《I Unlocked the Villainess’s Romance Route!!》 1.1: LOVE BLOOMING
Wait. Wait-wait-wait. I knew exactly who I was. I was Hanna, and the last thing I remembered, I was being wheeled into emergency surgery, the world all white and sterile and flashing. I guess I did need help, if we¡¯re being technical, but why tell me that in such an overblown, cheesy way? My family was in the waiting room, and¨C That metaphor didn¡¯t even track. Still, those blaring words had one thing right: all of my senses felt like they were breaking apart. I was in that shiny hospital, then tumbling from step to staggered step in this dark, dank street, soaked with sleet, and back again, back again, back again. Crowds whirled around me. Bicycles. Staunchly-dressed people pushing baby prams and towing suitcases. Carriages pulled by horses. Somewhere far away, a train whistle screeched. Everyone was too distracted by the downpour to look at me. Something heavy crashed into me, throwing me into the puddles. Even if I barely got my hands out in time, that couldn¡¯t save me from gravity grabbing hold of my head and knocking it with skull-splitting force into the cobblestone street. Every fragment of the hospital burst out of my head, thanks to that. A constant spinning replaced them. What in the actual hell was going on? I scrubbed the rain out of my eyes, but was less successful at getting rid of the stars. My legs were dangerously close to the stamping hooves of a pair of white horses and whirling carriage wheels. If that cab was going fast enough, it must have swung in the wet street and hit me. And now it was making a break for it. Through the popping black stars in my vision, I saw a young woman looking out of the carriage window at me. A beautiful face framed with glorious red waves. How¡¯s her skin so perfectly lit even on this rainy, grimy night? She¡¯s incredible. The narration had one thing right: I did recognise her. Where I recognised her from hit me harder than the cab. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Love Blooming. The last game I played before they wheeled me into surgery. The silly little magical boarding school dating sim I got hooked on. Antoinette Delphine. Heiress. Villainess. Right there, speeding away. She was all I knew. All I was sure of. That was the woman I loved. ~*~ hanna // love blooming stan blog & antoinette defense squad founder // send fanfic prompts not hate // minors dni! -PINNED- Hi tumblr! I¡¯m Hanna. You might know me cuz my AO3 name, calligrafi-rose, keeps popping up in your fav¡¯s archive. Or cuz a new drama post about me is trending in the Love Blooming tag. I promise I don¡¯t bite. Muah~ I¡¯m mainly a fanblog for Love Blooming, a lost-media fantasy otome game for the DS. I fill your fanfic prompts every once in awhile (#rosewritings). I love Antoinette Delphine and Marie x Antoinette and I won¡¯t apologize for it. Please don¡¯t ask for personal info <3 I auto-delete ANY invasive messages or stupid accusations. I¡¯M NOT A PROSHIPPER. I¡¯M NOT INVOLVED IN YOUR WEIRD PURITAN ARGUMENTS. I¡¯M AN ADULT. -FICS- I post my fics here and on AO3! I write a tonnnn of fics but here are my most recent favs. I love love love reviews!! Replies: 1.2: LOVE BLOOMING "Miss?" A gentle, masculine voice shimmered out of the dark. It had to be my doctor, bringing me back from the anesthesia-induced haze of surgery. Why on earth would he call me miss? That was both too intimate and too impersonal. Besides, it¡¯s kind of part of his job to at least know my name is Hanna. "Miss, can you hear me?" I rubbed my forehead. Blobs of light peeked through my eyelids. I felt¡­too light, like someone scooped out all my bones and guts and I was gonna float away. Thankfully, a warm hand was on my shoulder, anchoring me down on a soft¡­sofa? The smell of flowers and wood polish stuffed my head with cotton balls. "Let me help you up. Easy, now. You struck your head very hard." I¡¯m at the hospital. Bits of my dreams are leaking into my senses, that¡¯s all. Just like before, in the road with the carriage, and the woman¡­ "Your Highness, let me¨C" "No, no, it¡¯s alright! What are princes for but helping maidens?" Why do I know that sentence? My vision cleared. Instead of a sterile surgery room or even a modest, impersonal recovery den, I was in a lavish parlour, crowded with knick knacks and clashing patterned furniture, like I¡¯d stumbled onto the Bridgerton set. And a blonde young man was right in front of me. A weirdly familiar young man. Oh. Everything crashed into me. The literal crash itself, the puddles in the street, and that snide, wickedly gorgeous face sneering down at me from the carriage as it raced past¡­ Antoinette Delphine! I bolted straight up. The Your Highness watching over me jumped back and hit a coffee table strewn with teacups; the parlour rang with the jangle of porcelain. I knew this parlour. I knew that mustachioed butler in the corner and the hodgepodge of different French and Germanic eras all thrown together into an autumn-toned backdrop, stuffed to the brim with the flowers that made up for much of Love Blooming¡¯s marketing materials. I knew that young man with his uncommonly pure blue eyes. His blonde hair tousled just enough to be boyish and sweet, juuust enough to make you want to see who he could be if he loosened up his perfectly-pressed powder-blue suit. ¨¦tienne Alarie. This was phase two of the game¡¯s prologue, where Marie¨Cthe protagonist¨Cwakes up in the first love interest¡¯s palace. Probably satisfied that I wasn¡¯t gonna keel over and break my face on the coffee table, a smiling ¨¦tienne skirted around it and sat on the sofa opposite me. "It¡¯s reassuring to see you awake, Sleeping Beauty." Love Blooming¡¯s crappy DS storage couldn¡¯t handle more voice acting than an old Ace Attorney game: just the occasional sigh, gasp, or chuckle. And yet here was ¨¦tienne¡¯s voice and every subtle French lilt within it. I reached across the coffee table and poked his bare hand. He was warm. Wait, wait-wait-wait. The night before my surgery, I¡¯d been so wound-up that (instead of crying all night) I wrote a whole oneshot on my phone in bed, and then posted it, un-beta¡¯d, on Tumblr at 3 in the morning. Obviously, my subconscious was clinging to it, right? Prince that he was, ¨¦tienne didn¡¯t shake off my prodding. Instead, he lightly cupped his hand over mine and said, "You¡¯re fortunate my staff saw that awful crash. The clinics are all closed at this hour, but¨C" "But they knew you¡¯d want your personal physician to check me over." My voice wasn¡¯t my own and it tripped on the way out of my mouth. His blue eyes grew wide. "Oh. Yes, Miss, that¡¯s absolutely the case." This body was shorter and slimmer than mine. Black bangs kept tumbling in front of my face, and the hand that brushed them away had longer fingers and nails, so I nearly took my eye out in the process. The only thing keeping me from running around the room and screaming What the hell! WHAT THE HELL! was how I¡¯d probably land flat on my face. Even if he was kinda a basic beginner¡¯s choice, ¨¦tienne was a fan favourite. Seeing his warm, easy smile and the dimples in his cheeks, I could suddenly understand why. He was the princely archetype plus an actual prince in this game¡¯s faux-France kingdom, Eavredor, and he had the easiest difficulty rating. When playing Love Blooming for the first time (with no idea how much it¡¯d change my life), I skated right on past ¨¦tienne. I wanted to find that wickedly beautiful redhead who I kept seeing in the background of untranslated Pixiv fan comics. She had to be a secret girl love interest, right? Sure, she didn¡¯t get even a fraction of the fanart and fanfic that the guys did, but what else was new? Maybe she was a new character for the uncelebrated tenth anniversary Steam port and that¡¯s why the only things I could find for her were a dramatic silhouette on the promo art and a pile of weird lewds on Danbooru. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Nope. Turned out, Antoinette¡¯s the jealous, petty love rival, who makes Marie¡¯s life miserable no matter which guy you go for. The villainess of Love Blooming. And my favourite character, despite her bare-bones script, total lack of backstory, and her undignified, unearned downfall that the game forces her through so Marie can run off with her own true love. Blech. Marie. Antoinette. Their names were meant to stitch together. They were made for quippy ship names and fanfic titles. Would it have killed the game devs to give her a little connection with the¨C? "What¡¯s your name?" The world stopped. Literally. The steam from our teacups hung in the air like cotton, the round lavender pearls freezing. A perfect stray strand of blond hair stopped mid-tumble on ¨¦tienne¡¯s forehead. The butler was caught with his hand halfway to his mouth, about to clear his throat. Ping! A dialogue box appeared between us. Coffee-brown partial transparency, cheesy stock filigree on the edges, golden text. Hanna. Duh. I never, ever used my real name when I played otome games. I couldn¡¯t deal with those anime boys saying my name, staring too deeply into my soul, like they saw the university student on the other side of the screen and wanted to romance her. I mean, there¡¯s a reason Doki Doki Literature Club tries to creep you out by making Monika access your computer¡¯s username. We all hide behind something when we play video games. Spice!Marie. Sugar!Marie. Sour!Marie. The personality type presets, all here. ¡­Dang, I had a good imagination, huh? No wonder I was such a good fic writer. Tentatively, I reached up for the hovering keyboard. The dialogue box sang a happy little tune. Something, somehow, pressed Play on the world. Those very words popped out of my mouth and I involuntarily bounced in my seat, exactly the way I imagined spice!Marie to do. That charming curl fell on ¨¦tienne¡¯s forehead and he effortlessly blew it back into place before saying, "What a beautiful name. I had a beloved aunt with that name. Now, hearing it reminds me of warm cocoa and fairy tales. Well, I did call you Sleeping Beauty, didn¡¯t I, Miss Chlo¨¦?" A shiver zapped down my spine. Exactly like if he¡¯d said Hanna. Marie, with the pixelated DS screen and tinny music, usually stood between me and the boys, doing all the daring tasks, casting her chaotic magic, and flirting her way into their hearts. Yet right now, I couldn¡¯t deny how it was my hands that were scuffed from the road, my face he was looking at, my body he could reach over and touch. What do I even look like?! Come on, don¡¯t be silly. I stood up. If this was a dream, I only wanted one thing. Antoinette. This was my brain. And my brain had spent almost a year of my life hyperfixated on that redheaded Top Bitch. I stomped towards the door. When she was human and not an anime-style pixel drawing, how much more beautiful was she? I¡¯d make the most of it and have her glare me down with those gorgeous eyes! ¨¦tienne was quick to catch me, and his butler was even quicker. The old man neatly stepped in front of the door. ¡°Miss Chlo¨¦, what do you need?¡± ¨¦tienne asked. ¡°Please. We can bring you food or¨C¡± ¡°I need to see Antoinette!¡± I tried to dodge around the butler. The old guy was pretty nimble. ¡°Right now!¡± "Lady Antoinette Delphine?" ¡°Yep, the heiress to the Aconitum Corporation! The loveliest girl in all of modern gaming!¡± ¡°I-I understand you¡¯re upset that her carriage hit you. My guards are working closely with hers to solve why¨C¡± ¡°No need. I know why she was on the road. She lost an earring at a dinner party and she thought the servants might have stolen it from her, so she was racing back to catch them.¡± Blah blah, vain women are evil, blah blah. ¡°Fetch me a carriage to find her and¨C¡± Ping! Where was the option for, Seriously, leave it alone! Let¡¯s get on with the magical boarding school plot! Someone hand me a dying houseplant to save! I carefully tapped 2. "Please don¡¯t inconvenience yourself for my sake," popped right out of my mouth. Hand-wringing, eye-averting, and all! Damn it, sugar!Marie! "It¡¯s hardly an inconvenience." ¨¦tienne tried to steer me back to the couch. "You were seriously hurt. Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m sure Miss Antoinette will apologize and this will all be smoothed over." Antoinette will refuse to cooperate with ¨¦tienne by apologizing to Marie or helping her recover her memory, which puts a dent in her reputation with him (a pretty substantial feat). This dumb crash starts everyone off on the wrong foot. I needed to see her. She was the home base for my muse, my stresses, all my pent-up creative energy, all my fandom passion that got me in so much trouble on Tumblr. Seeing her was the only decision that felt sane. So I needed to¡­move the plot forward? ¡°¨¦tienne, please, I need my tea. My head¡¯s all spinny.¡± Gallant as always, ¨¦tienne handed me my cup with the dramatics of giving me a legendary diadem. Tightly-wound lavender pearls floated in it, tinting the tea purple. I lifted it to my mouth and thought magical, magical, Love Blooming thoughts. In the game, Marie¡¯s anxiety about forgetting her whole life (and the handsome prince doting on her) triggers her magic. Maybe it was my anxiety about potentially losing my whole life that made the lavender pearls pop open into blooms the size of cinnamon buns, flinging themselves out of my cup from the force. Marie made a cutesy, pre-recorded "Eep!" I, meanwhile, flung the cup across the room and covered the crown prince in tea. 2.1: WELCOME TO LA BELLE LAVANDE My suspicion that this was my subconscious working through the finer points of my fanfic were blown to smithereens over the next couple days. See, dreams jump around locations and timeframes like bunnies playing hopscotch. Fanfics and video games skip all the boring parts. Such as when you¡¯re picking out new shoes. Or poking at your unfamiliar face in the bathroom mirror for an hour. Or lying awake in your cushy bed all night, fighting the urge to check your non-existent phone for a new fic comment or some dumbass picking a fight with you on Tumblr. This was life. Some funhouse version of it, where I was a petite student with black waves, yellow eyes, magic powers, and mysterious murder in her past. Where the richest boys in Eavredor loved me. Where my favourite tempestuous, bonkers gal in all of gaming¡­hated me. Hopefully I¡¯d fallen into one of my own fanfics. The night before my first day at the university where Love Blooming took place, I tossed in bed, probably making a total hellscape for myself and my poor abused hairbrush in the morning (one of the maids had to teach me how to brush waist-length hair). I¡¯d been free from dialogue trees so far since none of these days happened in the game, but the programming would be back in action tomorrow. If the game went as it was supposed to, I¡¯d make it out of here with a cute husband and an estate. I guess it could be worse? Aw, hell. It could be worse. It¡¯d be worse for Antoinette. If things went well for me, she was screwed¨Cfalling for her family¡¯s crimes, reputation wrecked, banished to rot in a cartoonishly dank cell on a deserted island. How many posts had I written on Tumblr about that stupid ending? From long essays about the game needlessly upholding this bad girl/good girl dichotomy to the point that it was desperate to treat Antoinette like a murderous Maleficent, to snarky text posts about how the legal system in Eavredor was total crap. I could see my own essay now. Are you really telling me that there was NO point in the writing process where the devs thought to add in a mission where you can protect Antoinette? Like, hello, redemption arc??? You''re besties with four SUPER RICH GUYS. Three of them have close ties with THE KING AND QUEEN. They could save her without breaking a sweat!!! I decided right then, like it was the only rope offered to me at the bottom of a deep, dark well, to do what I¡¯d technically been doing for almost a year since I¡¯d entered the Love Blooming fandom. I was gonna save Antoinette. And I was pretty sure I needed the love interests to do it. ~*~ The Academy La Belle Lavande wasn¡¯t half so beautiful on the tiny DS screen. And the golden text that told me the entire student body was staring at me sure didn¡¯t hold an ounce of the pressure of actually being stared at. Poor, daft ¨¦tienne was making it a thousand times worse! He¡¯d brought two butlers to carry my new dorm furniture, school supplies, and clothes (all donated by the prince himself). He strolled alongside this anonymous new girl, waving awkwardly at the students and confidently greeting professors with questions about their weekend and compliments on their new academic publications. I could practically hear what everyone was thinking: Who is that plain girl with our prince? (Plain in anime standards. Marie was kind of a smokeshow, let¡¯s be real.) Love Blooming set itself apart from other otome games by being about people in their early twenties¨Cjust like me in real life. The Academy was a prestigious magical university, lit by dancing chandeliers and glittering with gold and bronze, and everyone wore smart black and red uniforms that probably cost more than a semester of textbooks in the real world. Regardless, this feeling of being scrutinized by peers shot me right back to being the weird girl in school, shuffling into my classes late and sliding into my seat with no one to talk to. ¨¦tienne said, ¡°I¡¯m drawing a lot of attention. I¡­tend to do that. If you prefer, I can grab an RA to guide you around.¡± Ping! Over my couple days in Eavredor, ¨¦tienne was there almost every step of the way. He was my only sure thing in a world of confusion. For a character whose dialogue I mainly skimmed, he was quickly becoming my favourite. 2. ¡°Please, stay by my side,¡± I said in sugar!Marie¡¯s darling tones. (Okay, girl, whoa! Grabbing his arm was kind of over the line!) I was so distracted by how the dialogue choices could puppeteer me, that we were almost at my assigned dorm when I realised what was coming. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. My hands clenched into fists at the sides of my uniform skirt. ¨¦tienne gave me a comforting smile and lightly knocked on the door. It swung open. And there was Antoinette, in all her gorgeous glory, seeming far too lavish and grand for that undecorated little doorway. Her eyes entrapped me first¨Cthat glowing sea-green was as glimmering and sharp as glass. Her silky, thigh-length cherry-red waves were a mesmerizing feat of detailed art on the DS screen, but in real life, she seriously looked like a goddess. Outside the constraints of Love Blooming¡¯s anime art style, she had a strong Roman nose, full lips set in a delicious scowl, and¨Cyep, her curvy frame was exactly as perfect as always, that touch of realism making her even more beautiful. This was what I¡¯d been waiting for. I wasn¡¯t so sure I was asleep anymore (or in one hell of a medicated coma), but I couldn¡¯t help it. I threw my arms around her. It was like meeting a friend you¡¯d only known online. No, better¨Clike finally seeing someone who you hadn¡¯t seen in years, who you understood every fibre of, whose shape and scent you¡¯d almost forgotten after so long apart. Honestly, I probably knew her better than she knew herself. I knew every one of her lines in the game. I knew the fandom¡¯s agreed-upon backstory for her, and the soooo much better backstory made up by stacistar. I knew how she¡¯d act in a modern AU (Instagram influencer and heiress), a Harry Potter AU (Slytherin, duh), a Pokemon AU (poison-type gym leader), a coffee shop AU (extra shot, extra foam, almond milk!). So I should¡¯ve guessed that she¡¯d shove me away. Her electrifying blue eyes zapped onto mine. My knees practically gave out. Struck dumb by her beauty or her terrifying aura? Who knows. ¨¦tienne led me back a step and said with a nervous chuckle, ¡°Miss Delphine, let me¡­introduce you to Chlo¨¦.¡± ¡°Chlo¨¦ what? What family?¡± Antoinette looked me up and down, brushing invisible dirt off her uniform sleeves. I shivered. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine it¡¯s anyone of note, if she thinks it¡¯s all right to treat the Delphine heiress like this.¡± By now, ¨¦tienne knew I¡¯d lost all my memories, including my family name. ¡°We¡¯ll find out soon enough, I expect, especially once she can relax in the comforts of the Academy. Would you excuse us?¡± ¨¦tienne gestured over his butlers and their towers of boxes. The game played this for comedy. In reality, it made me look like a spoiled brat. Antoinette snapped, ¡°This is my dorm. I made it clear to the headmaster that I cannot have a roommate.¡± Ping! Antoinette froze, her glower totally not even weakened by her paralysis. I deliriously wondered if I could reach forward and touch her again; dialogue options popped up between us before I could be dumb enough to try. I really didn¡¯t want to go for option 2 again. Shy sugar!Marie couldn¡¯t navigate this world, and I had no idea if the game¡¯s control was so complete that it would eventually take away my free will and iron me into a line of obedient code. I grit my teeth and selected 1. Antoinette snarled. Marie actually made me wink. ¨¦tienne said, all innocent smiles, ¡°She spent the last couple nights at the palace while we got her enrolled. You¡¯ll recall a certain accident with a carriage¡­¡± ¡°I apologized,¡± Antoinette said. ¡°Not to her. It was very serious. She lost her memory.¡± Argh, ¨¦tienne! Isn¡¯t that private? ¡°In that case, I don¡¯t think an apology would be worth much, would it?¡± Antoinette fixed him with a sour smile, beautifully cutting on her lovely face. The butlers were getting overbalanced with all the boxes and my palms were sweating around my brand-new class briefcase. ¡°Sorry,¡± I interjected, aware of how passing students were staring, ¡°can we put my things in the room¨C¡± ¡°No. My father was promised that I would have a private loft.¡± In the game, Antoinette popped out of nowhere to cause chaos, to scheme, to feed Marie lies about the love interests, and steal them away if you didn¡¯t get the right amount of approval points by the checkpoints. You could never seek out Antoinette yourself. How could I help her if she locked herself away? I squeezed ahead of ¨¦tienne. Antoinette¡¯s behaviour here would put a serious dent in her and ¨¦tienne¡¯s relationship. Even the patient prince couldn¡¯t deal with such open rudeness. ¡°Can I place my things in the dorm in the meantime and we can sort this out with your father and the headmaster later?