the norm among noble men of his rank.”

As she recalled the words of her own esteemed mother, Navier couldn’t help but crack a smile. She had always known that day would come, she just never expected it to be so soon. Maybe when her beauty had already withered with age, or her body had been exhausted from childbirth—maybe then Sovieshu would take a mistress. But neither were true and yet..

“I believe it's time for me to take some refreshment.”

The longest corridor in the palace led to the dining hall. It was large and spacious, with a table just as grand, but only ever two people to fill it.

Navier sat at the end of the table facing the window, while Sovieshu sat across from her, with the setting sun on his backside. The distance she was so accustomed to seemed even more symbolic in this moment.

The sound of cutlery clicking against the ceramic plates filled the otherwise silent room.

“The palace has been buzzing with all sorts of slanderous rumours about the slave woman, my lord,” Navier broke the silence, her eyes lifting from her own plate to meet the silvery-grey ones she had grown to adore over the decade.

“A woman.”

“Yes, a woman.”

Sovieshu placed his cutlery to the side before propping his chin up with one hand.

“What about her?” he asked, lifting a brow.

Navier sighed, expecting an oncoming headache.

“As the keeper of the imperial palace, I would at least like to know who enters and leaves, my lord.”

“Drop that.”

“Drop what?”

“My lord.”

“I am simply addressing you appropriately.”

“Yes, that’s the problem.”

Sovieshu sighed, leaning into his chair. The attendants had long left after serving the main course, waiting to be called in for dessert later, leaving only the two of them to simmer in the tension.

“Look, whatever they’re saying, it’s not like that. She’s just… an exceptional and insightful young lady.”

“And how exactly is she exceptional and insightful?”

“Navier, I know your temper. It doesn’t matter what I say now—if you have an agenda, you’ll push it until it manifests into reality. Like with Uncle Davios.”

“I simply pointed out his unhealthy habits of randomly bursting into dance. I did no such thing as manifest the plague on him.”

Sovieshu slammed his hands against the table as he stood up. “Something has come up. You can go on ahead without me.”

Without another word, he stormed out of the dining hall, leaving the guards standing outside the door to look around in confusion.

Navier returned to her meal without much further thought. 

After a night of restless sleep, court duties felt even more gruelling than usual—especially the preparations for the New Year celebration, which Navier had been procrastinating for some time now.

The invitations had long been sent, the budget secured, tasks assigned, and responsibilities divided. Yet everything still depended on Navier’s skill in pulling everything together.

It had always been tradition for the Empress Consort to oversee such events, which were considered trivial matters in which the regent had no place.

Navier remembered the first time she had been entrusted with this task after becoming Empress.

With a heart full of pride and a sense of perfectionism she had never quite outgrown, she had imagined herself being showered with praise—graciously receiving compliments while modestly insisting it had been her honour.

But reality was always more bitter: the praises sung by the people were directed not at her, but at Sovieshu. Her achievements and her hard work were always an extension of his, never her own.

Navier picked up the paper on her desk, the one detailing who was assigned to what. While most everyone had reported back on their progress, there were a few she hadn’t heard from in weeks.

The door to her study opened, then closed again with a soft thud. A servant discreetly appeared at her side and placed down a tray of tea and cake. Navier bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“Please call for Lady Laura.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Navier put away the pile of documents on her table before she brought the porcelain teacup to her lips, observing the servant leave through the door in one smooth and practiced motion.

Her fork carefully prodded at the cake, but made no further effort to eat it as her thoughts wandered again, which had been increasing over the past few days. Her thoughts kept drifting back to that woman—the one whose name she didn’t even know, yet who had lived in the back of her mind.

Maybe she was far too curious for her own good.

So what if Sovieshu took in a concubine? As long as she didn’t get into copious amounts of trouble, Navier would just have to endure it. While her ladies-in-waiting had comforted her the entire time, Navier knew that it was a good thing if Sovieshu were to take a concubine—for the sake of the empire, for the sake of the bloodline. A ten-year-long fruitless marriage was already scandalous on its own. If the concubine were able to bear Sovieshu a son, then the matter would be settled, and Navier wouldn’t have to involve herself in further censure.

The matter of inheritance in the Eastern Empire was anything but simple. While the Western Kingdom simply followed the rule of handing everything to one’s eldest son, the Eastern Empire put much thought into it.

The emperors before Sovieshu, including his father Osis III, all had flourishing harems for that reason. Whoever produced the most capable son would win the inheritance game and ascend to the throne. Seeing the heartbreak and despair it caused his poor concubine mother—bullied and ridiculed by the other women of the late emperor—Sovieshu became stubborn and adamant to never have his own harem.

It was both seen as an admirable yet foolish decision. On one hand, he was given the image of a romantic, which moved the hearts of many; on the other hand, it was foolish as it hindered political alliances through marriage.

Looking at it from that angle, Navier wouldn’t have minded the thought of him taking a concubine. Yes, she shouldn’t mind this.

Navier lifted her fork with a piece of the red velvet cake she had been served.

However, that woman he had taken in was a slave. The most she could do was bear him a son or two; there were no other profits to speak of from having her enter the inner court. Was this woman even capable of understanding the language of aristocracy?

After all, ignorance meant death in the palace. If that woman were to make the slightest mistake and offend someone of high social standing, she would surely be assassinated in her sleep—no matter how much the emperor favoured her.

