The second day of travel began with an unexpected development: Seraphina actually wanted to talk.
Priam had risen at dawn, as was his habit, and had been quietly reviewing the travel provisions when Seraphina emerged from her sleeping compartment in the carriage. The vehicle had been specially modified with a small private chamber for her comfort during the journey—another display of the Ashcroft family's wealth. She wore a simpler day dress of cream and rose, her golden hair braided loosely over one shoulder, and she looked... softer, somehow. More approachable than her usual ice-queen demeanor.
"Good morning, my lady," Priam greeted with a respectful bow.
"Morning," she replied, settling into her seat. Her eyes, still slightly heavy with sleep, fixed on him with that unnervingly direct gaze she sometimes employed. "Tell me about yourself."
Priam blinked, momentarily thrown. "I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"You heard me." Seraphina arranged her skirts with practiced precision. "You've served me for three years, yet I realize I know almost nothing about you. Where did you come from before entering service? What are your ambitions? Your thoughts?"
This is a trap, Priam's instincts screamed. It has to be a trap. Nobles don't actually care about their servants' backgrounds.
But looking at her face, he saw only genuine curiosity. Perhaps the isolation of the journey, away from the pressures of the estate and with the daunting prospect of the academy ahead, had made her more... human?
"There isn't much to tell, my lady," he said carefully. "I am the son of a distant Ashcroft relation and a commoner mother. When my parents died, the Duke was kind enough to take me in as a servant. I've been trained in service since I was fourteen."
"That's the official story," Seraphina said, waving a dismissive hand. "I want to know about you. What do you think about? What do you want from life?"
I want to survive long enough to see you not get executed for your crimes, Priam thought. I want to go back to a world where I could waste time on cheap entertainment without wondering if today's the day I trigger a death flag.
"I want to serve well and honorably," he said aloud, which was the safest possible answer.
Seraphina made a small sound of dissatisfaction. "How dreadfully boring. Everyone wants something more than that."
"What do you want, my lady?" Priam asked, then immediately regretted the boldness. But Seraphina didn't seem offended. Instead, she looked out the carriage window, her expression growing distant.
"I want..." She paused, seeming to genuinely consider the question. "I want to be remembered. To matter. To be more than just a pretty face married off for political advantage." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I want to prove that I deserve to exist."
The raw vulnerability in those words shocked Priam. This wasn't the arrogant villainess from the game. This was a girl who had been raised with impossible expectations, who had been told her entire worth depended on securing a prince's hand, who had internalized the message that anything less than perfection meant failure.
"You already matter," Priam found himself saying. "Your worth isn't determined by whom you marry."
Seraphina's laugh was bitter. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one whose entire family's future rests on your ability to charm a crown prince." She turned back to him, and there was something almost pleading in her eyes. "You don't understand the pressure. Every day, every moment, I'm being judged. One mistake, one misstep, and I become worthless. A disappointment. A failure."
Priam felt an unexpected surge of sympathy. In his previous life, he'd experienced that crushing weight of expectation—work harder, sleep less, sacrifice everything for a company that would replace you in a heartbeat. He'd died from that pressure, collapsed from exhaustion at twenty-three because he'd believed he had to be perfect to deserve to live.
And here was Seraphina, trapped in the same cycle, just in a different world.
"My lady," he said slowly, "may I tell you something my mother once told me?"
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Your mother was a commoner, wasn't she?"
"Yes. But she was wise." Priam smiled slightly at the fabricated memory—these weren't actually his memories, but those of this body's original owner. Still, the sentiment felt true. "She said that a person's worth isn't measured by what others expect of them, but by how they treat those who have no power to benefit them."
"Philosophy from a commoner," Seraphina said, but there was no real scorn in her voice. "How quaint."
"Perhaps. But consider this—His Highness the Crown Prince will have a hundred noble daughters pursuing him, all trying to be exactly what they think he wants. They'll all be perfect, polished, identical in their attempts to please him." Priam leaned forward slightly, holding her gaze. "But what if what he truly wants is someone genuine? Someone who isn't performing every moment?"
Seraphina's expression shifted through several emotions—surprise, consideration, doubt, and finally, a cautious curiosity. "You think I should stop trying to be perfect?"
"I think perfection is an illusion that prevents people from being real." Priam knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but something about this moment felt important. "And I think that perhaps His Highness might value authenticity over performance."
It was all strategic, of course. If he could plant the seed that would make Seraphina less obsessive about capturing the Prince, less willing to destroy innocent rivals, then maybe he could change her fate. Maybe he could save her from the bad endings that awaited her in every route.
Or maybe he was just getting himself killed more creatively.
Seraphina was silent for a long moment, her fingers absently playing with the end of her braid. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet and uncertain in a way he'd never heard before.
"What if I'm not enough? What if the real me is... disappointing?"
And there it was—the core fear that drove all her cruelty, all her scheming, all her desperate attempts to be perfect. She was terrified that if anyone saw who she really was, they would find her lacking.
"Then His Highness would be a fool," Priam said simply.
Seraphina's eyes snapped to his, wide with shock. "You... that's treason. Speaking ill of the Crown Prince."
"I said if," Priam pointed out with a slight smile. "A hypothetical. Surely that's not treasonous?"
For a moment, he thought he'd gone too far. Then, impossibly, Seraphina laughed. It was a genuine laugh, not the practiced, musical sounds she made at formal events, but a real, surprised burst of amusement.
"You're either very brave or very stupid," she said, but she was smiling. Actually smiling, and it transformed her face completely. The cold beauty became something warmer, more alive. "I haven't decided which."