¡± Antoinette snatched back the shovel I¡¯d taken from her hands and kept shoveling. ¡°As if I¡¯ll let you throw all your disgusting things about. What a hassle. How can the crown prince attend an Academy that also lets in the likes of her?¡± ¡°She¡¯s quite talented at magic,¡± ¨¦tienne said. ¡°The Headmaster allowed her entry, even a month late in to the school year, because of her immense power¨C¡± And no control over it, don¡¯t forget that, ¨¦tienne! ¡°I don¡¯t care¡ª¡° ¡°Excuse me?¡± A new voice joined us. ¡°Something wrong, Antoinette?¡± We all turned. Trotting up the hallway¡¯s green carpet was a young man¡ªwho looked like a teenager, really¡ªwith a mop of red hair, a faceful of freckles, and a clipboard clutched in his arms. As soon as he saw ¨¦tienne, he skidded to a stop and dropped into a low bow, his bangs flopping over his face. Antoinette said through her teeth, ¡°Louis. Check your papers. Surely, this girl was not assigned to my room?¡± Louis Chapelle, the sweet little brother-type love interest. Currently roped into being an RA thanks to his responsible older sisters. He seemed nowhere near prepared to deal with Antoinette''s temper. He did as Antoinette asked, rifling through the clipboard papers in a flurry. He bit his lip, eyebrows furrowed. ¡°Uh¡­Yes. Chlo¨¦ Alarie is here with you, Antoinette.¡± Um, they gave me the royal name? What was I, a charity case adoption? Antoinette snatched the pen hanging around Louis¡¯s neck and wrote a jolting note on the clipboard, tugging him closer with every flourish. I read over her arm: Please revise rooming for Loft A-12. Immediate action is required. She punctuated her ¡°There¡± by thrusting the clipboard back into his chest. Louis frowned at the note. ¡°Sure, I can pass this on, but Miss Chlo¨¦ needs to put her things somewhere in the meantime?¡± I said quickly, ¡°I won¡¯t unpack a single box!¡± Antoinette scowled at us all. Nasty as she was being, all I could see was a spoiled brat who was simply used to having her privacy¡ªneeding her privacy, actually, though the game never bothered to delve into why. Still, as she stepped away from the door and pointed a long, lacquered fingernail at the empty bed, I felt uncannily like she¡¯d won anyways. Of course she did. As far as base-game Antoinette figured, she was gonna make Marie¡¯s life into a living hell. Little did she know, I was gonna matchmake her to a better end, even if I had to drag her kicking and screaming to do it. 2.2: WELCOME TO LA BELLE LAVANDE Despite his insistence, ¨¦tienne¡¯s butlers didn¡¯t let him help me bring in all my boxes. So by the time I was done, Louis told me apologetically that ¨¦tienne had been ushered off by some teachers. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything going on until noon,¡± Louis said, hugging his clipboard to his chest. ¡°If you want, I can show you around campus?¡± I glanced back into the room. Antoinette had returned to her whitewood desk, noting new listings in her planner for this month: October. She hadn¡¯t looked at me once as I placed all my boxes, but had said when I tried to open the closet, ¡°My things are in there. Don¡¯t touch them.¡± Girl, it was my closet. I took a deep breath, clearing out the awkwardness of the whole interaction from my system. ¡°Sure, lead on.¡± ¡°Wait, um.¡± Louis sidled past me to stick his head in the dorm door. ¡°Antoinette?¡± ¡°What now?¡± ¡°My sister wanted to tell you that she¡¯ll meet you before dinner in the gardens? She has something to give you.¡± The first sign that if you want to romance Louis, you¡¯ll have a bigger challenge than just winning him over. Louis and I headed out into the hall. If I¡¯d run into Lou outside of this scene I knew so well, it might have taken me a minute to recognise his real-life self. The superficial similarities were all there¡ªthe curly reddish-blonde hair, the freckles spattering him from head to toe, the weirdly specific-to-him uniform with the knee-length shorts and colourful pins on his tie. But seeing this little brother type in the real world sure got rid of the most uncanny parts of him like the huge eyes and the adolescent thinness to his limbs. I¡¯d only romanced Louis in my second play, desperate to get more information on Antoinette via his route and practically skipping through all his dialogue and events. Still, he was a nice guy. Antoinette was sorta-friends with one of his sisters. That gave me an in, if I decided to pursue Antoinette and Louis together. She always had more of a sisterly protectiveness over him. Maybe that would be easier to leverage than romance? True to his word, Louis gave me the whole tour. This part was skimmed over in the game, replaced by a slideshow of graphics and a vague paragraph, so I was happy to take in all the details I could. The campus was split into four buildings¨Cthe classrooms, the dorms, the administration and laboratories, and the sprawling tower of a greenhouse. They were all styled beautifully: I couldn¡¯t place their time or location, but I could marvel over the intricate detailing in everything from the cobblestones to the doorframes to the stained glass windows. The rivers of students were split by statues of heroic figures and about a thousand renditions of Demeter and Persephone¡¯s Love Blooming stand-ins. Potted plants (and even trees growing right out of the floor) grew flowers and released bubbles of glowing seeds when students laughed and smiled on their way past. I was sure to steer Louis clear of them, in case they reacted like the lavender pearls. I was staring up at the overhanging willow trees on one of about a kajillion garden paths when I bumped into Louis. He¡¯d frozen, finger extended in a point to our left. Phasing through my forehead was a non-dialogue choice. Right¡­these paths led you to one of the remaining two love interests, and you couldn¡¯t circle back before Marie¡¯s free morning was up. 2. Without a doubt. If there was one character I didn''t want to meet yet, it was him¡­ Louis happily led me through the grounds, taking the winding paths with ease. Students didn¡¯t even notice my existence, now that the prince was gone. We were nearing the courts when¨C ¡°Heads up!¡± WHACK! Something banged hard off the side of my head, nearly toppling me over like any good, self-respecting, clumsy protagonist. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Marie''s disjointed memory and narration carried a tidal wave of terror and trauma that actually landed me on my ass in the dirt, even as I blindly swept at a tree to catch my balance. My hands scraped on the rough bark. Someone I didn¡¯t recognise was running towards me. Magic burned through me. Without asking, and definitely without my control. I opened my eyes and screamed almost as loudly as R¨¦mi, the third love interest, as the tree caught him by the ankle and yanked him off the ground. The players on the volleyball court rushed him. They were all college guys, though, so obviously they weren¡¯t worried: they were practically falling over themselves with laughter. Louis, meanwhile, looked like I''d just told him to swallow a roach. ¡°What did you¨C?!¡± he squeaked. ¡°I don''t know!¡± I cried. R¨¦mi, upside down, folded his arms over his chest and hit me with a cocked eyebrow, perfectly cool as always. A slick, sly, delinquent type, right there. ¡°Now that,¡± he said, ¡°is a foul.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t hit a girl in the head and not expect some revenge.¡± I got shakily to my feet. Louis helped me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Let me, uh, I need to think for a second.¡± Despite my embarrassment, I felt some kinship with Marie. It was her terror that flooded through me, making my (our?) magic go crazy. In the game, the DS screen flashed black and gave off a whiny, tinny ringing noise whenever Marie recovered a fragment of a memory. I used to turn the sound off because the noise was so annoying. Guilt panged through me. I hadn¡¯t even been listening to her. Well, no shit. She wasn¡¯t real. Luckily, another volleyball player went up to the tree, touched it, and after a minute, the tree let him go. R¨¦mi deftly landed in¡­well, less of a heap than he should have. He landed like an Olympic gymnast off a crappy vault: safe, not pretty. The guy who helped him down (I was super lucky that a fellow magician was nearby; ¨¦tienne had told me they weren¡¯t common, even in this school) pounded R¨¦mi''s shoulder in that weird boy way to check if he was hurt. R¨¦mi swore. There was a laugh in his voice, though. That mix of humour and roughness was reflected in his look. He was the tallest love interest; his brown hair was shaved along the sides, with a longer middle sweep tucked back under a pair of glasses (sunglasses would be too period-inaccurate but god forbid we have a non-nerd wearing glasses). His uniform jacket was tossed aside, the button-up rucked up around his elbows, and clearly he¡¯d been diving for the ball: now that his appearance wasn¡¯t limited to some stock assets and whatever the exposition could give me, he was free to have grass and dirt stains all over his forearms and white shirt. R¨¦mi reached for the ball, which had rolled near my feet. ¡°You girls call this kinda thing a meet-cute, huh? I¡¯m R¨¦mi.¡± ¡°Chlo¨¦. And this is¨C¡± ¡°Louis, yeah, Duke Chapelle¡¯s kid. The underachieving one.¡± He smirked playfully at Louis. When he looked back at me, his gaze lingered. ¡°Do I recognise you from somewhere, Chlo¨¦?¡± He leaned on the name, like testing if it could hold his weight. He was the only love interest who had any drive-by contact with Marie pre-amnesia. Clearly she didn¡¯t make an impression. ¡°No, you definitely don¡¯t,¡± I said. He quirked a dark eyebrow. His face was so animated, especially now that he wasn¡¯t, uh¡­animated. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Don''t you think you''d remember a girl who can control trees?¡± ¡°I dunno, you¡ª¡° Louis stepped in, dropping his voice to a hiss. ¡°She doesn¡¯t remember anything, okay?¡± Wow, tactful, Lou. We¡¯d slid back on-script, though; I remembered this moment of indiscretion. Marie was shy about it. I¡¯d gain nothing from being shifty. ¡°He¡¯s right. I got into some freak accident and I lost my memory. We¡¯re hoping being here will jog something. And teach me a little about how to control all this magic. Which I think you can see I need.¡± He laughed, studying me like I was extra fascinating. ¡°Well, if you need some extra tutoring, you just let me know, Miss Chlo¨¦.¡± With that, he jogged back to the court with the volleyball in hand. He gave me one last wink over his shoulder before tossing the ball to the opposite team. ¡°They¡¯re always around here before and after class, playing or loitering,¡± Louis said. ¡°I mean, if you really do want to talk to him again.¡± I innocently shrugged. R¨¦mi didn¡¯t interest me at all. His design wasn¡¯t pulled off that well in the game art, so he was usually disregarded by the fanbase, and his flirting was often stiff and kinda cringe. However, so many ¡°underrated Love Blooming opinion¡± posts extolled his virtues that I¡¯d played his route to see if they were right. I found his scenarios to be the most bonkers and exciting¡­and Antoinette was her most animated and fierce when she was competing with Marie for R¨¦mi¡¯s affections. Hmm¡­another contender enters the field¡­ Lou said, ¡°Now that you¡¯ve seen the courts¡­how about the library?¡± There was one last boy who I could potentially match with Antoinette. One who I wanted absolutely nothing to do with. Sylvain Laflamme. The aloof, smart type. Tragic backstory. All-around asshole. Fandom¡¯s favourite, because yeesh, is fandom dumb sometimes. ¡°No,¡± I said before the dialogue choices could shut me up. ¡°Let¡¯s just get going to lunch.¡± 3: FIRECRACKER "Don¡¯t be shy, Miss Chlo¨¦. Show us what you¡¯ve got!" Professeur Dupont might as well have asked me to stand on my head and belt Adele. I sure wouldn¡¯t have felt any more nervous and incapable and humiliated than I did right now, frowning at the gardening bench of mostly-dead sprouts, while the Advanced Magi-Botany class stared me down. This class was what pretty much held the plot of Love Blooming together, so all the love interests were here¡­and so was Antoinette. ¨¦tienne was at my shoulder¨Che was the one who talked me up to Prof. Dupont, the jerk. R¨¦mi shot me eager grins from his table. Louis was doodling, pretending he wasn¡¯t paying attention. And Sylvain, the fourth love interest who I''d avoided this morning, revised his notes quietly with Antoinette, long black hair hiding his expression. Antoinette''s blue eyes flashed to me, sharp as needles, as everyone¨Cincluding me¨Cwaited for something to happen. "Sorry, um." My voice squeaked even without Marie¡¯s influence, but the tug at my hair was all her puppeteering. "Can you repeat the instructions?" "Bring whichever plant you like back to life. No need to go too wild, even a little sprout will show me all I need to know. Here," Prof. Dupont gestured to the first two brown plants, "are a lily and a daisy, very peaceful plants, all-natural and eager to respond to even the smallest hint of magical ability. These are the Bright Lady and the Silverbriar, modified by magic for medicinal purposes. You¡¯ll find they¡¯re a bit more stubborn! But I hear you¡¯ve got a great talent, Miss Chlo¨¦." Talent? Marie¡¯s power was more like when you stuffed a pack of Mentos into a two-liter of Coca-Cola. Nervous as I was, I knew Prof Dupont meant well. His cartoonish video game avatar translated into an equally cartoonish living man. He had a caterpillar-like bushy white mustache that obscured his mouth, hair parted so neatly it looked like he¡¯d done it with a ruler, and wire-rimmed glasses that made his kind brown eyes look twice their size. He wasn¡¯t testing me like sour!Marie thought. He just wanted to treat me like a normal student. The whole class had to do this test in September. He was giving me a chance to impress my classmates. Little did he know¡­ ¨¦tienne said under his breath, "No matter how this goes, this class will help you. Relax." I hovered my hand over the dead daisy. I thought of the way the game¡¯s narration described the magic¡­and then thought of the way fanfic writers did. I thought of stacistar, who was one of my few fellow Marie x Antoinette shippers. She¡¯d written a meta essay about how Marie¡¯s magic was so uncontrollable and untethered at the start of the game because she had to learn to anchor her identity and inner conflict into something productive before all that pin-balling magic could be focused into useful spells. Marie was capable of bringing goodness and healing to the other characters, but she didn¡¯t understand that about herself. Was I "Marie" enough for that to work? I guess I was nice enough. Sort of. And I brought brightness to the fandom with my fic and metas. Well, the Antoinette fans, at least. Some people really hated me on Tumblr, I had to admit. Like, really hated me. Anyways¡­I wasn¡¯t in that world anymore. I was in this one, the one I wrote so much about. I¡¯d bring healing to Antoinette¡¯s life. That¡¯s what I could do. I turned that thought into a little faucet of power in my mind and directed my magic into my hands. Just a tiny bit of magic. Enough to perk up the plant and attract no attention. That¡¯s all. My magic is a faucet and I can turn on the tap just a liiiiittle¨C Yeah, right. ¨¦tienne pulled me away from the table before I¡¯d even opened my eyes to see what the hell happened. Deep inside, I knew. I¡¯d played this part of the game a half dozen times. So I wasn¡¯t entirely dumbstruck when taking in the mess I¡¯d made. Every single plant had grown, that was for sure, and they wouldn¡¯t stop. The table was covered in squirming green vines, leaves stretching to the size of my hands, and flower blooms of all colours exploding in a rainbow flurry. The plants had burst right in the prof¡¯s face and now his hands were cut with little scratches from the Silverbriar¡¯s thorns. The faster my heart beat, the faster the plants grew. They slithered off the table and into the first row of desks. Antoinette smacked her textbook against one vine crawling into her pencil case. She stomped on another twisting up her calf. Prof. Dupont plunged his hand into the mass of monster plants and said a spell that sounded like it fell right out of Skyrim. The plants glimmered for a second, then abruptly turned greyish-brown and withered like worms dried out in the sun. ¡°Sorry,¡± I managed. "Well!" Prof. Dupont barked a boisterous laugh. "One can¡¯t say you failed to bring them back to life!" I was burning up like a pyre with humiliation. Now that the panic was over, students were laughing and whispering. R¨¦mi cackled the loudest, brushing dead daisy heads off his books. Antoinette plucked at a tear in her nylons and grimaced right at me. Prof. Dupont brushed off his hands. A bit of blood smeared on his skin from those shallow cuts. "Find a seat, Miss Chlo¨¦. Phew! Nothing like a bit of excitement to start off our Monday, hm?" ¨¦tienne said, "May I send for a nurse and someone to clean this up, sir?" "No, no, Your Highness." "Sir, I insist." "M. Chapelle? Run to the office, would you? Thank you so much." Louis darted out of the room, picking dead petals from his ginger curls. R¨¦mi called, "New girl¡¯s a firecracker! Dibs on her for any experiments!" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¨¦tienne walked me to a table in the middle row. My hands felt kinda like after you¡¯ve been mowing the lawn for a long time¨Clike they were vibrating even when I trapped them under my thighs. While the prof¡¯s hand was bandaged and a janitor cleared the room of dead plant matter, we all got out our notebooks and pens. I kept sitting on a hand whenever I could. The lab was full of plants¨Cpots of them lined the walls, hung from the ceiling, trailed down the corners. Would I turn the room into a greenhouse of doom if I didn¡¯t pay attention? I thought of how anxiety made Marie''s lavender pearls go crazy, and how her terrifying memories made the tree snatch up R¨¦mi. I had to keep calm. Yeah. Sure. Easy. I was never the biggest fan of the fantasy aspects of Love Blooming, so I didn¡¯t play with them much in my fanfics. If I¡¯d dealt with them directly, would I realize how scary it was to have powers that you couldn¡¯t control? Would I have a better idea of how to control them? At least my powers were connected to plants and not lightning or fire or, like, necromancy¡­ "Are you alright?" ¨¦tienne whispered. "Just kind of¡­shocked." "You¡¯re very powerful." I was surprisingly comforted by how he intoned it¨Cnot with awe or encouragement. He sounded sympathetic. As a stranger to this world and its rules, I was honestly glad to have ¨¦tienne. Except I¡¯d have to play it safe so he wouldn¡¯t fall for me. A crush seemed pretty inevitable considering the creepy tendrils of the game programming, but I could stop love¡­right? Ugh, no! Calm thoughts, calm thoughts! The professor finished marking attendance and then stood at the chalkboard, beaming out at all of us. He clasped his hands¨Cnow striped in little bandages¨Cand said, his voice booming, "Miss Chlo¨¦, you joined us on a very exciting day! I''m thrilled to announce a rare opportunity that has never been given to the students of Academie La Belle Lavande before!" Here it was. The real plot of Love Blooming was about to kick off. "You and a team will work together until the end of the school year to create a prototype product that fits the Aconitum Corporation¡¯s mission. While all students will earn credits for completed products, one very special group will be chosen by M. Delphine himself¡­to partner with the Aconitum Corporation and make their product a reality!" Gasps and murmurs burst around the room, bringing the students to an excited simmer. Now that I was sitting smack in the middle of it, I saw what an important and aspirational company it was. Like Amazon or Google before people got wary of their all-seeing and all-knowing AI. I bet the students dreamed of working for them. Even if their name was a huge red flag. Aconitum. AKA aconitum napellus. AKA wolfsbane. Beautiful plants that looked like purple-blue sleigh bells that, according to Wikipedia, can kill you instantly. Love Blooming wasn¡¯t always a nuanced piece of literature, but I remember the tremors of excitement that went through the fandom when someone finally decided to look up the corporation¡¯s name. If there¡¯s one thing all fans love, it¡¯s a name with a hidden (or not-so-hidden) meaning. "You¡¯ll present your projects anonymously." Made sense. I¡¯d never seen a group of people more at risk for conflicts of interest. "And Miss Delphine, you, of course, will not be in a group. We don¡¯t want someone getting an unfair advantage, yes? Instead, you¡¯ll earn credits by providing advice and guidance to all the groups. You¡¯ll stop them from heading down the completely wrong path, but you¡¯ll still keep your family secrets close!" "I¡¯ll try my best, sir." From an aisle over, I heard a girl whisper to her friend, "Yeah, right. Her favourite thing is to mess with people." "I¡¯d rather take no help than her help, heir or not!" They weren¡¯t even wrong. In the game, Antoinette made a full-time job out of sabotaging Marie¡¯s ideas. Not this time, though. The prof clapped his hands and grinned at us all. I could practically see the anime sparkles in his eyes. "I¡¯ll give you all a minute to sort yourselves into groups of five or six¡­" ¨¦tienne and I looked at each other immediately. I doubted I¡¯d be able to mess with how the groups shook out in the game, and besides, I didn¡¯t want to. If I wanted to match one with Antoinette, I needed to keep an eye on their every move. I scooted close to ¨¦tienne so everyone would know the prince was taken. (Cue students rounding on him¡­and then their faces falling. No one wanted to be in a group with the uncontrollable ¡®firecracker.