The more Navier turned the situation around in her head, the more frustrated she became. Just what was Sovieshu thinking?

How was she to explain this situation to the Empress Dowager?

The door knocked twice before Laura burst in, with the same servant Navier had sent by her side.

She bowed and greeted Navier before making her way to the desk.

“Your Majesty called for me,” she said, her voice sounding constipated, as if she had other things on her mind.

Navier nodded, placing her fork on her plate.

“There are a few letters I have to write regarding the New Year celebration. Would you mind lending a hand?”

Laura nodded enthusiastically. As the daughter of a marquis, she had received a formal education in a private school for girls. Her proudest achievement had always been her skill in calligraphy, for which she was well known throughout the palace, as she was often tasked to write in Navier’s name. Laura was eleven years Navier’s junior and had debuted in society just last year. Despite the age difference between them, they got along like a couple of good friends, especially since the other ladies-in-waiting were much older than the both of them.

“Alright, I’ll be handing that task over to you then. Make sure the letters are sent out by noon tomorrow,” Navier smiled as she went back to eating her cake.

“Your Majesty, actually… there was something on my mind,” Laura said, fiddling with her fingers.

Navier only hummed, gesturing for her to continue.

“I ran into that woman earlier.”

Navier froze, her hand pausing mid-air.

“She was sitting in the royal garden, brush in hand and in front of an easel. I was only passing by, so I couldn’t catch a glimpse of what she was painting. The audacity… sitting in the royal garden as if she belonged there…” she murmured the last part, her face red just reminiscing on the scene.

“That’s all?” Navier asked.

“Well… I suppose she was beautiful. But in that delicate, doll-like way, as if just one misstep and she would shatter. Nothing like Your Majesty, of course.”

Navier turned her head toward the window, gazing upon the fountain in the middle.

Her office was built inside the small pavilion in the royal garden, which meant that the woman she had been thinking about had been sitting not so far away from her.

“Would you accompany me on a walk before beginning your work?”

Laura looked unsure but nodded, and the two made their way out.

Navier really felt like she was losing it, just entertaining the thought of dropping by to see her husband’s newly acquired concubine. But if that woman were to live in the palace, she would be under Navier’s care.

The two walked, arms interlocked, as Laura updated Navier on all the palace matters she was aware of. The first spring flowers had already begun blooming, making the entire garden smell lovely.

The New Year celebration had always been traditionally celebrated in early spring. It was to mark a new season for agriculture. However, this year, the weather seemed even warmer and more eager for spring, only in the morning would there be a layer of frost and dew on the grass.

When Laura finally finished her daily report of gossip, a voice was heard from behind the bushes. Navier peered through a small opening, only to see a girl sitting there.

With ivory-pale hair that cascaded into her face making it impossible for Navier to get a clear look, dressed in a pale blue gown, she sat in her wheelchair. An easel stood right in front of her, splashed with colour, as Laura had described. 

“Alright, little birdie, are you trying to tell me their eyes are this colour instead of that one?” the woman spoke, and sure enough, a small bird started chirping as if to answer.

She dipped the brush before placing a few more strokes onto the canvas. Navier was too far away to clearly see who the woman was painting, but it was a portrait nonetheless.

She stood there, watching the strange, human-like interaction between the woman and the bird. Laura, curious as to what Navier was looking at, ducked down and tried to peer through the opening as well, her hair brushing against the leaves.

At the sound of that, the woman turned at once, the bird now perched on her left shoulder.

“Your Majesty…” she sweat-dropped as she attempted to rise for a curtsey.

Navier raised a hand, motioning for her to remain seated.

The woman in the wheelchair only seemed more uncomfortable with that request.

“At the very least, you haven’t gotten a false set of eyes and failed to recognise Her Majesty,” Laura scolded. “You’re awfully disruptive in the royal gardens of Her Majesty.”

“This subject apologises. She will accept any punishment Her Majesty deems fit.”

Who else could this woman be? It had to be the one Sovieshu had taken in. Navier felt as if the short descriptions she had heard in passing hadn’t done her justice.

The woman must’ve felt Navier’s gaze; the bird on her shoulder seemed rather quiet now.

“This subject is called Rashta.”

Her voice was small—barely above a whisper—but softer than anything Navier had ever heard before. Even if she had never met this person, she felt strangely familiar.

“Next time when you’re visiting the royal garden, remember to keep your voice down,” Navier said, stepping closer to Rashta.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Rashta replied, fiddling with her hands.

She stopped when she stood before the woman, towering over her sitting form. Navier looked at the canvas. It was but a mess of colours.

Laura remained in her spot, only taking a few steps closer—as if any closer, she’d be infected with a deadly disease.

“You paint?” Navier hummed, her voice strained.

Rashta looked up from the ground and in the direction Navier was looking.

“I used to from time to time. However, I had never been especially gifted in that regard.”

Navier nodded, her eyes locked onto the painting. There was a part of her screaming and scratching to confront this woman about Sovieshu. However, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I have matters to attend to, so unfortunately I’ll have to cut this meeting short. I hope the palace treats you with the utmost hospitality,” she said, turning to take her leave before the other could react.

That night, she fell asleep to the same reoccurring dream. 

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you guys so much for 30 Kudos!! It means a lot to me. Also I’m sorry for the late chapter, I swear the AO3 curse hasn’t caught up to me yet it’s just I’ve been busy… (procrastinating)

Alright wrapping up the chapter, time to repay my alpha reader with head.