"Perhaps both, my lady."
"Perhaps." She settled back in her seat, and though her expression returned to its usual composed state, something had shifted. "You may speak freely with me, Priam. When we're alone, I mean. I find I... appreciate your honesty. Even when it's impertinent."
"I'm honored, my lady."
"Don't let it go to your head. I'm still your mistress, and I'll still punish you if you truly overstep." But there was no real threat in the words.
They continued traveling in a more companionable silence after that. Priam watched the countryside roll past, his mind working through the implications of this conversation. In the game, Seraphina had been portrayed as shallow, caring only about status and appearance. But this girl—this real, complicated person—was so much more than that.
She was a victim of her society, molded and shaped by expectations she never asked for. And while that didn't excuse the cruelty she would later display toward her rivals, it made her... understandable. Human.
Dangerous thinking, Priam warned himself. Getting emotionally invested in her is a good way to end up destroyed when she inevitably spirals.
But it was hard not to feel something for her, knowing what awaited her. In every route of the game, Seraphina's ending was tragic—exile, execution, or death. She was doomed by the narrative itself.
Unless he could change it.
"Priam?" Seraphina's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes, my lady?"
"Thank you. For listening." She didn't look at him as she said it, her gaze fixed firmly on the passing landscape. "I don't... I don't have many people I can speak honestly with."
"It's my honor to serve you, my lady. In whatever capacity you require."
And surprisingly, he meant it.
The rest of the day passed in a strange new dynamic. Seraphina would occasionally ask him questions—his opinions on books, his thoughts on politics, even his preferences in music. And Priam would answer as honestly as he dared, carefully threading the line between useful advisor and presumptuous servant.
He told her about his "memories" of his mother (actually the memories of this body's original owner, but real enough). He shared his thoughts on the books he'd read in the Ashcroft library (thank God this body had been literate and well-read). He even, in a moment of boldness, critiqued a piece of music she asked him about, pointing out flaws in the composition.
Seraphina listened to all of it with an attention that seemed almost hungry. As if she'd been starving for genuine conversation and was only now realizing it.
When evening fell and they stopped at a way station for the night—a small but luxurious inn that catered to traveling nobility—Seraphina surprised him again.
"Priam, you'll dine with me tonight."
He'd been preparing to eat with the other servants. "My lady, that's not—"
"I don't care about propriety right now. We're still a day from the academy, and I want company that isn't vapid or sycophantic." She fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. "You'll dine with me. That's an order."
So Priam found himself seated at a table in Seraphina's private dining room, an unprecedented honor for a servant. The meal was excellent—roasted pheasant, fresh vegetables, fine wine—but Priam barely tasted it. He was too aware of the bizarre situation, of the lines being blurred, of the danger and opportunity this represented.
"Tell me about the academy," Seraphina said between courses. "You've studied the curriculum, haven't you?"
"Yes, my lady. The academy focuses on four main disciplines: Combat, Magic, Politics, and Arts. Students typically specialize in one or two areas."
"I'll be focusing on Politics and Arts," Seraphina said. "Father insists I must be well-versed in governance if I'm to be Crown Princess. And the Arts are essential for... well, for capturing the Prince's attention."
Still obsessed with him, Priam noted. But at least she's not talking about destroying rivals yet.
"His Highness is known for his appreciation of strategic thinking," Priam offered carefully. "I've heard he values intelligence and capability in his associates."
"Associates," Seraphina repeated, her lips quirking slightly. "Is that what I should aim to be? An associate?"
"I meant only that demonstrating your political acumen might be as effective as demonstrating your artistic talents."
"Hmm." Seraphina took a sip of wine, her expression thoughtful. "You really think I should focus less on romance and more on... what? Impressing him with policy discussions?"
"I think you should be yourself. Your intelligent, capable, genuinely fascinating self. The romance, if it's meant to happen, will follow naturally."
Seraphina set down her glass, her violet eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made Priam's heart race. "You have an unusual amount of faith in someone you barely know."
"I know you better than you might think, my lady. I've observed you for three years. I've seen your intelligence when you think no one is watching. I've seen your dedication, your drive, your refusal to accept anything less than excellence. Those qualities are worth so much more than just a pretty face and perfect etiquette."
For a long moment, Seraphina simply stared at him. Then, so quietly he almost didn't hear it: "No one has ever said things like that to me before."
"Then they're fools."
"Or perhaps you are, for seeing things that aren't there."
"I suppose time will tell, my lady."
Seraphina smiled then—not the calculated smile she used in public, but something genuine and slightly sad. "Yes. I suppose it will."
That night, as Priam lay in his small servant's room at the inn, he stared at the ceiling and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. He'd been trying to manipulate the situation, to plant seeds that would steer Seraphina away from her doom. But somewhere along the way, the manipulation had become something more real.
He was starting to actually care about what happened to her.
And that, he knew, was the most dangerous thing of all.
Tomorrow they would reach Rosevale. Tomorrow the game would truly begin. Tomorrow he would meet the Crown Prince, the other capture targets, and all the other players in this deadly romantic drama.
But tonight, in the quiet darkness, Priam allowed himself a moment of genuine concern for the girl who would be villainess.
Let me save you, he thought. Even if you never know I'm trying. Even if you hate me for interfering. Let me change your fate.
Outside, the night was peaceful, stars glittering in an indifferent sky.
Inside, a butler made a silent vow to do the impossible.
And far ahead, in a grand academy built on tradition and hierarchy, destiny waited with cruel inevitability.
The game was about to begin.