¡¯) Louis gave me a shy smile from his table a few rows away and mouthed, "Do you wanna¡­?" I waved him over and he blushed fantastically, gathering up his things. Honestly? This was a nice feeling. I¡¯d always been too shy to pick anyone but my closest friends, and thought that university profs making you choose groups was cruel, unreasonable punishment meant to squash us down to size. Now, I eagerly searched the milling students for my next mark. R¨¦mi was chatting with a pair of blushing female students. From what I could hear, they were pitching their smarts and skills to him, but he kept toying with their hair, freezing their tongues. Sorry, ladies. I stood up and hissed, "R¨¦mi! Hey, R¨¦mi! We need another member if you¡¯re free!" Classic R¨¦mi one-shouldered shrug. Classic R¨¦mi smirk, like he couldn¡¯t help being soooo popular. Classic R¨¦mi lope over to our table. He ignored the chair and sat on the edge of the table itself, wiggling his eyebrows at me. "Glad you asked, Miss Chlo¨¦. I¡¯m pretty curious what you can do after that little show." The room settled as everyone found their places. Antoinette hadn¡¯t moved¡­and neither had Sylvain. "M. Laflamme, have you found a group?" Prof. Dupont asked. "I was hoping to work alone, sir." Sylvain probably could, genius that he was. Plus, his surly mood would drag down the morale of anyone who was stuck with him. And guess who that was gonna be? Sigh. "Unfortunately, that won¡¯t do. How about you join¡­" He scanned the class. No use stopping what was coming. "Join in with His Highness, how about?" ¨¦tienne fumbled his pen. Game knowledge told me that he hated being called Highness even more than he was scared of Sylvain. Still, he smiled and made space at the end of the table for our new stormy rain cloud. Sylvain didn¡¯t acknowledge him. Just turned right back to the professor. R¨¦mi shot me an eye roll and a smirk. Even though I had to be careful with tempting their affections, I couldn¡¯t help giving him the same expressions back. Prof. Dupont passed out a sheet for everyone to list their group members. "Come back next Monday with at least a rough idea of your prototype that you can present to Miss Delphine and I. Best of luck, and, of course, have fun!" This competition relied on a simple¨Cbut actually pretty neat¨Ccombination of player scores. The higher you scored on class exams or "magic practice" minigames, the better your results would be. You could get bonuses depending on your approval scores with the guys, since they each had unique affinities that could help patch up a poor player score. In my playthroughs, M. Delphine never chose me. And that was in a game where all I had to do was press the right buttons at the right time. This was the real world¨Cwell, as real as I could believe it to be without my brain totally breaking¨Cand I needed to win this competition. Because at the winner¡¯s ceremony, an anonymous whistleblower would tell the world about the Aconitum Corporation¡¯s dark past¡­landing a culpable Antoinette Delphine in prison with the rest of her family. If I could get to the ceremony, would I have an even better shot at saving Antoinette? 4: THE FOURTH LOVE INTEREST After classes on the first day, Antoinette announced she was going to speak to the headmaster about the rooming situation¡­but judging by how she stormed into the dorm a couple hours later, it didn''t go over the way she wanted. She was stuck with me. And she was gonna make it my problem. First of all, we each had our own in-loft baths and toilets but a shared double sink connecting the two rooms. Antoinette had been using my sink as her makeup station, so I had to carefully move her piles of cosmetics to fit my stuff¡­only to have it all replaced in the morning (she threw my toothbrush and toiletries on my bed). My bathtub had been the designated spa zone, with baskets of bath bombs and oils and scrubs and aloe and one of those bathtub caddies with a book-stand. I didn''t notice until the next morning when I had to take a shower, and was late to breakfast because I couldn''t figure out where to put all this stuff without seeming passive aggressive. By that evening, she was taking a bath in my bathroom, and had locked both doors. At least that gave me a chance to work on my new project. ¨¦tienne had bought me a lovely, hour-by-hour planner, and had even blocked in a few days himself, writing where my classes were and how long meals were and giving me ideas on where to spend my time over the weekend (there was a campus bar, a gym, botanical gardens, a cute hamlet for shopping¡­all places I recalled from the game). I flipped to a section at the back of the purple-covered journal. June. Surely I wouldn''t still be here by June, right? The game ended in May¡­ I wrote everything I remembered from Love Blooming''s plot. Every key plot moment, every instant that soft locked you into a boy''s route, and especially, every nasty little moment with Antoinette. And then, all I could remember about how Antoinette fell. ~*~ I was walking to the dorms after class when a memory of the next beat in the game hit me full in the face. I doubled back to the classrooms in a rush. It was so bizarre to live through the game events I knew so well, but have them be padded and paced by the passage of real time. I actually had to write notes! I had to listen in class! Come on, if this was some anesthesia-induced fantasy, why was I dreaming about classwork? I took the winding, gold-carpeted stairs up to the library. Antoinette had misplaced her fancy pen set while studying. She¡¯d only notice later that night and she¡¯d be sure that Marie was to blame. In a later scene with the love interests, Marie would find the pen set. Where was it? The guys and Marie would be brainstorming for their project in the library. R¨¦mi wanted to keep their plans a secret from eavesdroppers though¡­ Aha! I hurried to the private study rooms at the back of the library. I spotted students hard at work through the frosted glass panels. I scanned the chalkboard with the booking calendar¨Croom 6 was vacated a half hour ago, while everything else was occupied or hadn¡¯t been touched since this morning. That one had to be Antoinette¡¯s. Sure enough, I snuck in and found the cherrywood-and-gold box behind one of the big plush chairs. I hugged it close. Now¡­should I tell Antoinette I¡¯d found it? Or should I slide it into her desk without saying a word and tempting her nasty, petty programming? I loved Antoinette as a character¡­but she was built to be unreasonable. Hopefully the game would flex around its rigid contours and Antoinette would reveal the depths I was sure the developers had denied her. I channeled my triumphant energy into scurrying out of the hall of study rooms and taking the sharp corner at a jog. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. I should¡¯ve known that would be a mistake. I was an otome game protagonist, after all! I crashed right into Sylvain. He frowned at the pen set I¡¯d dropped, like I¡¯d done this on purpose. "Isn¡¯t that Antoinette¡¯s?" he asked, tactless. "Yep. Um. I was getting ready to study here, then noticed she forgot it, so I was gonna return it." "You can¡¯t use these rooms without signing up first. There¡¯s a waiting list. Besides, it¡¯s your third day. What on earth do you have to study?" "The school rules and etiquette, apparently!" Sheesh, cool it with the interrogation. I picked up the pen set, making sure none of the pieces rolled away, then surfaced to find him still glowering at me. "What." "You¡¯re the girl who lost her memories, aren¡¯t you?" Louis, seriously! Was he that bad at keeping his mouth shut, or did Antoinette tell Sylvain? Or maybe it didn¡¯t matter. The cast was programmed to know about me, anyways. "I did, yes." "And you¡¯re staying in the palace in the meantime?" "Technically I¡¯m staying in the dorms. What do you really want to know?" "I¡¯m only thinking," he said with pointed care for each syllable, "that this academy is famous for its elitist barriers. Only students of high status can attend." I bristled. "I¡¯d have to be pretty ballsy to think that throwing myself in front of a carriage would get the prince to help me out. It wasn¡¯t even his carriage." "Yes, it was Miss Delphine¡¯s. The tensions between her family¡¯s corporation and the palace are well-documented." "Huh, that so? I wouldn¡¯t know. Considering I have amnesia. Excuse me." He didn¡¯t move out of my way. My temper flared in a way it hadn¡¯t since someone came into my ask box on Tumblr for the first time, saying I was an abuse apologists for my stupid fictional ships. "You¡¯re saying I hunted down a Delphine carriage in a thunderstorm, threw myself into its path, and laid there hoping the prince would find me just so I could blame his dad¡¯s rival? Did I steal Antoinette¡¯s earring, too, so she¡¯d be on the road that night? All of that for a scholarship?" Amazingly, dialogue choices hadn¡¯t popped up yet to shut me up. Maybe we were too far off-script. Sylvain suspected Marie from the start, sure, but this conversation never happened. He said, "Full retrograde amnesia is unbelievably rare, you know? Especially when there isn¡¯t any sign," he brushed my fluffy black bangs away from my forehead to get a look beneath, "of injury." I jerked away. Jackass. The game never noted Marie having a head injury, apparently forgetting about unsexy bruises or stitches, so it certainly never had Sylvain lampshade it. "Please don¡¯t touch me.¡± I reached for my only ammunition: use this world against him. "And maybe be careful not to imply that the royal family is stupid enough to be tricked by a girl you think is an illiterate scam artist." Who knew you could actually see eyes going cold in the real world, too? I ducked past him, Antoinette¡¯s pen set digging into my sternum, and didn¡¯t look back until I was sure I¡¯d left him in my dust. I never understood the fandom''s obsessive love for Sylvain. Art of his face led new players to this old, forgotten game, and he dominated Love Blooming''s AO3 category, shipped with everyone from Marie to, of course, every other male love interest. (Antoinette, meanwhile, was doomed to be his scorned ex-lover.) I¡¯ll admit it¡ªI got in a lot of fights about this twit. It¡¯s not that I thought he was particularly notable. Boohoo, jerk with a sad past and secret heart of gold? How predictable. You could look at this guy¡¯s dreary thunderstorm of a scowl and know that he¡¯s got a dying little sister and a dark backstory. But I always ran into his fans because, besides being everywhere, their treatment of Antoinette made no freaking sense. Antoinette and Sylvain were friends. Clearly he never thought she was too nasty to hang out with. They were mean in similar ways: classist, petty, and suspicious of Marie¡¯s every move. But Sylvain was soooo much better than a bully because you could kiss him. Plus they turned Antoinette into a ghoul who, in Sylvain¡¯s fanfic-ified past, did everything to him from poison his sister to slap him around. What was the harm in treating Sylvain the way I wished the game would let me treat him? 5: SEW IT ON When I heard the giggling through my dorm door, I knew what game scene I was about to step into. I took a deep breath and tiptoed in. Yep. There were Antoinette¡¯s friends, lounging on both our desk chairs and Antoinette¡¯s bed. They were no longer eyeless, hastily-drawn NPCs with the typical anime slash for a mouth and nose. Three lovely sharp faces turned to me like alerted foxes, ready to dig into a blundering hen. Worst of all was Antoinette. Terribly, terrifyingly, heart-wrenchingly, she was trying on a gorgeous silk pine-green gown¨Cthe back was unzipped and giving me an eyeful of her milk-white skin and the side of a perfect breast. She whirled around to me. "God! Knock, Chlo¨¦!" "Sorry, sorry!" I shut the door. "It¡¯s my room too." "Yes, and I¡¯ll respect your privacy in full." She scoffed, turning back to her full-length mirror. The room came with plain oak mirrors that hung to the wall, so Antoinette must have brought this one from home: it was made of gold-flake wood with lion head designs sculpted along the edges. It stood on feet shaped like clawed paws. As her friends whispered and giggled, at a perfect volume to make me worry about what I wasn¡¯t catching, I put my things away. I made sure to tuck the calligraphy set deep into my bag; I would put it in Antoinette¡¯s bookshelf later. I was hasty. I felt like I had a measure of control over Antoinette because I¡¯d played the game so many times and daydreamed about her every word for my fics (I was practically the patron saint of her Fandompedia page), but her friends¡­they were mean girls, right? The kind where you didn¡¯t know if today would be the day that they chose to bring up a flaw of yours they¡¯d noticed ages ago, or if their patience with you would totally run out. I was always shy and modest in person. Online? Well, running with girls like that was fun. Anyways. If clothes were the theme of the scene, I may as well sort through the stuff ¨¦tienne brought me. While I folded and sorted and hung up my new clothes (how many outfits did ¨¦tienne think I wore in a day?), Antoinette continued to try on dresses without any attempt to shield herself. Her friends ducked into the lavatory or behind her armoire¡¯s open doors, but Antoinette changed right in the open. Was this the game world¡¯s way of making sense of how there was no text explaining where she got changed in this scene? No, probably not. The game also didn¡¯t describe my math and lit classes, but I¡¯d sure just sat through hours of those. Maybe the game thought I was doing too well at hopscotching around its challenges so it decided to torture me. Ugh, I hope not. If the game was sentient, I was really screwed. But if this was its way of torturing me, maybe it wouldn¡¯t be so bad¡­ I asked, "These dresses are for the Samhain Formal, right?" Antoinette stared at me in her mirror, scowling. "I''m sorry, Sam-hane? Did you forget how to read, too? Or did you never learn?" Yikes. Hey, I¡¯d never heard the word said out loud! The pretentious, witchy goths of my high school days were laughing at me across the universes. Antoinette corrected stiffly, "They¡¯re for the Sah-win Formal, yes. I had them delivered from home." Along with some extras, apparently, if the new trunk pushed into my half of the room was anything to go by. "What about your dress? I can¡¯t imagine the prince delivered you here with anything¨C" She faltered. That line was lifted right out of the game and was supposed to be a triumphantly embarrassing moment for Antoinette. The crown prince had given poor, modest Marie all the dresses and jewels she could ever dream of, after all! How did Antoinette forget? (Marie wasn¡¯t actively organizing those clothes as they spoke, I guess, so I had to cut her a little slack.) But I felt kind of bad. I¡¯d value a beautiful dress the same amount if it came from ¨¦tienne¡¯s personal tailor or from a thrift shop. Fashion, status, and value were Antoinette¡¯s mother tongue. Man, I¡¯d love to give her one of these dresses. I¡¯m sure there were some gowns in here that¡¯d suit her better. Especially now that I knew that none of her curves were lost in her transformation into a real young woman. I wanted to see her in¡­well, anything. Everything. I said mildly, "I¡¯ll find something to wear, I guess," and kept putting things away. I¡¯d given ¨¦tienne some guidance when he sent out his staff to shop for me, and thankfully, it looked like he¡¯d listened. There were tons of soft cashmere sweaters in pastel colours to deal with Eavredor¡¯s brisk October. Jeans were a bit too anachronistic for even these game designers, so ¨¦tienne packed me a few heavy ankle-length skirts and some pressed slacks. He¡¯d offered me his team of tailers in case anything didn¡¯t fit, but I had a feeling that game logic would work in my favour here: everything was gonna fit perfectly. And then I found the gowns. I admired them quietly while Antoinette and her friends tried on earrings and necklaces and hairdos. I¡¯d never felt such fine fabrics. Even my prom dress had a sort of plastic feeling to it thanks to modern textiles, but this stuff was supple and smooth as warm butter. A beige stole with real rabbit¡¯s fur was likely meant to compliment a sugary pink gown, and a glittery, half-transparent shawl lined in lace was folded with a wine-red dress. I had the decency to blush. This was more than I deserved. "Damn it, there¡¯s no fixing this!" Antoinette snapped. She tossed aside a set of dangling earrings, glaring at her reflection¡¯s gold dress. "It¡¯s too brassy. I had my doubts in the fitting, and it¡¯s so much worse in this light. And this ruching on the hips, ugh. Why did father think this garish yellow would suit my hair?" No surprise: she looked stunning to me. One of her friends hurried over to unlace the false corset back. Maybe she was hoping Antoinette would pass the dress onto her in pity¨Cher fluffy pink dress did her no favours. "Chlo¨¦," Antoinette said, a purr crawling into her voice. "What have you got there?" Uh, a blue dress? I knew the shape but hardly even the names of the fabrics. I flipped it so she could see the front, its ribbed bodice studded with what I was super afraid were tiny little diamonds. Antoinette¡¯s eyes lit up. At the same time, her scowl deepened. I could practically see her warring with her instincts: take something away from me vs get a pretty thing vs admit to the entire room that she had to steal from someone else because her tailors made a bad choice. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "This dress would suit you much better. It¡¯s the colour of your eyes, n¡¯est ce pas?" Okay, I always thought the random French tossed into the script was silly, but hearing her say it practically melted my brain. "Come over here." I did, heart trilling. Being close to her shot electricity through my fingers. Her warmth brushed against my skin; her gaze raked over me. As she tugged me close in the mirror and glanced between us, (poking me hard in the back so I stopped slouching), I had the burning, humiliating memory of all the fanfic I¡¯d written. Back then, it was fun. Free of consequence. Besides the anti-fans getting in my comments about how Marie/Antoinette was glorifying abuse. Now, I was living in a fanfic. I had control over Marie¨Cnow Chlo¨¦¨Cto do whatever she¨CI¨Cwanted. And what I wanted was to help Antoinette find a better ending, just like all the fics I¡¯d read or written before this. What I super wanted was for her to keep holding me. "Yes, it¡¯ll fit." Antoinette¡¯s friends helped her take the dress off over her head. One great rustling of fabric later and she was standing there in a strapless bra and underwear, holding out the confusing mountain of gold fabric to me. "You can go into the bathroom to change. But we¡¯re roommates, Chlo¨¦. Sometimes I change outfits thrice a day and I¡¯m not about to hide away from you each time." Those lines blasted through the fog in my brain. This was from the game! We¡¯d taken a slightly-windy road to get here (no Sam-hane blunder, for one¡­) but here we were. Antoinette gave Marie her dress. Marie, intimidated and shy and unsure if she could make sense of all the layers of the dress, would change in the bathroom. She¡¯d take so long figuring it out alone that when she came out, the girls would be shamelessly rummaging through her things. Marie was embarrassed about her private space being stomped all over. Chlo¨¦, though? Well, Chlo¨¦ would be skinned and hanged because she had Antoinette¡¯s beloved pen set and a planner recording her every future move. So. Was I gonna do this? "Can someone help me with the laces, then?" I asked, pulling off my uniform. Apparently I was. Antoinette gave me a stiff smile. She waved over her friend in pink and shrugged into a black silk robe before perching on the edge of her desk to watch me. She looked like a queen, one who didn¡¯t need jewels and fancy fabrics to express her power. As I undressed, trying to both not burn my face off with a blush and keep an eye on her friends, Antoinette began her monologue. I could probably quote it. "The Samhain Formal is, to the students of La Belle Lavande, a yearly debutante ball. A chance for those who couldn¡¯t catch any eyes in a uniform to claw for prestige in a dress." In Love Blooming, she said all this through the bathroom door, probably to cover up the sounds of her friends opening Marie¡¯s drawers. Now, she watched me step into the pile of dress, probably making sure I didn¡¯t tear it. "Parents come to make sure their children are shaping up exactly the way they hoped; students pitch themselves to the finest amongst each others¡¯ families to lock down opportunities in marriage or otherwise. Photographers from the crown city pour in, passing out business cards and collecting sordid photos they can sell to gossip columns¡­ Tch. This is a chance to show off who you really are. Though I suppose you don¡¯t know who that is, do you?" None of this was really me! Not even the part that changed clothes in a room full of strangers! "The Samhain Formal is also a chance to get to know the suitors of the year. Most are already engaged thanks to their family¡¯s meddling, but, well¨Cmost don¡¯t actually care. Would you have the confidence to test a man¡¯s loyalty if he caught your eye, little Chlo¨¦?" Antoinette¡¯s friend was lacing me up. Marie¡¯s body was much more petite than Hanna¡¯s¨Cer, than mine¨Cand much shorter than Antoinette¡¯s. The skirt was pooling on the floor around my feet, not to mention the loose space in the cups and hips. No way Antoinette didn¡¯t know it wouldn¡¯t fit. She only wanted me tugged into her sphere¨C Right on the edge of the mirror¡¯s reflection, I spotted one of the girls opening my desk. "Hey!" I said. "What do you think you¡¯re doing?" Another friend opened my armoire drawers, shoving aside the few sweaters and shirts I¡¯d just put away. I made a move to stop her, but Antoinette leapt into my path, stopping me from tripping over the sheets of skirt. "Don¡¯t worry," she sighed. Yet another friend opened my closet. My schoolbag¡­ The journal¡­ "Look, how do you expect me to feel? I get roomed, sans warning, with a girl I¡¯ve never met and not even that terribly nosy Louis knows anything about her." I tried to dodge around her. Antoinette caught me by the waist, tugging me back a step, until she was behind me, her low, musical voice right at my ear. "You must have picked up that I¡¯m a very important woman, yes? Aren¡¯t I right to be a little suspicious of a stranger who demands entry into my space?" "That isn¡¯t fair. I¡¯m not out to get you, Antoinette." I was so shocked by her closeness that I could only paraphrase the video game¡¯s original script. Her perfume smelled of powdery flowers, bringing to mind the red velvet of petals, so like her hair and like her voice near my ear. "If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to worry about." I tensed up as they opened my bag, taking out my schoolbooks and a journal with a red cover. The very journal where I¡¯d been recording Antoinette¡¯s whereabouts and everything I remembered about the game and¨C "This is yours!" a friend cried. She was holding the calligraphy set. Antoinette¡¯s hands tightened on my waist. "Why did you have that?" I slipped away, turning so I could plead to her face. "I found it in the study rooms. I was going to return it, that¡¯s all." "Then why didn¡¯t you? Why was it in your bag?" In the game, Antoinette and her friends never find anything. They spend their time giggling about poor orphan Marie who needs handouts for everything from gowns to notebooks, asking if she whimpered her way into getting the prince to buy her hairbrushes and stuffed animals, too. But here was Antoinette¡¯s wrath about her calligraphy set, an early version of the argument we were supposed to have tomorrow when she realized it was missing. She¡¯d guess that Marie stole it. She¡¯d cool off when she remembered that she¡¯d just gone through Marie¡¯s things and didn¡¯t see any pen set. "You were busy, Antoinette. Why would I distract you from your jewels and gowns with something so silly?" Her cheeks went delicately pink. Out of anger? "Ask Sylvain if you don¡¯t believe me. We ran into each other when I was taking it back from the study rooms." She scoffed. She held out a hand and her friend dutifully placed the calligraphy set on her palm like a servant passing a king the crown jewels. She flipped it open and ran her finger along all the contents, as if making sure that every piece was accounted for. Over her shoulder, I saw a little engraved plaque on the inner lid. The game had never bothered to even render a closed version of the calligraphy set. Pen your own tale of romance. Love, Maman. Antoinette clicked shut the box and put it on her desk. She flicked a hand at me, clearly ticked off, and said, "That dress makes you look like a golden goose. Francine, you can have it for all I care. Let¡¯s go to dinner, girls." Once they were gone, I hurriedly changed back into my comfortable clothing. Antoinette¡¯s ire still burned me, and I couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling of her hands firm on my waist, her breath hot on my ear. One emotion cleaved through all of that, bright and reassuring. The game never mentioned Antoinette¡¯s mother at all. So there were depths to her beneath the game¡¯s code all along, and I was already beginning to discover them. 6: BACKSTAGE PASS
The next day, I was back in the study room where I¡¯d retrieved Antoinette¡¯s calligraphy pen set, exactly like the plot wanted me to be. The love interests and I were discussing the project we¡¯d be undertaking for the next eight months of the school year. Even though I knew the topic was already chosen by the game¡¯s programming. Maybe I could change it, but the last things I wanted to go off-script with were my unpredictable magical abilities. "I don¡¯t remember much about Aconitum," I said. "Too busy trying to remember my own name and how to use a steak knife. How about I take notes and referee?" I pointed my pen at Louis like a microphone. He was across the coffee-coloured glass table from me. "Start us off, Lou. What are you thinking?" He not-so-subtly planted his elbows on the doodle he¡¯d been doing in his notebook. "Um¡­first thing I thought of was some kind of treat? Cakes, candies, that sort of thing." Of course. Sweet little brother archetype through and through! "We could make candies that taste like crazy things, or change your hair colour for an hour. Stuff like that?" R¨¦mi said, "We could put surprise prank spells in them. Like those chocolate boxes where you never remember which shape is which flavour." "Only fun pranks, though, right?" "If you want to be boring about it, sure¡­" I dutifully wrote down Lou¡¯s idea even if we wouldn¡¯t use it. "Fun start! R¨¦mi?" "Now I¡¯m just thinking about pranks." He leaned his wooden chair on its back legs, swinging his feet onto the table and looking up at the ceiling. "I want to do something totally new. That¡¯s why I wanted us to talk here instead of the lab or quad or something. I don¡¯t want anyone to steal our ideas. But genius takes time. Come back to me¡­ Next!" ¨¦tienne took his cue, probably used to being suddenly handed a mic. "I think before narrowing down our idea, we should start by researching everything the Aconitum Corporation has made before, so we can slot into their repertoire as seamlessly as possible." "Come on, princeling." R¨¦mi groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "Can¡¯t you think outside the box for once?" "M. Delphine¡¯s team likely don¡¯t want to take a risk with a group of students, especially if their ideas are risky as well. If we want to win, maybe we should start with market research and improve on their previous ideas instead of forcing them to outsource to new magicians and manufact¨C" "Or," R¨¦mi drawled, "we realize that winning the love of a soul-sucking conglomerate isn¡¯t worth it if we¡¯re not having fun. I want to experiment a little! See what firecracker over there can do when she¡¯s set loose! Right?" He nudged my arm with the side of his loafer. Ping! Especially since their ideas were useless, I didn¡¯t want to seem like I was playing favourites. I still didn¡¯t know how sensitive the game was to any approval I might show to specific guys, and I didn¡¯t want to get in my own way before I chose the perfect guy to fall for Antoinette. So I clicked 4. Blech. "What about you, Sylvain?" He shrugged, silky black hair sliding off his shoulder. "You all seem determined to reach beyond your skill and means. So be it." R¨¦mi booed. Lou blushed and shrank in his seat like Sylvain had insulted him directly. ¨¦tienne said evenly, "You¡¯re top of the class. Surely you see the merit in trying magic out of your league?" R¨¦mi rocked his chair on its back legs, smirking. "Aha¡­What happened to wanting to play it safe?" "I wanted us to do research, c¡¯est simple. I didn¡¯t imply our group wasn¡¯t skilled enough to try a daring idea." Sylvain said, "I¡¯m not about to court chances to humiliate myself, especially with her on the team." "You¡¯ve both been given a great opportunity by being grouped together, actually." ¨¦tienne¡¯s voice was perfectly even like he was speaking in a formal meeting. "She gets a good teacher, and you get an opportunity to learn patience." R¨¦mi shot me a raised eyebrow. I widened my eyes back at him. Sylvain made a soft tch sound instead of pressing the issue. Either he thought ¨¦tienne had a point, or he didn''t want to be too sharp with the prince when there were witnesses. ¨¦tienne turned to me like they hadn¡¯t had the most polite argument ever. "What about you? Even if you don''t know the company details, I''m sure you have some ideas." I hummed, pretending to mull it over. "I was thinking¡­could we make potions? Drinks? Sort of like what Lou said, where they each have a different effect, but these would change some part of your abilities or something." "Like a charm?" ¨¦tienne asked. "Sure! For a short amount of time. I read a bit about plants that sharpen your attention span and stuff like that. Could we do potions like that? One could make you smarter¡­another could make you stronger¡­maybe even luckier?" Sylvain muttered, "Sounds ambitious." ¨¦tienne tapped his chin. "Sounds like a lot of work." R¨¦mi dropped his chair back onto four feet and grinning at me, snatching the notebook away. He wrote SKILL POTIONS with a flourish and said, "Sounds awesome." ~*~ Our project proposal went off without a hitch. Prof. Dupont was into it, even complimenting the guys'' unique talents and giving me hints of who to ask for help if I needed it, thanks to the game¡¯s script. Antoinette was as icy as ever, saying that we were shooting for the moon. Ingestibles had a whole host of risks. When Louis asked if she was suggesting they pivot to charmed objects or cosmetics, she smiled tightly and insisted that we try out the potions¡­if we could manage them. "I¡¯d love to see one of you accidentally turn yourself into a toad," she said, sweetly enough that Prof. Dupont laughed along. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. The specific potion types were never actually important in the plot, an oversight that plenty of fic writers tried to remedy (and yes, obviously, the sex pollen tag on AO3 was a popular one in this fandom¡­). We threw around some viable options. I started thinking in Skyrim and Zelda terms until we had a good selection. I couldn¡¯t remember if they were canon or not. A luck potion, an endurance potion, an intelligence potion, and a love potion. I had to win that competition to stop the whistleblower and save Antoinette. Until then, I had another focus. Pen your own tale of romance, her calligraphy set had said. Sorry, maman, but I need to take over from here¡­ ~*~ "Where on earth are you going, dressed like that?" Antoinette was brutally quirking an eyebrow at me from her desk. Focused on the mirror, I fluffed my hair to get rid of the static from my peachy wool sweater and shrugged like I had no idea what she meant. Over the past week, Antoinette went from stuffing our dorm with her friends on the regular to¨Cafter realizing I wasn¡¯t scared off by giggles and snide comments¨Cdoing most of her studying in the library. This was the first time she was actually working alone with me in our room. I looked down at my cozy sweater and roomy slacks like I hadn¡¯t just been fidgeting with every fold and humming and sighing so Antoinette would look over. "¨¦tienne invited me to a concert." "Which concert?" I fumbled with the French sounds of the name. "Madame Maxime Saphir." Antoinette¡¯s red eyebrows shot up behind her perfectly curled bangs. "The crown prince invited you to see Madame Saphir¡¯s first show in Eavredor in a decade. And you¡¯re wearing that?" I can play this game just fine, Antoinette! "Er, yes? I don¡¯t know anything about this stuff. Could you help me pick out something better?" "Oh, no, Chlo¨¦. It¡¯s just fine. Perfectly fine." Her voice tilted all lofty and high. She turned back to her colour-coded studying. It was an opera with the prince¨Cthe first of Love Blooming¡¯s mandatory one-on-one quasi-dates with the boys¨Cand I was dressed like I was going to an office Christmas party. The game never let you choose what Marie wore pretty much ever, so I was taking my chances to bond with Antoinette wherever the programming allowed. I opened the little jewelry box ¨¦tienne had given me. Inside were three sets of sparkly, simple earrings that must have cost crumbs to a prince. I held them up to my ears in the mirror, pointedly lingering on the red ones that would clash the worst with my pink headband. I asked, "Do you know Maxime, then?" "Everyone with an ounce of class knows who Madame Saphir is. She¡¯s the originating role of Ophelia Ingenue, Empress Dionne, and The Weeping Woman. Not to mention the very first female playwright to have her work bought and performed by the Matisse Touring Opera." I¡¯d never seen Antoinette so passionate about something. Her lecture on Madame Saphir was mainly to prepare the player to make right choices in the next conversation with ¨¦tienne (also a huge fan), but seeing the stars light up Antoinette¡¯s blue eyes was worth way more than any prince¡¯s approval points. "That¡¯s seriously impressive. Are you a fan?" Antoinette finally set down her highlighters. "Obviously. I used to beg my father to let me sing her songs for our family galas. He wanted dull childish poetry. I wanted Madame Saphir¡¯s tragic arias. My mother persuaded him to let me." "You can sing!" She scoffed. "I could. The cough took that away from me as an adolescent." Marie had never asked the question I did, so this was all new to me. Antoinette and her mother must have been pretty close. Understandable¨CI couldn¡¯t imagine a father who ran the biggest business in the continent would have much time to learn about your music tastes. "Wait." I tilted my head at her, putting in the clashing ruby earrings. "You said this was her only show in the kingdom. Then why aren¡¯t you going?" You sure have the money! Antoinette frowned, lips locked. I knew why. This part of the game was for players to learn more about ¨¦tienne, not kick up conflict. Antoinette was useless to the writers if she wasn¡¯t causing problems. She may as well not exist outside of her hate for Marie and her love of man-snatching. "Why don¡¯t you come with us?" I asked. I¡¯d been meaning to invite her anyways, but Antoinette¡¯s off-script information gave me a better in than I ever imagined. True confusion crossed her wonderfully pretty face. "Why would you invite me?" "I don¡¯t know anything about the show or the singer, and I barely remember who the king is; I¡¯m not gonna get the cultural relevance. ¨¦tienne¡¯s a fan, so he¡¯ll be bored out of his mind with me. I bet you two will actually get something deep out of the show. Besides," I shrugged, "Maxime sounds like the kind of feminist creative I want to support. If people see the Delphine daughter in attendance, it¡¯ll boost her reputation, right?" Antoinette seemed unimpressed, but I could practically see the gears turning in her head. She either knew I had a point¡­or her wish to see the opera was even stronger than her bitterness. Finally, she closed her notebook, latched her metal pencil case, and stood. "If I¡¯m going, people will judge me by the company I keep. And I¡¯ll be honest, that outfit is not fine. How did you even get the earrings wrong? Sit down and let me find something that will at least help you masquerade as someone of worth." I hopped onto the bed, kicking my feet a little. Getting Antoinette and ¨¦tienne together might be easier than I thought. ~*~ ¨¦tienne had to take care of business at the palace, so he¡¯d sent out a private carriage to La Belle Lavande to pick me up (plus Antoinette). The carriage practically trumpeted its royal status: a duo of beautiful roan horses with fluffy dancing feathers on their bridles pulled a glossy gold cab bearing the royal insignia of two falcons mid-flight. "You can go ahead first," I said to Antoinette when the footman offered an arm at the door. "No. Get in." "Oh. Okay, then." I climbed in with the footman¡¯s help then clumsily scooted across the plush bench to the far window. Was that Antoinette¡¯s weird attempt at expressing her thanks for inviting her? I guess that was her best way to get around her villainess programming. During the half hour ride into the city, I encourage Antoinette to tell me about her singing career, all new info to even the most dedicated fic writer. If I told stacistar even a fraction of this, she¡¯d invent a whole new AU and a 30k slow-burn Marie x Antoinette fic in a week. Apparently, a young Antoinette started singing at her father¡¯s parties, charming everyone with her adorable, cherubic talents. She later performed on small stages around the county, getting to tour for half a year with the opera as one half of a child duet in a reproduction of Ophelia Ingenue, and by the way her words sped up, I could tell she really loved it. She caught the cough when she turned fourteen, and her vocal cords were fried. It lent a gorgeous little rasp to her voice at twenty-four years old, sure, but I could do without that if it meant she got to sing the way she wanted. We pulled up to the opera house and there ¨¦tienne was, standing in the pendant-shaped driveway with his retinue of staff by his sides, their hands on their sword hilts. When the footman opened the carriage door, ¨¦tienne practically clicked his heels and offered an arm¨C Until Antoinette stepped out. To his credit, confusion flashed on his face for barely a second before he put his polite princely pleasantries into overdrive. He bowed. "Ah, Miss Delphine, you¨C" "Call me Antoinette, why don¡¯t you?" She took his proffered arm. Huh. So that¡¯s why she wanted to get in second. Okay, a bit of a rocky start, but ¨¦tienne was so gentlemanly that he¡¯d follow Antoinette¡¯s every nudge. Maybe he¡¯d follow the fiction rule of forced proximity, too, and find things he loved about her. The footman helped me out of the carriage. I gave ¨¦tienne a big smile. "The more the merrier, right? She¡¯s a huge fan of Maxime!" "Madame Saphir," Antoinette corrected through her teeth. God bless ¨¦tienne and his people-pleasing. He relaxed into a smile and directed its light to both Antoinette and I, though I knew he was bummed to not get a private night with the accidentally-oh-so-alluring PC. 7.1: THE WEEPING WOMAN Obviously, the prince got a private box that stared right down the center of the opulent opera stage. ¨¦tienne had only brought two sets of opera glasses, so he gave me his. As we waited for the show to start, I scanned the crowd with the magnifying glasses, inspecting all the lords and ladies. This was ¨¦tienne¡¯s idea of a casual not-date? All around me were the richest of the rich, draped in gold, silks, and jewels, with trailing trains, glittering makeup, and hairpieces topped by enchanted plants that blushed different colours according to the ambient pre-show music filling the hall. ¨¦tienne was dressed to impress in a white and gold suit, adorned with swirly embroidery across his chest and tassels on his shoulders. Antoinette had donned a pine green gown with gathered shoulders and a slit up the thigh, plus delicate onyx heels that pushed her another three inches over ¨¦tienne and I (HAH! I knew ¨¦tienne gave short king energy! Take that, fandom!). As for my outfit, Antoinette had made the right call, fitting me in a long cream skirt and a semi-sheer glittery top that shrugged low on my shoulders but didn¡¯t show off any cleavage. We fit right in, as shiny and stunning as the rest. Why wouldn¡¯t Antoinette have come here herself? Was the world that empty for the characters when Marie wasn¡¯t directly interacting with them? If I walked in on Louis or R¨¦mi unexpectedly, would they be T-posing with their faces half-loaded in? Speaking of the game¡­ This was the first special solo event with a love interest. I was glad ¨¦tienne was here to keep my training wheels on. I was wary, though. Since this was a scenario meant to test the player¡¯s interest in each of the love interests and start racking up the invisible approval points by the dozens, I was going to face lots of choices. But maybe, judging by how Antoinette and ¨¦tienne were having a conversation, I¡¯d changed the scenario enough that the programming wouldn¡¯t chase me around? ¨¦tienne was telling her, "I saw Madame Saphir perform the Empress Dionne when I was young, right here in the Rialto. I didn¡¯t truly understand the themes or the story¡­but she sounded so beautiful. I asked my au pair every night to sing me World on a Canvas even once I¡¯d well outgrown lullabies.¡± At this, he blushed. Yes. Yeeeessss! ¡°Needless to say, she was much less fond of the song than I was." Antoinette smiled. Actually smiled. I couldn¡¯t help doing the same behind my opera glasses. That sweet story was the player¡¯s first clue that ¨¦tienne¡¯s route would focus on his chilly familial relationships. And yet here he was, telling Antoinette, not Marie¨Cor, well, me, but still! Perfect. ¨¦tienne might not like her tendency to bully and had to think about the tensions between their families, but he was able to protect her from prison with merely a word in her favour, right? I noticed that the couple I was watching pore over the playbill had gone still. Too still. Oh no. Even if ¨¦tienne¡¯s back was to me, the dialogue box hung over the frozen scene.
  1. Your¡­au pair sang to you? Not your mother?
  2. Oh, how I''d love to hear that song¡­
  3. Shh, it¡¯s about to start.
Damn it. Hopping into their personal conversation like an overexcited puppy wouldn¡¯t win me any points towards my shiny new ship or my friendship with Antoinette. I tried to wait the options out, and still they hung over my head mockingly. Gritting my teeth, I pressed 1. Surely Antoinette knew all about governesses and au pairs and whatever. ¨¦tienne speaking about it could encourage her to connect with him, right? I butted in with those pre-written words, spice!Marie puppeteering me so I set a hand on ¨¦tienne¡¯s armrest. He blushed but didn¡¯t skip a beat (wait, no! Only Antoinette should make him blush!). "My mother and father were often busy when I was younger. We were wrapped up in negotiating with¡­ah, it doesn¡¯t matter. An au pair took care of me for much of my childhood; she was a formidable woman." "We were negotiating"? I guess it was easy to start thinking of yourself as part of The Crown, capital T, capital C, when you were the only prince, even if you were barely out of diapers at the time. Antoinette pulled the conversation back on track. I¡¯d never been so grateful for her selfish steamrolling. "I never got to see Empress Dionne performed live, I fear. Though my mother gave me a record of the single show that was recorded live here. Perhaps that was the very same performance, ¨¦tienne?" "Maybe! I¡¯ll always remember it, because the au pair sang the version Madame Saphir adapted for Eavredor. Instead of the line about cherry-blossom fragrances, she wanted to make it local, so she sang¨C" "Winter holly fragrances," Antoinette said. A little song in her voice twirled comfortably around the lyrics, even with its rasp. My heart fluttered. "Yes, exactly! We did hear the same one, then!" ¨¦tienne exclaimed. "The turning heart like the turning air, winter holly fragrances, a summer¡¯s trailing breeze¨C" He froze. No. No, don¡¯t you dare!
  1. A spring-time love affair?
  2. An autumn¡¯s harvest fair?
  3. A late-night gleaming¡­chair?
I groaned out loud. Whatever I chose, it would circle back, all adorable and inside-joke-y, if I romanced ¨¦tienne to the finish line. Too bad, otome game. I would not trip face first into their moment. I¡¯d seem rude at best, obsessive about ¨¦tienne at worst. The lyrics were crap, anyways! This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I put down my opera glasses and dug in my purse (an Antoinette cast-off). I pulled out a handkerchief and buried my mouth and nose into it, pressing my lips shut tight, and pressed 1. As ¨¦tienne speaks, a ribbon of music curls through my mind. It¡¯s foggy, impossible to snatch with my fingers, but it brings words to me¡­ A spring-time love affair sounded more like a mumble fighting through a cough. Both ¨¦tienne and Antoinette stared at me in alarm. "Oh, sorry, excuse me." I pretended to cough again. Antoinette sighed and sat back. ¨¦tienne, to his credit, hummed the tune of the next few lines anyways as he settled into his seat, not even seeming to realise he was doing it. My coughing fit quit right as the lights dimmed. A sea of compacts clicked shut and opera glasses clinked against rings. A man in a fine suit, the same red as the velvet curtains, came out on stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in a booming voice and looping French accent (making me realize that I was super lucky this world wasn¡¯t actually all in French), "welcome to the Th¨¦atre Rialto. We are beyond pleased and grateful to present The Weeping Woman to you, an opera written by the lead performer and songstress, Madame Maxime Saphir. It has been thirteen years since she performed outside of her delightful home country, and I trust that we will all make her feel welcome. "Before we begin, I ask for your attention regarding a very important matter. The Weeping Woman discusses, in part, the loss of a family and a dear homeland. Recently, the family Gagnon from the city of Altolia suffered the tragic destruction of their estate by arson. All of the immediate family members are missing. We simply ask that if you have any information regarding this situation, please speak to the members of the garde stationed in the lobby." Murmurs broke out. I stiffened. Oh. Yeah. All my worrying about ¨¦tienne and Antoinette made this reveal totally slip my mind. That family? They were Marie¡¯s. The news had just spread to the crown city, and would spread further, dropping clues all over the plot that seemed harmless enough with its potion-making and cute boys. With that, the gentleman onstage bid us adieu. The stage went dark. The music began. ~*~ I was less interested in the opera than I was in Antoinette and ¨¦tienne. When we¡¯d first entered the box, I dawdled, pretending to be enthralled by the view off the railing, so Antoinette could accept ¨¦tienne¡¯s invitation to take her seat first like Marie did in the game. I remembered one silly detail and it paid off: the edge of the box was decorated with a mermaid statue whose tail blocked a bit of the view, forcing Antoinette to sometimes lean into ¨¦tienne to see the actors. ¨¦tienne didn¡¯t seem to mind. They watched the opera like cats watched birds. Fanfiction played around with Antoinette¡¯s interest in opera, but usually it was relegated to tying her deeply into Sylvain¡¯s backstory with his love of music. I never expected how much it would warm my heart to see it in person. In person. The weirdness of that struck me, shocking but not exactly painful, like the little plip of a cold raindrop on my nose. At intermission, Antoinette took her leave, citing a visit to the powder room. She was going pretty fast. Apparently even beautiful otome game villains need to use the washroom after sitting in a theater for an hour. Once she was gone, ¨¦tienne smiled coyly at me. "So¡­you invited her, is that so?" "What? Yes, of course." Did he think she butted into my plans? I guess that would be like her¡­ "She sounded like such a fan of Madame Saphir that I couldn¡¯t imagine her missing the show. She¡¯d regret it forever." "I¡¯m glad you two are getting along. Has there been any more trouble with the rooming arrangements?" "Just typical girl arguments, that¡¯s all." I¡¯d been sitting for way too long. I stood, stretching my legs and back, glad that Antoinette hadn¡¯t made me wear a restrictive gown. And then I risked a hard-hitter of a topic. "Um, I hear there¡¯s some tension between the Delphines and the Alaries." I¡¯d heard it from playing the video game like a hundred times over and scouring Antoinette¡¯s wiki for any crumbs of a backstory. Besides¡­well, myself, that was the biggest hurdle in getting these two to smooch. "What¡¯s that about?" ¨¦tienne adjusted the button on his glove, as if using that extra second to think of his answer. He¡¯d need a more subtle tell if he was gonna be king. "Our fathers disagree on many things. They come from long traditions¨Cmine from royalty, hers from merchants¨Cand they¡¯re very set in their ways. There was a disagreement when Antoinette and I were barely children. I honestly couldn¡¯t tell you the details, besides how it involved patents and regulations. Georges Delphine apparently found enough loopholes in His Majesty¡¯s laws to make his¡­ ¡®objectionable¡¯ plan work, kicking off protests and a bit of a media frenzy, but I¡¯ve never heard both sides of the story." Yep, about as much as I learned from the game, once Marie tells ¨¦tienne about Antoinette¡¯s bullying (though he was a little harsher in-game, revealing his protectiveness over Marie). Made sense. After all, Aconitum was the company whose schemy secrets landed Antoinette and all the involved Delphines in jail. "Do your dads want you to stay away from each other?" "Oh, I¡¯m sure that would put them at ease." ¨¦tienne chuckled. "I refuse. I want to bury the hatchet¨Ca hatchet neither Antoinette nor I ever wielded! When you brought Antoinette, I was surprised and, I can admit, a little uncomfortable. But I think you did me a favour." He waved a hand at the theater of nobility and elites, sipping their drinks and chit-chatting and, like I was earlier, scoping out everyone¡¯s outfits and dates. "Everyone¡¯s seen us here together. Maybe this will help them feel like they don¡¯t need to be pro-monarchy or pro-Aconitum with nothing in between." A grin sprang onto my face. "That would be a relief, wouldn¡¯t it?" Over the next few minutes, ¨¦tienne pointed out nobility in the crowd, telling me the who¡¯s-who of the upper class. Antoinette didn¡¯t come back. "M. Collins, how much time until intermission ends?" ¨¦tienne asked his butler¨Cbefore I even mentioned it. Good, so he was thinking of her! "About seven minutes, Your Highness." "Could you find Miss Delphine? She might have gotten caught up." Right as the servant turned to the box¡¯s curtain, I hopped to my feet. "Wait, no. I¡¯ll go!" "That¡¯s alright, Chlo¨¦." "What if she¡¯s causing a scene? Let¡¯s be real, there¡¯s a non-zero chance that she got into an argument with someone. We wouldn¡¯t want the prince associated with that." And Antoinette would probably be humiliated by the prince¡¯s footman (butler? Servant? IDK) tracking her down. "Maybe it¡¯s a girl problem," I suggested, and scooped up my purse and dashed off in that split second of manly embarrassment. So close to showtime, the washroom was empty of ladies, besides Antoinette at the sink. Even if her back was to me, I caught her dabbing her very pink eyes and nose in the mirror before she spotted me with a little gasp. "A-are you crying?" I blurted without thinking. "What on earth are you doing? Fetching me like you¡¯re my maid?" She tossed the crumpled tissue into the trash with a ferocity and precision that R¨¦mi would envy. "The show¡¯s about to start." "But it hasn¡¯t. Don¡¯t worry so much." "I wanted to make sure something hadn¡¯t happened¡­" "Of course nothing happened. Most of us can walk ten feet without falling headfirst into disaster." "And most of us don¡¯t have to make up reasons to be offended," I snapped. "Look, Antoinette, I was worried about you. I¡¯m sorry I embarrassed you, but that¡¯s all you¡¯ll make me sorry for." She stared at me, eyes as huge as Madame Saphir¡¯s when she projected her over-acted alarm to the nosebleeds. I stared back. Had I really said all that? I¡¯d forced her into a corner. Keep being defensive and prove my point, or dismiss me, as good as a coward? It was a tactic I¡¯d used so often in weird fandom arguments that I didn¡¯t realise it had become such a natural part of my vocabulary. In the end, Antoinette didn¡¯t need to choose. An employee at the lavatory door announced, "The show is about to resume. Please return to your seats as quickly as possible." I gave her an out. "Let¡¯s get going." She strode away quickly; I scurried behind. I dug in my purse and pressed a mascara tube into her palm¨Cone of her old sets she donated to me when we were packing to leave. I didn¡¯t risk another sentence. As we hurried down the hall, Antoinette, in a show of true skill that sure increased my approval rating for her, reapplied her cried-off mascara with expert precision. By the time we slipped back into the box and took our seats on either side of ¨¦tienne, she looked like she hadn¡¯t been crying at all. 7.2: THE WEEPING WOMAN The ride back was surprisingly calm. Antoinette was freezing me out, sure, but who cared about that when her and ¨¦tienne were getting along so well? They discussed their favourite moments from the night, then other plays that had a formative impact on them: ¨¦tienne liked one (whose title I couldn¡¯t even begin to pronounce) because it showed him what true honour was, and Antoinette circled back to Madame Saphir with Ophelia Ingenue, saying how it got her interested in fashion and taught her how appearances were vital yet deceptive. Didn¡¯t she tell me she was in a touring production of Ophelia Ingenue? Surely the play meant more to her than that. I watched the city roll by, answering politely and unhelpfully when ¨¦tienne tried to pull me into the conversation. A veneer of politeness made their words taut and vulnerability was in short supply. Figured. ¨¦tienne was really private, so he wouldn¡¯t push her. That was okay. For now. This night was a great start for the two of them, even if I¡¯d fallen flat on my face when it came to my relationship with Antoinette. But our relationship didn¡¯t matter. Marie couldn¡¯t save her from prison. All I had to do was stay close enough that she wouldn¡¯t suspect me when I tried linking her up with all the guys until one of their relationships carried her safely past the ending of the game. Right? When we returned to La Belle Lavande, ¨¦tienne dismissed his staff and we all seemed a little bit more like plain old students again as we walked to the dorm building. At the top of the enormous staircase, we parted ways. I mentally twirled like Cinderella when ¨¦tienne gave Antoinette a kiss on the hand. I wasn¡¯t so pleased when he kissed my hand, too. ¡°Thank you for your lovely company tonight, ladies.¡± He had a polite little smile on his handsome face, but I could hear the grin he was suppressing in his voice. What did he really want to say? Antoinette read my mind. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t speak to me like I¡¯m some cousin you were forced to dance with.¡± He blushed. ¡°I¡­I had fun.¡± ¡°I could tell. Once or twice, when you let yourself smile honestly, and what a smile it was.¡± Antoinette folded her hands and turned away. ¡°So polite, Your Highness.¡± Antoinette and I headed left to the girls¡¯ dorms, ¨¦tienne right to the guys¡¯. Antoinette took long strides to stay ahead of me. The potted plants that lined the hallway were bred magically and so were extra sensitive to emotions: as she passed, they curled their leaves defensively and shuddered. I shot a glance back at ¨¦tienne. The plants in his hallway were blooming with cheery pink flowers. I looked too long; he turned to watch us go and caught my eye. He smiled a sweet little smile and waved at me, a little awkward and pleased like any other young man. I scurried after Antoinette. Ugh, figured! We hardly talked, but he was still smitten with me. Marie had unnerving powers as the protagonist of an otome game. She could be as bland, unengaged, and erratic as she pleased, and still, everyone fell in love with her in the way they¡¯d fall off a cliff: suddenly, terrifyingly, and ignoring all the warning signs. Antoinette and I stood at our dorm¡¯s double sinks without speaking as we washed off our makeup and took our hair out of their complex styles. That first week with Antoinette had been chilly, but nothing like this. I could feel the brick wall between us. Her moodiness sure seemed less caustic when I was only writing about it in a fanfic. After we got into bed, Antoinette drew shut the custom curtains installed around her bed, and I snuggled up in my blankets behind the changing screen I¡¯d set up to give us privacy. I said, ¡°I¡¯m going to read a little, if that¡¯s okay?¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡°Fine.¡± I flicked on my light and dug out my journal from beneath my mattress. I learned a lot today about both ¨¦tienne and Antoinette that the game only skimmed over. I¡¯d made progress! So why did I feel so lousy? When I opened the journal, it was nothing like I remembered. The pages were filled with colourful blocks and text and doodles¨Cexactly like the character profiles screen in Love Blooming, except drawn with crayon and marker. The names were written in calligraphy on each person¡¯s respective page in a hand I definitely couldn¡¯t replicate. Nor could I draw like their portraits. I hadn¡¯t seen the characters in their original, anime-style form in so long that they seemed so¡­wrong now. Not just the unrealistic proportions and colours. Everything. I looked at these portraits and saw flat archetypes plucked out of a heap of well-performing otome games of the past. ¨¦tienne with his princely sweetness, R¨¦mi with his rough-around-the-edges grin, Louis with his self-conscious artist¡¯s smile and big gooey eyes, and Sylvain with his perpetual grouchiness and air of sexy mystery. Antoinette with her tiny dash of a nose, her lips (made of merely a swipe of a red airbrush pen) in a scowl, red hair a riot of shimmery waves around her face. I remembered nights of scrolling through fanart, of making my own, of reading fic, everything. Antoinette might not have been popular with the fic-writing crowd, but her tags on Pixiv and Danbooru were flooded with gross fetish art¨Cwe¡¯re talking toes flexed in ultra-shiny black nylons, too-short skirts, and our small-time version of MLP¡¯s Cupcakes: a short comic where the guys take revenge on her at Marie¡¯s behest. I will not define this comic¡¯s version of revenge. In this world, that part of my life sure seemed, all of a sudden¡­stalker-ish. The words on the page were no better. They were more or less what appeared on the in-game profiles, written in Marie¡¯s voice. They detailed how I met them and a vague sketch of their personality, plus Marie¡¯s questions about them, like if ¨¦tienne would keep protecting her and if Sylvain would ever see her as something worth his time. Nothing useful¡­except ¨¦tienne¡¯s summary noted how Antoinette was at the opera tonight¡­and they each had meters showing their approval points with me. Heart meters? I flipped back a couple pages, chest tight. Antoinette had no heart meter. ¡°Chlo¨¦?¡± I jumped and slapped the book shut. ¡°Wh-what?¡± She scoffed softly. ¡°I wanted to tell you something.¡± ¡°Of course, go ahead, Antoinette.¡± With every silent second, I felt a huge weight push down on me, until Antoinette finally spoke. ¡°My mother last saw Madame Saphir with me when I was a child. They came from the same country, so a long time ago, she could see Madame Saphir in little garden parties or in churches. As she became more and more famous, my mother chased her around the kingdom to hear her sing. But once she married my father and left her country¡­she rarely got to hear Madame Saphir.¡± I didn¡¯t dare speak or even breathe, like it would spook her out of speaking. ¡°She was the first to hear that Madame Saphir would finally tour once more in Altolia. She¡­she was as cheerful as a little girl.¡± A small smile snuck into Antoinette¡¯s muffled voice, like she was pressing her face into her pillow. ¡°I had to buy tickets the instant they were announced, so we could go together. I even harassed the company helping her tour so I could guarantee our places. My mother was her biggest fan.¡± Antoinette¡¯s voice faded away. Was. She didn¡¯t need to say more. It must have happened recently, if Antoinette was planning on getting them tickets to see tonight¡¯s show. My tongue froze in my mouth. I found it so hard to speak that I was suddenly sure that I¡¯d see a dialogue box appear above my head. Sorry for your loss, was never right. How did it happen? was rude. Wait, do you mean she¡¯s dead? was some sour!Marie kind of shit. Finally, I spat out, ¡°It¡­it sounds like the singer was very special to you, then.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± I heard her turn over in bed, and she said sharply so I¡¯d hear her perfectly, ¡°I think tonight ruined her forever.¡± 8: SECRET WEAPONS After our classes and after having changed into our civilian clothes, the love interests and I were crowded in the deserted combo lab and greenhouse. Notes, potted plants, dustings of dirt, and Sylvain¡¯s steaming cauldron crowded our polished stone table. Everyone had long retired to their dorms for the night, so we had the freedom to work on our project in private. I cupped the ceramic flower pot before me. Blue petals. Blue petals. Blue petals. That¡¯s what we needed to stabilize the basic foundation of our potions. Like the last ingredient for a cake batter of flour, sugar, eggs, so on, before we started getting funky with cinnamon, chocolate chips, sprinkles, and more than a few reality-bending magic plants. Made sense to me. (That definitely wasn¡¯t how Sylvain explained it¨CLou interrupted his high-level magic rant to give me the cake metaphor.) The plant was out of season, so either one of us opened his pockets to buy a magically-propagated (and scarily pricey) pot or two, or I used my powers to help us out. I closed my eyes and visualized the Eavredor dewdrops blooming into the adorable little blue flowers that R¨¦mi had shown me in his textbook. They¡¯d open like the flower that cradled Thumbelina in the Don Bluth movie, all perfect without a vein or a nick. I tried to funnel that image through my hands. And my concentration burst with the sound of thunder bottled up in a glass jar. The guys cried out, chairs scraping, books dropping, and R¨¦mi laughing. Fearing the worst, I squinted open my eyes. The plant had grown¡­into a globe-shaped mass of squirming leaves the size of my head and a shower of fluffy dandelion-like seeds. ¡°At least the fluffs are blue,¡± I mumbled. R¨¦mi cheered, nudging Louis hard in the side. ¡°Pay up, Chapelle.¡± ¡°You bet on her?¡± ¨¦tienne asked. I dropped my head into the ball of leaves as the gold coins exchanged hands. ¡°I¡¯m never gonna get this. I¡¯m sorry, guys.¡± ¨¦tienne sighed, prodding at the leaves with his gloved hand. His sweater was stuck with a billion little seed puffs. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Maybe we¡¯re pushing you too hard; it isn¡¯t like any of us are magicians who can properly tutor you, after all. R¨¦mi, I hope that money will be used to buy our next batch of dewdrops.¡± ¡°I wanted to be your secret weapon,¡± I moaned. ¨¦tienne patted my shoulder and carefully took the leaves away from me, adding them to the pile of daisies I failed to bloom and carrots I failed to grow. It was probably the love interest film over all their eyes that made them want to give me the Eavredor dewdrops at all. Love Blooming wasn¡¯t an RPG, so it didn¡¯t have any magical mechanics. Not even something as rudimentary as a spell list or a mana bar. Maybe I wrote tons of LB fanfic, re-re-read Harry Potter, and stacked my Final Fantasy teams with a clear bias towards mages (they always had the cutest designs), but I felt as prepared for spellcasting as, well¡­as any normal person would be. R¨¦mi flicked a clod of dirt at Sylvain, who was seated at the far end of the table beside his small cauldron (it looked like a portable, cast iron fondue pot), chopping up stems. R¨¦mi asked, ¡°Hey, join our pity party. Or are you planning on tackling this whole thing alone?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just preparing the basic foundation for the potions.¡± He neatly cut through stem after stem, tidily peeling them open with a knife and putting them into the lightly-simmering cauldron. I asked, ¡°The cake batter?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he said stiffly. Lou peered over. ¡°We don¡¯t know when we¡¯re gonna get the dewdrops, though. Shouldn¡¯t you wait before boiling all that down?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m using saffron, not sunflower. It keeps much better and for much longer once boiled down. It also tastes far more mild.¡± ¡°Why the heck do we use sunflower in class, then?¡± R¨¦mi, who was helping ¨¦tienne and me peel off the leaves from my mutant plant like the layers of an onion, said, ¡°¡®Cause it costs half the price. Perfect for a class that¡¯s gonna burn through it¨Cliterally, in some cases.¡± ¡°That was once! And why do you know all that, anyways? It¡¯s not like they taught it.¡± ¡°Maybe you were asleep or daydreaming when they did.¡± R¨¦mi blew away some dandelion-like fluffs that had floated up into his face. ¡°Nah. I was chatting with Dupont about it last year; he told me all about it. Jeez, Lou, what¡¯s that look for?¡± ¨¦tienne¡¯s smile had a rare, pleasant crookedness to it, like he was trying not to laugh. ¡°You don¡¯t seem like the type to learn more than he¡¯s forced to, is all.¡± ¡°Come the hell on.¡± R¨¦mi whacked Lou on the shoulder with a handful of leaves. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle you knew we used sunflowers in class at all. What else are you working so hard on in the study rooms? It¡¯s not your class ranking, that¡¯s for sure.¡± I said through my fingers, ¡°He¡¯s making a fantasy world with his friends.¡± Lou stared at me. Not offended, but surprised¨Cso surprised that I realised I shouldn¡¯t know that yet in this route. I added, ¡°I heard, once, through the door¡­ It¡¯s really cool!¡± Sylvain rolled his eyes. R¨¦mi laughed his great bark of a laugh, but he said, squeezing the shoulder he¡¯d just swatted, ¡°Hey, world needs creative people more than it needs people who¡¯ll follow the rules.¡± I smiled as the guys continued to rib each other about their class rankings (something mentioned in passing in the game, with Sylvain dominating the top position). R¨¦mi even tried to drag in Sylvain a couple times, but he clung to his cauldron instead. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. The air shifted hard, though, when R¨¦mi said, ¡°And the prince over here can¡¯t tell a paragraph from a sentence but you wouldn¡¯t know that from his pity grades. I just ignore wherever he ranks.¡± Sylvain gave a little hm without looking up, packing that sound with so much clear disdain that it took me aback. ¨¦tienne brushed the last of the dirt and fluff off his hands into the compost bin, saying, ¡°I know. It isn¡¯t fair.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re plenty smart, ¨¦tienne,¡± I said. Wasn¡¯t he? I mean, the game focused so little on his academic exploits, having more fun with his sparkly princely affairs, so I didn¡¯t know anything about his schoolwork. ¡°He spells like he grew up in a laundry with the rats.¡± I huffed at R¨¦mi. ¡°Don¡¯t be a jerk. How would you even know?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been stuck in classes together since he showed up.¡± R¨¦mi swung an arm around ¨¦tienne¡¯s shoulders, yanking the prince off-balance. ¡°We took a creative nonfic class together. Had to share our work all ¡®round. Of course, any prof was so thrilled to hear what His Highness had to say about fucking anything¡­¡± ¨¦tienne repeated, firmer, ¡°I know. I don¡¯t like it either.¡± ¡°What can I expect, though? He''s a hooligan. Been smoking and drinking since he was fifteen!" ¨¦tienne shrugged R¨¦mi off. Oops. A sore spot, for sure. The kind of sore spot that built a whole character arc, actually. R¨¦mi turned to me. "I guess you don''t know about that, do you? That''d make you the only person on the continent who hasn''t heard about the prince''s rock and roll reputation." ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like him.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry; next week, ¨¦tienne¡¯s speaking at the opening of the newest orphanage for sick children¨C¡± ¨¦tienne sighed, ¡°It¡¯s a children¡¯s ward at the hospital, R¨C¡± ¡°¨Cso the papers will be plastered with that old drawing of when he got caught smoking at the horse races. You know, so we don¡¯t forget that deep down, he¡¯s a mess who¡¯s gonna turn Eavredor into a country of beer flowing through the streets and prostitutes on every corner.¡± ¡°What is all this yammering?¡± All of us, even ¨¦tienne, whirled to the greenhouse doorway. There was one of the botany professors, half-changed into his civilian clothes and red in the face. ¡°Don¡¯t you know what time it is? All of you should have cleared out of this building hours ago, not gotten started with your homework!¡± Lou squeaked, ¡°Uh, sorry, sir¨C¡± ¡°And what is all this mess?¡± R¨¦mi held up his hands. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with it, right?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see a broom in your hands! Must I write you up for being out of bounds and working with school property without a slip?¡± Sylvain rolled his eyes, turning his back to the professor. Lou looked freaked. ¨¦tienne said, ¡°We apologize, sir.¡± The professor paled. There really was something about ¨¦tienne in civilian clothes that made him disappear, but his voice must have made everything snap back into focus. ¡°We¡¯ll tidy up immediately. We weren¡¯t aware that so much time had passed.¡± The professor nodded jerkily and muttered, ¡°Right, well, I¡¯d hope so,¡± before vanishing out the door. R¨¦mi cuffed ¨¦tienne''s shoulder. However, he must have noticed what I did, because he didn¡¯t deliver another jab: ¨¦tienne had deflated and darkened a little. In the quiet, we all started to pack up. ~*~ The evening halls of the class buildings kinda creeped me out and reminded me of wandering the halls of Resident Evil, so I eagerly took R¨¦mi¡¯s offer to walk me to my dorm. I was happy to have his company¨C Until he tugged me by the sleeve into a hall I¡¯d never seen before. Each door had a plaque and a name. These were the professors¡¯ offices! ¡°What are you doing?¡± I hissed. ¡°St-Guillaume was pretty rude to His Highness, huh?¡± R¨¦mi said casually as he peered at each plaque in the dark hallway. I, meanwhile, was looking through the frosted office windows to make sure the lights were off and no one would catch us sneaking around. It seemed deserted¡­not like that was much comfort when R¨¦mi found the door he wanted and immediately started fiddling with the lock with his tie clip. He pushed the office door open and swung out his arm, like how ¨¦tienne''s footman invited me out of the royal carriage. I hesitated. ¡­Who cared? I wasn¡¯t Hanna, after all. What did consequences matter, if they didn¡¯t end in my head being lopped off my shoulders or my new friends slammed in jail? (Actually, don¡¯t think about that, I don¡¯t want to freak out.) I scurried into the office. R¨¦mi flicked on the lights. He ushered me to the back wall with its honeycomb shelves full of books, knick knacks, and little potted herbs that made the place smell pleasantly earthy. I admired what seemed to be regency-era tools: looking glasses and needle threaders, pocket watches and hand-drills, all perfectly dusted and under protective glass that reflected my yellow eyes. ¡°You know what you should do, right?¡± ¡°Use my powers for evil?¡± ¡°Not evil. Just give him a little shock tomorrow morning.¡± I was one of maybe three dozen students with magic powers at La Belle Lavande. I¡¯d totally get caught. But R¨¦mi¡¯s grin made that knowledge seem inconsequential. "You''re right. What can they do to me? I have the prince in my corner, after all." "See, that''s the spirit." I picked up the nearest plant pot and activated my power. I didn''t even know what described it best. A faucet? A force? Either way, once it was nudged, I had no way to stop it. The herbs all spilled out of their pots and down their shelves, looking more like ferns and brambles and spidery tangles of roots when I was done with them. Once I set down the last pot, I realised that technically, I¡¯d sort of been controlling my powers right there. Not like there were many situations where my chaos was the goal. ¡°Hey, R¨¦mi, I¡¯m¨C¡± I turned and spotted him writing on a pack of paper on the desk. ¡°What are you doing?¡± R¨¦mi showed me the paper. It was an essay or something, its pages full of handwriting interspersed with marks in the same red as R¨¦mi¡¯s pen. ¡°¨¦tienne will appreciate it, promise.¡± Once R¨¦mi was done, we hurried out of the office. R¨¦mi shrugged at the now-unlocked door. ¡°Think you can teach one of those vines to lock it for us?¡± ¡°Dream on.¡± ¡°Hey, maybe one day.¡± I giggled, but the implications rattled uncomfortably in my brain as we snuck out of the hall of offices. Would I ever be good enough to do that? Would I be here long enough to become good enough? R¨¦mi snapped me out of it (something he was getting pretty good at). "Hey, do you have anything going on tomorrow night?" "Nope." "You wanna come to trivia night at the campus tavern? I promise it¡¯s not as lame as it sounds. Plus I''ve got lots of friends I can introduce you to, so you''ll never be alone on a Friday again." Tavern? Trivia? A pack of strangers, all as loud and outgoing as R¨¦mi? That¡¯d be a nightmare to Hanna. ¡°Sure thing. Mind if I invite a friend too?¡± 9: TRIVIA NIGHT One sure way to get Antoinette to come along with me, wherever I wanted? Leverage her programming against her. I knew she¡¯d instinctively need to compete with me for any boys who caught my attention, so it only took a few too many pointed compliments of R¨¦mi¡¯s smarts and hair and athleticism before she accepted my invitation to the totally lame trivia night with a grumble. She made me wait for her as she coordinated the perfect knee-length tartan pleated skirt, kitten heels, and a drop-shoulder wool top. I recognised the top half of the outfit from her game sprites, but the hair was totally new: a high ponytail, cascading down her back in a sweep of bright red¨Cmy heart fluttered at the sight of her elegant neck and dainty ears. We walked into the campus pub as the teams were assembling at their respective tables. Exactly as Love Blooming had originally coded, a few members had bowed out tonight to cram for a super-tough politics exam, so there was a free space on R¨¦mi¡¯s team for me. When he waved me over, unlike ¨¦tienne, he made no secret of his surprise at Antoinette¡¯s appearance. ¡°Princess, what brings you here? Sure it¡¯s not for a drink, is it?¡± ¡°This one dragged me out.¡± She flicked a hand at me. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have expected you to be into something so¡­gauche.¡± ¡°Hey, I contain multitudes. I saved you a seat, Chlo¨¦; want a drink first?¡± Ping! Maybe Antoinette wasn''t in the original script, but R¨¦mi''s generous offer was. ¡°I¡¯d love one! Get me your favourite, how about? I¡¯ve never been here before.¡± R¨¦mi grinned and loped over to the bar. Antoinette¡¯s nose crinkled. She muttered, ¡°He didn''t even offer me anything.¡± With any of the other guys, this would be a problem. But with R¨¦mi, any chance I had to put R¨¦mi and Antoinette at odds, the better. ¡°Maybe he didn''t want to insult you? I mean, this place isn''t exactly¡­classy.¡± ¡°What, do you think I sip champagne and pinot noir on movie nights?¡± I''m sorry, what movies? You guys still use carriages! I was distracted from questioning the game''s anachronisms by two empty seats at the other team''s table. I sidled through the crowd to greet them. ¡°Hey! Are you guys missing members too?¡± A round-faced, pockmarked girl, the exact portrait of a nerd that the game would sketch up, seemed surprised at my outburst. ¡°Um, actually¡­We just got a text that two of our members can¡¯t make it.¡± It was so perfect that it may as well have been part of the game¡¯s pre-written magic. ¡°Can we join? We¡¯re new, so we might not be too much help, but what¡¯s the downside to having an extra two heads?¡± The prototypical nerds glanced at Antoinette and then at each other, like I¡¯d asked if they wanted a wild tiger on their team. They hesitated for long enough that Antoinette groaned, ¡°Oh, admit it. You need help for your dumb game. Who knows how much help Chlo¨¦ will be, but haven¡¯t you seen my class rankings?¡± Antoinette dragged me to a seat by the sleeve. No way would she let me sit on R¨¦mi¡¯s team, leaving her stranded while we flirted all night. Perfect! We squeezed into the free seats. The bar was pretty crowded, considering how little other nightlife there was on the campus; Antoinette and I were pressed shoulder to shoulder. She smelled like lavender and a hint of something woodsy and more masculine, a smell that made me almost giddy. R¨¦mi came back from the bar, hesitated a second, and then spotted me with a growing smirk. He set down a bright blue drink in front of me. A white flower was charmed to float slightly above the rim, lazily bobbing around the glass. ¡°Something that reminded me of you. So, you¡¯re planning on taking me down, is that it?¡± Antoinette said, ¡°I certainly am.¡± R¨¦mi laughed. ¡°Well, best of luck, ladies.¡± He put out both his hands, crossed over each other, and we all shook his hand at once. Once he got back to his seat, a young man climbed on a chair ahead of both our tables and called us into the game. As questions and answers were volleyed around me, I was caught in a bizarre situation of half-understanding. Marie¡¯s amnesia was an excellent cover for my own born-in-another-world problem. I knew some of the answers from playing Love Blooming so many times, but we were having a real game night with way more questions than the game ever bothered to write in. Many of them were related to Aconitum and magic of the world (which the opposing team loudly demanded Antoinette not help answer). Some crusty old Delphine had discovered a strange result when he crossed some plants together, and after years of experiments, made the ultra-sensitive, ultra-powerful plants that we¡¯d now recognise as magical. Magical people started cropping up after that, in very rare numbers. All things considered, magic was brand new to the world of Eavredor, and the Delphines were luckily positioned to capitalize on it first with their inventions. Meanwhile, neither Marie nor I knew the chemical compounds in Silverbriar, or the first man to lay the first brick in Altolia, or the name of the supposed ghost that haunted La Belle Lavande¨Cor the ghost hunter who debunked the whole debacle as a Scooby-Doo-esque prank by students. But Antoinette did. She was a regular Hermione Granger, her hand flying to ring our team¡¯s bell milliseconds before the questions were even finished being asked. R¨¦mi was struggling to keep up. Half an hour in, he had legitimate beads of sweat on his forehead and Antoinette had burned through our team¡¯s chip bowl. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. I sipped my drink, pleased with myself (and with the delicious drink). R¨¦mi loved a challenge. In the game, the battle of wits that would draw R¨¦mi to Marie was isolated on a single team, the game even giving you a quicktime event to press the button and say the correct answer before him. I guessed this was so you could attend the winner¡¯s celebration afterparty together or walk home together in failure, depending on how you performed and how good you were at memorizing the random facts given out in the environment and dialogue in the previous scenarios. Now, the stakes were upped, and hopefully so were Antoinette and R¨¦mi¡¯s heart rates. The team game had morphed into a one-on-one deathmatch between them. Hopefully they¡¯d thank me for creating this weird situation, too? If not, I guess I was pleased enough, pressed next to a passionate Antoinette. I was seeing her with her walls of propriety and finesse down, angrily chomping salt-and-vinegar chips and with a tendril of hair having fallen out of her ponytail. She was still fierce, sharp Antoinette¨Cwhen a teammate beat her to the bell and then got a question about literature wrong, she actually shouted, ¡°Oh my god, YOU¡¯RE KIDDING!¡±--but all her refined edges were roughed up. At last, we were in the final round. The teams were each given the same complex question to discuss in whispers and answer on paper. It was so challenging that the emcee bragged that surely, only one person would get it right, so they wouldn¡¯t need a tie breaker. And just like in Love Blooming, I couldn''t follow it for the life of me. It was one of those word problems that went like, ¡°If the man with the blue shirt is in the red house, and the last house has a purple dog¡­¡± One with tons of random details to keep straight. He only repeated the incantation twice, one of our team members writing down every detail at lightning speed in her notebook. We all ducked our heads together. I was less concerned with the game and more concerned with the way Antoinette¡¯s wavy red ponytail was draped over my shoulder. ¡°If this house is yellow, then¡­¡± ¡°No, here.¡± Antoinette stole the notebook and the pencil, scribbling on the page as she whispered, ¡°This one is yellow. And they said these two can¡¯t get along, so¨C¡± The whispering went back and forth. Something wasn¡¯t making sense. Even I could tell. The order was off and we were all slowly figuring it out. Sucked for us: the question wouldn¡¯t be repeated a third time. And then it hit me. ¡°Wait, can I see that?¡± Everyone stared at me. I hadn¡¯t said a single word this whole night, besides cheering and congratulating my team on our points. I held out a hand for the notebook. Antoinette slid it over, clearly reluctant. I took the pencil and quickly read the notes for the original question under my breath. ¡°The¡­no, I¡¯m pretty sure he said the third king gave the lord barley, not the first.¡± ¡°If it''s not the first, then who has the white cows?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± A tumblr post came back to me in near-perfect clarity¨Ca fan was trying to figure out the solution to the question. The game said one thing, but no matter how she tried to solve the puzzle, she couldn''t get that answer. We all decided that clearly the writers chose wrong or it was translated wrong or something. Would the real right answer work in this world¨Cthe answer Antoinette was insisting upon¨Cor would it be broken like the game? For once, I''d trust Love Blooming. ¡°It was the second king who went to heaven, see?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s the third. I¡¯m certain,¡± Antoinette said firmly. ¡°Trust me. I, uh, I¡¯m good at these games.¡± ¡°Chlo¨¦, you wouldn¡¯t even recognise your own father. It¡¯s the third.¡± ¡°Second!¡± ¡°Third.¡± ¡°Second, seriously¨C¡± I wrote the number 2 as quickly as I could. ¡°GOT IT!¡± R¨¦mi yelled over the noise of the bar. Antoinette rolled her eyes at me, pulling the notebook away. The emcee pointed at R¨¦mi¡¯s table. ¡°Go for it, Team Crimson.¡± R¨¦mi glanced around at his teammates, who all gave him nods. ¡°It¡¯s the third king.¡± Was the error fixed? Could I even call it an error in this world? The emcee smirked. ¡°Team Gold, what¡¯ve you got written down?¡± The round-faced girl who first spoke to us stared at the notebook, then at me, then at Antoinette. The sheet looked like a mess, full of notes and tugged by chip-fingers and spotted with drink droplets. But right there, clear as day, was the 2 I wrote like a madwoman. She carefully lifted the notebook. ¡°The second king?¡± The emcee pretended to consult his notes, really dragging it out. ¡°Hmmm. Looks like the winner of tonight¡¯s game is¡­¡± Antoinette folded her arms, pissed. But even she couldn¡¯t keep a straight face when the emcee announced, ¡°With a bonus of 100 points for that last question¡­TEAM GOLD!¡± Our table erupted in cheers. I swear that the round-faced girl flipped over her chair. Antoinette¡¯s mouth dropped open. R¨¦mi groaned, throwing his head back. Still, he wore a huge grin on his face. My heart pounded. I did it! ¡°Told you!¡± I teased Antoinette. She sighed. And stuck her hand out to me. ¡°Well done, Chlo¨¦. You outsmarted this table, that¡¯s for sure.¡± I grasped her hand and squeezed it tightly, my cheeks hurting with my smile. The teams split up to chat and grab drinks. R¨¦mi sauntered over to our table and leaned between Antoinette and I, a hand on the backs of both our chairs. ¡°Damn, Antoinette. You¡¯ve got me feeling like I ran a marathon.¡± He was grinning like a total goofball, looking just as thrilled as a winner would have. Antoinette smirked back. ¡°You put up a good fight, Fontaine. Now, how about you make up for all the stress you caused a young lady and buy her a drink to end the night?¡± ¡°Happily.¡± He turned to me. ¡°Great game, Chlo¨¦! Sorry if you felt left out, though. You were quiet.¡± ¡°Actually,¡± Antoinette said, ¡°she solved the last question for us.¡± I blushed. Antoinette, bragging for me, to R¨¦mi? R¨¦mi squeezed my shoulder. ¡°Good one, Chlo¨¦! You swept in at the last minute. Let me grab that drink.¡± I released a breath as he vanished. Thank god he didn¡¯t offer to buy me another. I wanted him to focus on Antoinette alone. The emcee passed out our winner¡¯s prizes¨Cvouchers for free daily coffee and pastries at the campus cafe for a month¨Cand congratulated us all. Antoinette passed me her voucher. ¡°As if I need it. You¡¯re the one without money, and you look so tired all the time. Have a latte every once in a while.¡± And as she passed me, sauntering off to R¨¦mi at the bar and sliding up next to him with a smile, I couldn¡¯t help but think that she¡¯d already given me a much better gift. R¨¦mi took her hand like how ¨¦tienne helped her from the carriage, but it was to help her sit on the barstool. The room was much louder now, so she had to lean close to speak to him, and where I was at, I could see her lifting purposely off her stool to get close enough to press against his arm. My chest felt tight. I was doing the right thing. R¨¦mi could protect her, and he was so fierce about those he loved that he would do anything to help her. Plus he came from a business family, so he could help her navigate the upcoming media storm, right? This was good, I promised myself. This was what I was here to do. 10: PAINT, SIP, CRASH, BURN I chased the next private love interest event by popping right next to Louis during lunch. The dining hall was arranged with long, very Hogwartsian tables, and Louis was picking at his duck confit and kale while his older sister roped him into a conversation. When I set down my plate, Colette gave me a big, bright smile, the watts only challenged by her brother''s. I¡¯d seen his sour face from across the dining hall, and now here he was, grinning; it was so weird to me that I had this effect on anybody. Louis said, ¡°Hey, Chlo¨¦, can you convince Colette that I don''t want to join her dumb class?¡± I waved away his snark with a forkful of lemony asparagus. ¡°You hate any kind of class. What is it, Colette?¡± Colette only resembled Lou in their round jaws, big brown eyes, and smattering of freckles; she had hair cut in a bob, the colour of cashmere and the fluffy texture of candy floss, a detail that didn''t come across in the game graphics. A butterfly clip held her bangs to the left¨Cin true cartoon fashion, her twin sister, C¨¦cile (the one who got Louis the RA side gig), had long hair and a dragonfly clip on the right. ¡°I convinced my art tutor to let me run painting classes during the evenings!¡± She danced in her seat. ¡°I want anyone to be able to pop in whenever they want, no prior experience required. I¡¯ll lead the class, and you enjoy making friends, drinking some adult beverages, and learning a new skill!¡± ¡°That sounds super fun to me,¡± I said. Actually, in my real life, the game inspired me to attend a couple ¡®paint and sip¡¯ events. Alone, sure, but that let me have some fun conversations with the teacher and other students. I liked getting to know strangers for a couple hours at a time¨Call the fun chatter, none of the obligation to keep up with them and seem totally normal. ¡°See?!¡± Colette snapped at Louis. ¡°It sounds girly and boring. Like going to one of mom¡¯s society parties, but with worse drinks.¡± "You¡¯re such a hater. Please, Lou? If my first class has a bad turn-out, my tutor will shut it all down." Ping! Spice!Marie made me nudge Louis, almost putting his elbow in his salad. ¡°That sounds like fun! Let¡¯s go together, Lou!¡± He blushed. ¡°Not like I was gonna study that night, I guess.¡± Colette dug a flyer out of her messenger bag. "Thank you!" She handed it across the table. Amidst the crinkle from her bag, it gave a date and time, along with a note that the class would be in the Francois Marceaux art studio on campus. Then she dug out a few more. ¡°Chlo¨¦, you¡¯re popular. Could you pass these out for me?¡± Popular? I guess it looked that way, considering the love interest company I kept. "Sure." I pretended something just occurred to me. "You know who else you should ask? Antoinette Delphine. She''s so talented. I mean, even her planner¡¯s designed perfectly." Sparkles gleamed in Colette¡¯s eyes. "Ooh, having her attend would be as good for our advertising as Monet signing up to teach!" As much as I liked Antoinette, I had a feeling Colette was greatly overestimating how much time people wanted to spend around her. The excitable Chapelle sped off to the next table, a fresh handful of flyers armed and ready. ~*~ I don''t know how she managed it, but sure enough, when Lou and I entered the art classroom, Colette was showing Antoinette around. Antoinette had brought two of her lackeys who had gone through my luggage. There were three bonus NPCs in attendance: one flirty couple and a quiet guy sitting alone, poring very seriously over his palette as he dolloped paint on it. Colette hurried to us. "Thanks for dragging him here, Chlo¨¦. You''ll have fun," she said to Louis, more of an admonishment than encouragement. "The class will be really easy. Even for you." Ouch. She took us to a supply closet to pick up our canvases and brushes, letting us choose whichever ones as long as we took "a little flat one and a big round one and a bigger flat one." She bounced impatiently on her heels whenever I hovered over what I guessed to be the wrong brush. We were handed a little caddy of pre-selected paints. As Colette explained everything, I noticed Antoinette taking a seat at an easel. In her row were two free seats on either side of her¨Cof course Antoinette wanted to be literally front and center. She had two friends with her. If they sat to either side of her, Louis and I were screwed. Louis and Colette were now caught in a loop of teasing, Louis pretending to not understand any of her artist jargon and Colette giving him increasingly frustrated fake-explanations. I gathered up my caddy and then plopped down directly beside Antoinette. "You came! Hi!" I said. She was carefully placing her paint on her palette. I''d accidentally made her jump the tiniest bit, smearing purple on her finger. "Oh. Chlo¨¦. It seems every time I turn around, you¡¯re there." And she sure didn¡¯t sound pleased about it. Louis set his things down beside me, throwing a parting middle finger at his sister as she went to greet more newcomers. He was holding a glass and gestured at the drink station with it. "I didn''t know what you wanted? Sorry. You ran off." "No problem! I''ll grab something. Hey, look! It''s Antoinette! Didn¡¯t you guys once hang out together or something? You have memories to bond over, right? Okay, bye." I sped off to the forest of wine bottles. I pretended to be completely engrossed in all the wine labels instead of just pouring a glass and returning to my seat. Antoinette and Louis weren¡¯t even paying attention to each other. I honestly wasn¡¯t sure if Lou was my best bet¡­or my worst. His history with Antoinette ran deeper than anyone else¡¯s, even Sylvain¡¯s. She and his sisters were friends in their early adolescence, right up until Antoinette humiliated them both at their societal debut as sixteen-year-olds¡­a slight that seemed to have been resolved, or at least buried under layers of that specific high school amnesia we¡¯re all eventually afflicted with¡­or maybe just forgiven, considering how affluent and important Antoinette now was (his sisters were notoriously fierce networkers). Either way, Lou grew up with Antoinette, and his parents were delighted by how the Chapelle kids had a connection, no matter how brittle, to the Delphines. Louis could be the worst bet, though, because their connection was never explicitly romantic. In Love Blooming, Antoinette treated him like a brother, taking on the protective older sister role. She antagonized Marie not by flirting with him, but by planting rumours with the twin sisters and humiliating Marie at a family gathering. So Antoinette definitely didn¡¯t have the blind passion that romance inspires, but she was programmed to ingratiate herself in the family throughout the course of the route. Could the Chapelles help her in the end? Would they want her good opinion so badly that they¡¯d help her even when her reputation was ruined, or would she just look like spoiled goods to them? Soon enough, we were all in our seats and Colette was at the front of the class, her eyes sparkling even more than the students¡¯ glass-blown vases lining the wall behind her. ¡°I¡¯m thrilled that so many of you came to my very first class! Please be patient with me if there are any hiccups! And remember, don¡¯t worry about being perfect. I want you to have fun. If there¡¯s ever a moment where you want to go your own way, I encourage you to¨Cto hurry on over in that direction!¡± Like with ¨¦tienne and Antoinette at the opera, I made a show of focusing on the entertainment instead of my companions. My hands followed each of Colette¡¯s instructions perfectly while my mind zeroed in on every word they exchanged. And I really did mean word. Louis accidentally flicked a drop of paint water near her foot. So he said ¡°Sorry.¡± And she said ¡°Hmph.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I cleared my throat. ¡°When you guys were kids¡ª¡° ¡°Your painting is reall¡ª¡° he started at the same time. ¡°Sorry. You first.¡± ¡°You¡¯re following super well.¡± ¡°Thanks! Your sister has great instructions.¡± While obviously Colette had more skill, clear in the steadiness of her hand and the confidence of her blending, my sunset-on-a-wildflower-field was a pretty good forgery. Marie fulfilled her protagonist destiny by being awful at art but in a cutesy way that Louis could help her with, Ghost-style. This episode ended with a cute little paint fight between them, obviously. Something I was sure Antoinette wouldn¡¯t find so fun. I¨CChlo¨¦¨CHanna¨Cwhatever, well, I was an okay artist in real life. I definitely didn¡¯t post any of my fanart online because I didn¡¯t need ship wars chipping at my already delicate artist ego (they fought enough in the notes on my fanfics). I always was trying to capture that keen, serious look Antoinette had in the game graphics, but I could never quite get it. It was like she was looking at me through the game in a way I could hardly understand. Back in the studio, Louis¡¯ painting wasn¡¯t even close to his sister¡¯s example. I leaned over, taking in the layered landscape of fields, mountains, and deep cravesses. The colours were bright and almost abrasive, with graphic line work and brazen edges. So modern. I can see something like this on Instagram. The whole painting was cut in three by thin veils of different colour. "What are you painting? It''s cool." "It''s, uh¡­it''s a place in the fantasy thing I''m inventing." ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± Lou thought for a second, letting me finish up a flower. He glanced over at Antoinette¡¯s perfect painting, suddenly seeming a bit insecure, like he¡¯d been caught misbehaving. But few things made this guy happier than talking about the stories he was passionate about, so I gave him a nudge. "How it works in the story¡­there are three worlds. They''re not different planets though. They''re all on the same Earth." He used the end of his paintbrush to point out the different colour washes and where they met. "The surface plane, the past plane, and the future plane. They''re pretty self-explanatory." "Not for me; I don''t read books like that." He launched into his answer with gusto. "So the surface plane is the current day. The past is all the¡­kinda like the world''s memories and the people''s memories. The future plane is what the world will be, but some of the characters theorize that the future plan is actually just the surface plane of future people, and their past plane is our current surface plane, and so on and so on, stacked on each other forever. The idea is that all of time is happening at the¡ªat the same time around us, though the only one we see is the present." "Do they interact?" I asked, pointing out a flower he''d drawn growing on the purple-tinged past plane, being picked by a silhouette on the surface plane. "Sometimes. Sometimes things line up so perfectly that they slip through the planes and can be accessed by everyone at once. Sometimes that even happens to people. They fall through one plane and into another. They didn''t end up on another planet. Just another layer of the only planet we have." I tried so hard to never think about this, but as I stared at Lou''s painting, I couldn''t stop the questions that zipped through my mind. What happened to me? Was my normal life still happening somewhere on the Earth¨Cthe plane¨CI belonged to? Or had everything stopped? Was it all going on at the same time like Lou¡¯s painting? Ah, shit. Was I dead and my ghost was possessing my DS, like some Ben Drowned situation? Seriously, was I dead? My surgery was because of something I never talked about online. People would be dicks about it, because even on Tumblr, honorary home of the neurodivergent and disabled, people were such dicks. I¡¯d been sick for a long, long time, leading me to sequester myself in fandom spaces so I could still connect, create, and matter even if I couldn¡¯t reliably interact with the real world like a normal woman in her 20s. So¡­did the surgery not work? "Chlo¨¦? Sorry, didn''t mean to talk your ear off¡­" I thought of someone inheriting my DS and finding the game, hacked by the ghost of a loser otaku who was following around the villainess with heart eyes. "No, don''t worry. It made me get lost in thought. That''s the biggest compliment I can give you." He smiled, cheeks going pink under his freckles. Okay, okay. What good would it do me to think about these risky things, huh? Not like there was anything I could do¡­ I pivoted. ¡°Antoinette?¡± She didn¡¯t look up, focusing on adding depth to her field of grass. ¡°Hey, could you teach me how you did the grass like that? It¡¯s beautiful.¡± She glanced over at my grass, which was pretty much just a big blob of flat green. ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening to Colette?¡± No. I was having an existential crisis about my possible demise. ¡°I missed it? Actually, maybe you and Louis could compare techniques. Doesn¡¯t his look nice?¡± Antoinette sighed. She set down her paintbrush with an air of great exhaustion, looked past Louis, and glared right at me. ¡°Look, Chlo¨¦. I understand you have some sort of silly, nervous tic that makes you speak incessantly around me, but can you please try to control it for the rest of this class? I¡¯m trying to focus.¡± I froze. Maybe my nerves were a little delicate after the whole Ben Drowned thing, because my mouth went dry and I couldn¡¯t figure out what to say. Yeah, well¨Cyou¡¯re just a heap of pixels in a DS! A secondhand DS I covered in shitty Sanrio stickers to cover up the scuffs! In a game that didn¡¯t sell well!! After a long twenty minutes of awkward silence, the class finished. We all went around, complimenting each other¡¯s work. Even the ugly ones (sorry, just being honest) got lots of praise from Colette, and the combination of stress about showing my work and happiness about how nice the group was finally pushed aside my existential anxiety. All the compliments reminded me of how the LB fandom, especially when it first started, was so happy to get any content at all, so our small group would embrace any creators who fumbled their way in. Fic with miserable characterisation? Fic that was all one paragraph with no understanding of dialogue punctuation? Fic that reused every hackneyed trope in the book? All a part of our museum of fanwork, now. Enjoy your kudos! Colette admired everything from colour to technique to the errors¨Chappy little accidents, she said, with absolutely no idea who she was scripted to quote. At least, until she got to Lou. I guess she felt more comfortable chiding her brother than a bunch of well-meaning strangers, because she was quick to say, ¡°Were you even listening to my lesson?¡± ¡°You said I didn¡¯t have to copy you exactly,¡± Lou said. Unfortunately, pretty much everyone else, including me, had followed Colette¡¯s example as closely as possible. The flatness of everyone¡¯s work struck me. Did they not make any creative decisions because they weren¡¯t programmed with anything more complex than a basic skill level? Was that type of individuality too complex? I was scanning the group of students, feeling totally weird, as Colette said, ¡°You should have listened to me. This is completely unrecognizable from what I modeled. I mean, if everyone did something like this, I¡¯d have reason to doubt my teaching, huh?¡± Lou shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s for me, not you.¡± ¡°Not really. If you want to be a real artist, it has to be for your audience. And who is that for? It¡¯s too strange.¡± After a beat where it became clear Lou wasn¡¯t gonna defend himself, I noisily cleared my throat. ¡°I¨Cwell, I think it¡¯s neat.¡± That seemed to snap Colette out of it. She fixed her hairpin and said, ¡°Thank you for coming to class today, everyone. Please leave your paintings here so they can dry safely, and you can pick them up this week. Oooorrr, you can sign them and leave them as examples for the next classes!¡± I didn¡¯t really have any need for my art, so I decided to leave it. Antoinette''s friends were waiting for her as I tried to carefully sign my name, forcing my hand steady and wondering what Chlo¨¦¡¯s signature could be. Antoinette told her friends, ¡°Go on. I¡¯ll catch up.¡± It was only when my big, block-letter CHLO¨¦ was dry that I realised Antoinette was waiting for me. ¡°I¡¯ll put it in the drying rack,¡± she said tautly. I¡¯d thought her letting me into the carriage was an apology for being so rude to me, too. I¡¯m not about to be tricked again, Miss Villainess! ¡°That¡¯s okay. I¡¯ll take it myself.¡± Antoinette pivoted sharply on her heel. She went around, picking up paintings left behind, until it was only me, her, and the Chapelles in the classroom. Signature dealt with, I headed over to Antoinette. She glided behind the high shelf with all the paint bottles, handling the paintings. I watched her pick out Colette¡¯s example painting, hum a single, snide note at it, and then take out the whole stack of the students¡¯ paintings. And then dump a bottle full of red paint on them. I gasped. She whirled to me, very narrowly avoiding getting paint on her shirt. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± I whispered. I expected her to fire back with a, What does it look like? Instead, she blinked as if clearing the sun from her eyes and grimaced at the red paint now dripping off the canvases and onto her glossy black shoes. Antoinette said, ¡°The way she spoke to Louis, I couldn¡¯t¡­¡± Her floaty tone, the way she was looking at herself¡­it was like she had no idea what she¡¯d done or why. ¡°Um, Chlo¨¦, do you want to go grab coffee? There¡¯s a¨Cwhat happened?¡± Louis appeared behind me, eyes wide at the mess of paint. ¡°Accident,¡± I said quickly. Antoinette snapped back to her senses. She tossed the canvases aside, splaying her paint-covered hands and trying to step out of the mess. ¡°For god¡¯s sake,¡± she was whispering. ¡°For god¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°I mean, now they all match perfectly,¡± Lou said weakly. I noticed a smirk flicking at the corner of his mouth. Antoinette shouldered between us, much more roughly than I expected. She strode out of the classroom, leaving red footprints behind her and ignoring Colette calling after her. 11: DéJA VU I''d rather be doomed to Antoinette¡¯s fate of a dank, dark prison than go anywhere with Sylvain. See, even if Antoinette and Sylvain were friends, when it came to my goals, they were a match made in hell. That snob would make her act about a thousand times worse. Besides, his family started off Love Blooming disgraced and he barely picked up the pieces, even when you played his route the whole way through. I fully intended to just ignore him entirely. Unfortunately, Sylvain''s first private event was unavoidable because it was tied up in the potion project. We organised the meeting via a random run-in in the hallway. I spent the rest of the school day begging the other love interests to come with me. ¨¦tienne had his private German lessons (did Germany even exist in this world?), Lou had his Dungeons and Dragons game (did Wizards of the Coast exist?!), and R¨¦mi had a date with an NPC that he teased me about wanting to crash. Antoinette was my last hope. After changing out of my uniform, I found her braiding her hair at her vanity and washing off her makeup. "Hey, Antoinette?" "Hm?" "Do you have anything going on this evening?'' She gestured at her makeup remover, as if to say, What do you think, you unfashionable wench? "I have a meeting to mock up a budget for the potion project. You''d really help Sylvain and I out if you came." She scowled at me in the mirror. Better the scowl you know than the blank, dreamy, paint-splattered stare you don¡¯t, I guess. "You don''t think that would be cheating?¡± "You''re supposed to be giving us all feedback.¡± She wrinkled her nose. "I wanted to read tonight." "It won''t take that long¨C" "No." So off I went to Sylvain''s house. I did think about skipping it. But I wasn''t a coward. And I was here for Antoinette, and that meant I needed to take this project seriously. As much as I hated him, Sylvain was my best ally when it came to getting to the winner¡¯s podium at the celebration where the Delphines would be implicated in their crimes. He didn''t live in the dorms, but instead in the hamlet next to the Academy where students did their shopping. He was close enough to commute every day, and it wasn''t like he attended any clubs or sports that required him to be around after classes. (Or had any friends besides Antoinette.) Sylvain had money¨Che needed to, in order to attend that school. However, his house was a modest two-story with a neglected garden and kichtsy porch decorations that must have belonged to someone else. Yeah, he definitely had money. Even if I''d never let Sylvain get close enough to tell me the story himself, I knew from playing the game that a few years ago, Sylvain''s father suddenly came into a ton of money from an unknown source. He swore it was legit despite all the caustic suspicion swirling around him. No one believed it. Least of all the shadowy officials who framed him of financial fraud and tossed him in jail. At this point in the game, Marie¡¯s doorbell rings weren¡¯t answered. So in true protagonist fashion, she walked right into the house and found Sylvain¡­helping a bedridden woman, clearly knocking on death¡¯s door. It was Sylvain''s little sister, Am¨¦lie, whose sickness couldn''t be cured by all the ill-gotten fortunes in the world. Chlo¨¦ stood patiently on the porch and waited. And waited. And waited¡­ I looked up with a groan. Sorry, Marie, I should have given you more credit. I remembered that 1 and 2 would make you wait longer, giving you little clues about the house, until the only option left was to head inside. Marie entered the house like she was trying to sneak past a cabaret of masked killers. I practically kicked open the door and called, "SYLVAAAIN! IT''S CHLO¨¦! HELLOOO?" The art of Sylvain¡¯s house in Love Blooming was pretty, though stiff and stilted and too obviously meant to stand in for any generic living room¨Chere, that stiffness showed Sylvain¡¯s regimented personality. I was nervous to even knock a chair out of place. It was simple, unadorned, not in a minimalist style¡­instead in the style of someone who didn¡¯t know how to make a house feel like home. I stood in the dining room, listening for noise upstairs. Just as I was fearing that the game would force me to barge into Am¨¦lie¡¯s room to be free of this time-stands-still predicament, Sylvain came down the steps. His long, pin-straight black hair was in a low ponytail and he wasn¡¯t wearing his uniform; still, he wore a collared shirt and tightly-tailored slacks, the suspenders neat and tidy on his shoulders. At least he wasn¡¯t wearing shoes. I¡¯d take any indication I could that made him seem more relaxed. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Sorry. I was waiting on the steps for a while and didn¡¯t know if you heard me knock.¡± ¡°I heard you. You could stand to be more patient instead of barging into someone¡¯s house whenever you please.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice¡­¡± I turned for the door, not wanting to spend another second in unnecessary conversation with him. "Let''s work here," he said. "There''s no point walking all the way to the school and then all the way back." Crap. He had a point. Especially now that the game events had to pay attention to things like travel time and the revolution of the earth. I blushed, turning back around. "Don''t tell me you left your notes at school?" "Um¡­I did." I''m used to seeing this event in the library a 3 second loading screen away, okay?! Sylvain sighed. ¡°Fine. I have enough notes to make this work. I doubt yours would have helped anyways.¡± Harsh but fair. I spent this morning¡¯s advanced magi-botany class trying to beat R¨¦mi at hangman. R¨¦mi kept using more and more elaborate French swearwords that I still wasn¡¯t sure were actually real or not. From his imagination, or from the game writers, who seemed to use Google Translate most of the time? IDK. I sat at the dining table as Sylvain brought over a notebook, a textbook on plants, and a clipped-together, inch-thick stack of handwritten paper. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked. ¡°My own research on ingredient pricing,¡± he said. ¡°I asked Antoinette to provide some overview of their budget and sourcing. She refused. Understandably, I suppose; they¡¯re classified.¡± Thankfully, the session went by pretty smoothly at first. Sylvain said he didn¡¯t trust me to know a dicentra spectabilis from a leucadendron (and I sure didn¡¯t), so he put me in charge of writing out the wholesaler prices and multiplying them by how much we¡¯d need. ¡°Where did you even get these prices?¡± I asked. ¡°You didn¡¯t run around to stores or something, because it says they¡¯re out of date.¡± His voice was tight. ¡°It¡¯s the best we¡¯ve got, Chlo¨¦.¡± ¡°No, I mean, that¡¯s not an issue. I¡¯m just commenting on it. Does someone in Aconitum release this info after an NDA is up or what?¡± ¡°Can you please stop asking questions and write the cost for eryngium?¡± I mouthed, ¡°Okay, jeez louise,¡± and did as asked. Given that the prices were in some random currency and from a random, aesthetically-pleasing point in time, I wasn¡¯t even sure if the prices adhered to any economical rules. Maybe they didn¡¯t. I still hadn¡¯t figured out where the game developers¡¯ influence ended, now that their world had become real. Real to me, at least. I once again saw Antoinette¡¯s bizarre stare when she poured the paint, like she was being puppeteered by an all-powerful sour!Antoinette to punish people who were mean to Louis. But thinking about that too hard made my head hurt. So I dutifully kept writing in the charts. And then my blissful numbers were blown apart by Sylvain saying, ¡°You¡¯re trying to get Antoinette to make new friends.¡± I seriously just stared at him. This was his new bone to pick? ¡°Um, yeah? And?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve been pulling her around to all these little events with them.¡± He wasn¡¯t looking up, still flipping through the textbook. I sensed the serious edge to his voice. ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Think of this from my perspective for a second. I¡¯m brand new here, I hardly remember my own name, and guys like the literal prince are asking me out. Of course I want my girl friend to come with me. She knows this world better than I do.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure that¡¯s the only reason?¡± ¡°Obviously. What could my ulterior motive possibly be for bringing Antoinette to an art class?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about the art class, it¡¯s about Louis Chapelle.¡± He finally looked at me, gray eyes sharp as obsidian. ¡°And R¨¦mi Fontaine, and obviously, most of all, ¨¦tienne Alarie.¡± ¡°Yeah, those are sure their names, Sylvain Laflamme.¡± ¡°These are people with more than enough power to disenfranchise her if they please. They¡¯re petty, spoiled, high society brats. We both know Antoinette is abrasive. If you push her into a situation where she says the wrong thing to them, her whole reputation could collapse around her.¡± My retort of, ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± was quieted by the storm of deja vu going on in my head. Where did I hear this rant before? Sylvain wouldn¡¯t have had a reason to say anything like this in the game. In fact, I got the sense that Sylvain was trying to get himself out of Antoinette¡¯s clutches. Any efforts to disempower her would work in his favour. Sylvain said, ¡°You¡¯re a strange meddler, Chlo¨¦. I don¡¯t think you lost your memory at all. I think you¡¯re playing some game, and I intend to figure it out.¡± It zapped me like a static shock. This was Antoinette¡¯s dialogue! In ¨¦tienne¡¯s route, she gave Marie a lecture about ¨¦tienne¡¯s wobbly reputation and how Marie and all her fun route mini-events were wicked temptresses, about to blow up his life. What the hell? Marie fought off Antoinette by professing her pure affection for ¨¦tienne, catapulting the villainess into her man-snatching stage. I couldn¡¯t exactly do the same tactic here. If I was gonna get through this conversation, I had to think like Sylvain¡¯s writers. No. I had to do better. I had to think like a Sylvain fangirl. ¡°Sylvain, you might not really know this, because it¡¯s kinda the sort of thing only girls can sense about each other¡­but Antoinette is really lonely. Think of it like¡­um¡­if you were¡­always trapped in a room. Like, a bedroom. Let¡¯s pretend you¡¯re sick or something.¡± Like your sister, Sylvain, like your sister!! ¡°And you¡¯re always watching the world go on outside your window, but you can¡¯t join them, because you¡¯re stuck in your room. And the room is reputation and responsibility, actually. She¡¯s been having a fun time being free for once. Why act like I¡¯m a bad person for opening her door?¡± He squinted at me. I added, ¡°At least trust Antoinette. She can take care of herself.¡± He closed the book and took the notebook from right under my pen, saying, ¡°We have enough to work with next class. You should walk home before it gets too dark.¡± Gladly! I shrugged on my jacket and shuffled into my shoes. Sylvain fans hitched his every little flaw and scrap of sympathy onto his issues with his bedridden sister. Hopefully I got through to him. Even if that dialogue wasn''t his own. Even if he was giving me the creeps, trying to control Antoinette and her friendships like that. So despite my best efforts to tread lightly, at the door, I said, ¡°By the way? I asked her to come work with us tonight. Looks like the only guy she doesn¡¯t want to spend time with is you.¡± 12: étienne – HEADLINES ¡°R¨¦mi,¡± ¨¦tienne said, standing outside the other man''s dorm, ¡°we need to talk.¡± ¡°What about, princeling? I¡¯m too busy right now for anything less than a royal emergency.¡± R¨¦mi leaned casually in the doorway, bundled up in a sweater, his brown hair damp and flopping over his forehead; he must have showered after his volleyball game that afternoon. (Tennis, volleyball, or soccer? ¨¦tienne couldn''t keep track.) Behind him, his roommate teetered back in his desk chair to see who was at the door. The guy¡¯s eyes got as big as dinner plates and he immediately sat up straight and fixed his hair. ¨¦tienne learned a long time ago that his presence inspired¡­not exactly the truth out of people, but at least showed their priorities. The roommate wanted to look professional and tidy and adult. R¨¦mi wanted to be as unruffled as possible, apparently. ¨¦tienne took out the essay from his shoulder bag. ¡°About this.¡± ¡°Oh, look. St-Guillaume finally decided to correct how you always misspell ¡®recognisable.¡¯¡± ¡°R¨¦mi, could you please¡­?¡± ¡°Fine.¡± R¨¦mi stepped aside and waved ¨¦tienne into the room. Almost immediately, the roommate started packing up his stuff. ¨¦tienne said, ¡°This won¡¯t take long. You can keep working.¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s okay, I should be at the library anyways, you know, need to research.¡± The roommate packed up an armload of things and darted out the door like a spooked animal. Not before bowing at ¨¦tienne and losing a couple pencils on the way, though. When the door shut, R¨¦mi whistled. ¡°Aren¡¯t you intimidating, huh?¡± He didn¡¯t mean to be. Sure, he liked privacy and this wasn¡¯t really a conversation he wanted to have overheard, but why wasn¡¯t he able to ask for privacy like a normal person? Maybe even beg for it? Well, R¨¦mi made him work for everything, up to and including entering a room with him in it. Small victories. R¨¦mi even made it hard to open a conversation. ¨¦tienne found himself stalling. A cursory glance at R¨¦mi¡¯s desk saved him: ¡°Are you reading Lure the Midnight Hour again?¡± The novel¨Ctome, really, a whole six hundred pages of meandering descriptions of class warfare and the economy and dry romance¨Cwas propped up next to a notebook. A few scrappy paper bookmarks stuck out of the pages. They¡¯d read that in freshman lit. R¨¦mi made his introduction to ¨¦tienne by rebutting every answer he gave in class, even when it made absolutely no sense to do so. R¨¦mi must have been reading for a while: beside the book was a cup of coffee that had stopped steaming, dried on the rim. R¨¦mi shrugged, taking a seat on the edge of his desk. ¡°Freshman¡¯s paying me to read it, so does that actually count? I¡¯m getting paid for her term essay on it, too.¡± ¡°You¡¯re helping someone cheat for money? You¡¯re an heir.¡± ¡°Yeah? Mum¡¯s got a tight chokehold on my finances ever since I¡­you know.¡± He waved his hand dismissively. No, ¨¦tienne did not know. He couldn¡¯t imagine all the trouble R¨¦mi got up to. ¡°What, gonna snitch on me?¡± ¡°No.¡± He schooled his expression into something mild. ¡°You can do whatever you like.¡± So ¨¦tienne wasn¡¯t the only one whose parents monitored his spending. Sometimes it made him feel like a child, but that was just how it worked when your money was connected by a capillary vein to the whole country¡¯s expenses. And when you were still building up the same trust and goodwill you¡¯d been working on for a decade. ¡°I want to take Chlo¨¦ and Antoinette out next week, and I can¡¯t let either of them pay. Chlo¨¦ can¡¯t tell apart a button from a nickel, and Antoinette¡¯s always looking for a reason to feel disrespected.¡± R¨¦mi arched his arms high above his head, stretching out his neck, his sweater lifting to reveal a scant inch of suntanned stomach. He''s taking out Chlo¨¦? Where are they going? I never noticed they''d gotten that close¡­ ¡°Stop looking at me like that. I¡¯m really good at this ghostwriting thing. I¡¯ll use a typewriter and even throw in a few misspellings. I''ll take examples from the best.¡± He gestured at the essay in ¨¦tienne¡¯s hand. ¡°Yes, about this. I knew it was you immediately.¡± ¡°Aw, you weren¡¯t even happy for a second when you saw all that red?¡± Alright, admittedly, he was. The professor tossed the essays on the front desks and let the students find their own. ¨¦tienne¡¯s dull interest flipped into a shot of alarm when he saw all the markings on the front page. And all the students before him had seen it too! He got to his desk and thumbed through it. Marked with delightful little red corrections were misspellings he didn¡¯t know were misspellings (and a few he planted on purpose), misplaced commas, logical errors, even an incorrect source attribution. On the front page was a shiny scarlet C. And then he noticed the liquid corrector beneath the C. He scratched it off to find an A, in a blue pen instead. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¨¦tienne knew how R¨¦mi wrote his g¡¯s and y¡¯s, with hard slashes for the tails, and capital A¡¯s that slanted. That struck him as a very weird thing to know. ¨¦tienne asked now, ¡°How did you do it?¡± ¡°Snuck into his office. Hey, if you ever want to misbehave again, turns out Chlo¨¦¡¯s game.¡± ¡°Chlo¨¦?¡± ¡°Do you think I''m a bad influence?¡± ¡°No, it''s¡­it''s up to her.¡± ¡°Anyways, the marks were already typed up in St-Guillaume¡¯s reports, so I didn¡¯t actually change anything. And look, I¡¯ll go over it with you.¡± R¨¦mi took the essay and patted the spot beside him on the desk. ¡°I didn¡¯t mark a single thing that wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve been marked if you weren¡¯t His Highness.¡± ¨¦tienne was angry and didn¡¯t even know why. So all the more reason to not express it. Instead, he said evenly, ¡°R¨¦mi, I promise, I wish professors would be harder on me. I worry about it with our project. I don¡¯t want us to win the competition because of me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s anonymous, right?¡± ¡°Yes, but what¡¯s to stop M. Dupont from hinting at who¡¯s in our group to M. Delphine? Maybe I should back out and take the class next semester instead.¡± R¨¦mi¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°No way, man. Come on. You¡¯re not gonna throw yourself on the sword because everyone else is treating you so stupidly.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t stop them. It¡¯s so frustrating.¡± ¡°Why the hell is it frustrating? You get the benefit of the doubt everywhere you go. Even in a school full of kids who get the world handed to them on a silver platter, you¡¯re practically in control of the whole feast.¡± ¨¦tienne felt emotion rising up in him. He took a breath. With anyone else, he would know for certain that he needed to stop here, to shut up, but R¨¦mi¡­R¨¦mi treated him like absolutely anyone else. R¨¦mi never changed when he entered a room. ¡°I suppose it looks like that to everyone else, I understand that. But I feel as if I¡¯m treated like a child no matter where I am. Here at school, everyone is so permissive and complimentary, as if I can¡¯t handle a little challenge. And then at home, I¡­¡± R¨¦mi¡¯s eyebrows dented together. He spoke whole sonnets with those damn eyebrows. ¡°What¡¯s up, ¨¦tienne?¡± The teasing angle had left his voice. ¡°At home, I suppose I¡¯m more like¡­¡± He smiled self-consciously. ¡°I¡¯m a child who can¡¯t do anything right. Is that essay any good? I don¡¯t know. My tutor would say it¡¯s awful and I need to redo it a thousand times until it¡¯s fit to be read from a podium and heard by the whole kingdom. My teachers say it¡¯s the best thing they¡¯ve ever read.¡± ¡°And I say it¡¯s not too bad. You have smart ideas, even if the execution kinda stumbles around.¡± R¨¦mi shrugged, snapping the essay in the air. ¡°You¡¯re flat. It¡¯s like you¡¯ve never got an actual stance on anything. I want to hear you get excited about something.¡± ¡°...Yes. I suppose I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m actually trying to say.¡± ¡°It makes it hard for your friends to know who you are too, y¡¯know.¡± ¡°Friends?¡± ¡°Yeah, stupid. I want to know what makes you happy or what pisses you off. Like, when you figured out it was me who messed with your paper, did it make you angry?¡± ¡°Not exactly,¡± he said carefully. R¨¦mi hopped off the desk. He lifted the essay and ripped it in two, then four, and let the pieces flutter to the ground, where they swished around the nearby bed. ¡°Did that piss you off?¡± ¡°R¨¦mi, what are you doing?¡± R¨¦mi pushed him, not hard, just enough for surprised adrenaline to leap up into his veins. ¡°Did that?¡± ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough, I understand your point.¡± ¨¦tienne stepped back for the door. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t going to get anywhere with R¨¦mi. Why did he say all of that? Perhaps if he was lucky, INSIDER REPORTS ALARIE PRINCE FEELS BULLIED FROM BOTH SIDES: ¡°IT¡¯S LIKE I¡¯M A CHILD¡± would be top of next week¡¯s tabloids. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡± R¨¦mi grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around. ¨¦tienne flinched before his brain really knew what was happening, but it was obvious a second later: R¨¦mi had thrown his cup of lukewarm coffee at him. His white shirt was soaked. For a second he simply stood there, shocked, feeling coffee trickle down his chest. R¨¦mi gave him an utterly infuriating shrug that said, ¡°And?¡± Oh, it¡¯s just R¨¦mi, was all that flashed through the prince¡¯s mind before he gave R¨¦mi a shove. Unfortunately, he didn¡¯t spend a lot of time shoving people, so he misjudged how much force was too much, and one of the men¨Cor both, perhaps, it was all very confusing¨Cslipped on the shredded pieces of paper on the hardwood. Next thing he knew, ¨¦tienne had toppled half-atop R¨¦mi, both of them crashing onto the bed. R¨¦mi grabbed his upper arms, stilling them. ¨¦tienne was inches away from R¨¦mi¡¯s face. He tried in a panic to take stock of every body part to be sure no elbows or knees were digging into compromising spots. Instead, his brain told him, R¨¦mi¡¯s eyes are very green, aren¡¯t they? ¡°Sorry,¡± ¨¦tienne said quickly. He tried to sit up, but R¨¦mi was holding on tight. ¡°I didn¡¯t¨C¡± R¨¦mi laughed. A big, bright laugh that made ¨¦tienne feel silly doing anything except weakly chuckling in return. ¡°What''s Eavredor gonna do with a hothead like you on the throne, huh?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not. I didn¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°I know, chill. I¡¯m teasing.¡± R¨¦mi was grinning up at him, those green eyes with their flecks of brown crinkling crookedly. Everything smelled overwhelmingly like R¨¦mi¡¯s bizarrely strong coffee, which ¨¦tienne thought was a shame, though he didn¡¯t really know why. R¨¦mi said, ¡°You¡¯re good, man, you¡¯re good.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t tell anyone.¡± ¡°Who the hell would I tell?¡± R¨¦mi let his arms go. ¡°I just saw a bit of the real you. I''m not giving that away for anything.¡± The real you. When did that become buried? ¨¦tienne always wanted to be the personable prince. He tried so hard to be that, donating to charities, talking to the locals, engaging with the theatre and dressage, even pressuring his parents (begging them) to let him go to La Belle Lavande so he could make friends who knew him as simply ¨¦tienne. Did he lose that at some point along the way? Or was it impossible for people to not see him as the isolated, buttoned-up prince, first and foremost? R¨¦mi patted his side. ¡°Are you gonna get off of me or what?¡± ¡°Sorry, sorry.¡± ¨¦tienne sat up. He picked at the soaking, coffee-stained shirt, but all he could feel was R¨¦mi¡¯s hand on his ribs. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m sorry too.¡± R¨¦mi propped himself up on his elbows. ¡°I¡¯ll lend you a shirt. No one needs to see the prince with coffee all over him.¡± ¨¦tienne got to his feet. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror. All that had changed was his hair was tousled out of place and there was a touch of a blush in his cheeks and the shirt was sticky and stained, but it was like looking at a totally different person. ¡°No. I¡¯m alright,¡± he said, picking up his shoulder bag. ¡°I think I¡¯ll make it back to my dorm like this. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow, R¨¦mi.¡± 13: THE PRINCE & HIS PAUPERS Marie greeted me the next morning by making me ask ¨¦tienne to tutor me in potion-making. Unfortunately for Love Blooming, it couldn¡¯t stop me, Hanna Drowned, from asking Antoinette if she wanted to join in, and it also couldn¡¯t stop her from accepting. When we arrived, we found ¨¦tienne riding a snow-white horse around a course, the obstacles and fences and the overhanging leaves polished to a shine. I¡¯d stepped right into a sparkling, highly-saturated cutscene. I lifted my hand to wave; Antoinette pulled it down. She hissed, ¡°Let¡¯s see what the prince is like when he thinks no one is watching.¡± I still wasn¡¯t totally sure that he existed when I wasn¡¯t watching. We stood near the bleachers in our sundresses, me trying to protect my head of thick black hair in the shade of Antoinette¡¯s parasol. All I knew about horses was that what I was watching was beautiful. Even at nothing faster than a trot, ¨¦tienne¡¯s horse¡¯s mane and tail streamed like silvery ribbons on every tight turn; her shiny hooves picked up high with every confident step. Beams were propped on wood stands shaped like colonnades and ¨¦tienne¡¯s horse flew over them with ease. Antoinette¡¯s blue eyes were focused on him like she was an archer and he was a moving target. My inner self rubbed her hands together with evil glee. I asked, feigning ignorance, ¡°Do you ride?¡± It took her a second. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Do you ride? It looks like you¡¯re watching his technique.¡± ¡°I used to.¡± Like singing. Did she give it up when her mother died? Or maybe her sickness made riding too hard on her? I didn¡¯t have a lot of catalysts in her life to pick from, and after all, I was still in a video game. All the characters¡¯ pasts could be flattened into one or two important events and a handful of charming anecdotes. ¨¦tienne soared around the course once more, then slowed his horse to a walk. He stood up in the stirrups to scratch between her big ears. He was cooing to her, so quietly that I could only hear the gentle rhythm of his voice and not the words. Right as he leapt from the saddle, two servants darted out of the shadows. It was so sudden that I thought they had serious news for him¨Cuntil one held out a hand for the reins and the other gestured ¨¦tienne to the gate. ¡°No worries, gentlemen. I¡¯ll turn her in.¡± ¨¦tienne held the reins tightly, his horse nudging his shoulder with her nose. ¡°His Majesty insists, Your Highness.¡± ¡°She¡¯ll think all I want her for is working.¡± His tone was jovial, patient. He rubbed the horse¡¯s neck, turning her towards the gate, and she bumped into his back as the groom (that¡¯s what they were called, right?) cut ¨¦tienne off. ¨¦tienne said, ¡°Let me untack and groom her at least.¡± ¡°We must insist on taking over such unseemly matters, Your Highness.¡± ¨¦tienne opened his mouth. And no words came out. Disappointment dragged down his expression. Finally, he handed off the reins¨Cbut not before giving his horse a scratch on the neck and telling her, ¡°Good work today, Madeleine. Careful with her, please. She isn¡¯t so confident with strangers. I¡¯d really rather if I¡­¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Thank you.¡± I whispered, ¡°Are servants even allowed to talk to the prince like that?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t imagine so. Mine know that when I insist on doing something myself, to not allow me is tantamount to disobeying.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°I suppose the king is as paranoid about the prince stepping in dung as the prince partying with strangers.¡± Be for real! Was there a more princely sport than horseback riding? ¨¦tienne had looked like he¡¯d sailed right out of a fairy tale. When ¨¦tienne ran into us on the path to the palace, I learned one more way that game logic controlled the world: ¨¦tienne sure did not stink like a barn. He smelled like lilac and earth and boy, but not real-life gym-sweat-and-mom¡¯s-laundry-detergent boy. Just¡­boy without ties to the world I knew. ¨¦tienne smiled at us both. He smiled extra-brightly at me, sky-blue eyes crinkling. First Lou, now him; knowing I cheered them up just by existing made my stomach flutter. ¡°Good afternoon, ladies. I¡¯m sorry, I was practicing my riding, so I¡¯ll have to change.¡± ¡°No matter. Put us where we can work,¡± Antoinette said. The way she slotted herself between ¨¦tienne and me, I was pretty sure she¡¯d caught a whiff of boy too, and it fascinated her a heck of a lot more than it fascinated me. Oh, ¨¦tienne. Turns out you''re not only the safe option for newbie players, but for the villainess, too! ~*~ As soon as we were inside, I began to enact my plan. I asked for the powder room, pointing out how I¡¯d gotten dirt on my ankles (and purposely smeared some on my cheek) from being so close to the arena. ¨¦tienne had a servant escort me through the labyrinthine halls. I¡¯d only spent a couple days here before moving into La Belle Lavande, after all, and I¡¯d barely explored a fraction of the place. I took a second to be stunned all over again by the bathroom. The game had given us the dignified gift of indoor plumbing, so this guest bathroom had a glass-walled shower that took up half the room and the taps on the marble sink(s!!) were plated with gold. I sniffed the soaps¨Clemon soap shaped like tulips, coconut soap shaped like a sand dollar, eucalyptus soap shaped like a bundle of leaves¡­what was this, a Lush? I emptied my purse on the white countertop. I¡¯d bought a pipe and tobacco in the hamlet when walking back from Sylvain¡¯s place, so I lit it up and wafted the smoke into my hair while scrubbing away the dirt. I soaked and blotted the hem of my sundress, so I¡¯d look like I put real effort into this lie. When ¨¦tienne was fifteen, a report circulated in the tabloids, exposing him as a rabble rouser. Drinking! Smoking underage! At the horse races! With friends from his boys'' private school, unvetted by his guardians! Ever since, no matter how much philanthropy the poor guy does or how bland he acts in public addresses, the papers remind the people of Eavredor that he could revert to his dastardly ways at any point. Needless to say, ¨¦tienne wouldn''t find much reason to love a girl who reminded him of the biggest¨Cand only¨Cstain on his reputation. The mature, reserved woman at her side? She¡¯d look irresistible in comparison. So I was satisfied by the tiny wrinkle in ¨¦tienne''s nose when he greeted me in the library. I fluffed my black hair to waft around the tobacco smell. "Ready to start the lesson?" ¨¦tienne cleared his throat and walked me to a cherrywood table where Antoinette was sitting. She was flipping through what looked like novels. The love interests¡¯ notes were spread around, as were some textbooks on potion-making, some classroom vials of stable potion base, bundled herbs, a sauce tureen-sized cauldron, and an alembic. ¨¦tienne explained, "We''ll practice with some beginner¡¯s potions to help you get the feel for it, and then¨C" Antoinette grimaced. "Is that you, Chlo¨¦, or are they burning up the gardens?" Yikes. I could smell myself¡­ "Is it that bad? Sorry, I tried to keep it secret¡­¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! "Oh, please. You don''t smoke. I live ten feet away from you. I would know." Faced with her, I felt like I had to scramble for some explanation. ¡°It¡¯s a, um, recent thing? Yesterday I was in town and I ran into some guys who were smoking, and they insisted I try, so I did, and they lent me the pipe for the weekend,¡± WHO DOES THAT? ¡°and I thought, well, it¡¯s classy and here I am in the palace, so¡­you know¡­¡± Shut up! Shut up!! Antoinette gave me that panty-dropping arched eyebrow. "How stupid are you? Can''t you stand your ground?" Holy crap! My face burned like a wildfire. I felt more put on the spot than when I got my first call-out post on tumblr, calling me everything from a misogynist to an abuse apologist. Antoinette continued, "Thanks to Louis and his sisters, I bet everyone at La Belle Lavande knows you''ve lost your memory. Boys will want to mold you into whatever they want." My heart was pounding, just the way an otome game protagonist¡¯s heart should. She was being way mean while doing it, but¡­ She was defending me! "I¡­you''re right. I''m sorry, it was stupid." "At least you learned something." I tumbled into my chair at the table, feeling all squirmy. Antoinette turned back to her books¨Cnot without hitting me with an eyeroll, though. ¨¦tienne said, "...Well, okay. Let''s get started." R¨¦mi may have teased ¨¦tienne about school, but he was a pretty good teacher. He lacked some confidence and was kinda prone to misspelling things, that was all. I could tell he was taking his chance to keep pretty close to me. It wasn¡¯t in R¨¦mi¡¯s casually comfortable way or Lou¡¯s quiet lingering way¨CI felt observed, but not in a bad way, more like I was sitting for a painting and he was the artist. Still, fortunately, every time I was confident enough to do something alone for more than ten seconds, Antoinette snatched his attention and asked him about some book in his collection. As I made a simple, chrysanthemum-infused, insomnia-aiding tonic to test out my skills with simmering and measuring, I realised why I¡¯d been so embarrassed by Antoinette calling me out. When I was making my plan for today, all I thought about was how ¨¦tienne didn''t like when Marie was harsh or rash. He was programmed to skew towards sugar!Marie. Sour!Marie was a total non-starter. Spice!Marie was the best at pushing him forwards on his character arc, in my opinion, and even she had to step carefully. However¡­at this table, sitting beside him as he helped me cool my magic and cut up stems perfectly¡­I felt stupid. He wasn¡¯t only a program with binary choices: he was sorta my friend. I¡¯d found out pretty fast that I wasn¡¯t able to treat these characters like puppets when I was face-to-face with them. And Antoinette had made me feel¡­she made the scenario feel too real. She made Chlo¨¦ and her dumb decisions feel too real. An hour in, ¨¦tienne was summoned. Apparently his mother wanted to talk to him. I had a feeling she either didn''t care or had absolutely no idea that her son was busy. In the game, Marie took this chance to slink around. She overheard a conversation between the queen and the prince where she was really hard on him for a speech he and his tutor had prepared. The queen dismissed Marie as a useless, distracting pet project. Yeah, I wasn''t gonna open that can of worms. Antoinette said out of nowhere, ¡°Why on earth did you fake that you were a smoker?¡± I plastered on my best innocent face, freezing on my way to pick up my mixing spoon. ¡°Fake?¡± ¡°Are you trying to make ¨¦tienne dislike you?¡± ¡°I¨Cuh, well¨C¡± ¡°Is he bothering you?¡± ¡°No! No. Not at all. I promise. I just¡­¡± Think, think, think! The answer was a little closer to my tongue than I expected. ¡°It¡¯s scary, you know, being liked so much by him? Not because I don¡¯t trust him! I mean, he¡¯s the prince and I¡¯m a nobody. Good things don¡¯t happen to girls like me who are liked too much by guys like him. People get¡­jealous.¡± ¡°Afraid of wicked stepsisters?¡± She said it through a rough sigh, flicking her red hair off her shoulder. ¡°All those girls are harmless. The kind of girl that should scare you in a love triangle is me. I¨C¡± A servant entered the room holding an envelope¨Cthen paused, presumably noticing the distinct lack of ¨¦tienne. Antoinette made the same guess. "The prince is with the queen. What do you want?" ¡°I have a delivery for His Highness.¡± ¡°And will you stand there waiting? Leave it here. He¡¯ll be back.¡± The servant said, not looking at Antoinette, seemingly more out of duty than rudeness, ¡°It is meant to be handed directly to His Highness.¡± ¡°Please. Do you really think ¨¦tienne, of all people in this palace, would rather you wait around and neglect your duties, possibly getting in trouble with your superior, instead of giving us the delivery?¡± After a momentary hesitation, the servant placed her delivery on the table: a few folded pieces of parchment with the seal of the kingdom¡¯s guard. My chest tightened as I gave my violet potion a few cursory mixes. ¡°Thank you. Now back to work.¡± Antoinette waved the servant away. She dutifully bowed, turned on a heel, and vanished. As soon as the library door closed, Antoinette picked up the parchment and unfolded it. ¡°Hey, should you be reading that?¡± ¡°My father received the same letter. It¡¯s about that Gagnon arson case.¡± Antoinette flattened out the creases. ¡°He said that I, as a woman, was too delicate to read it.¡± ¡°Oh, gross.¡± Antoinette scanned the paper. The game only let players read that letter via ¨¦tienne¡¯s recap of it, so despite myself, I wanted to see what those words really held. Would they give enough concrete detail about the missing Gagnon family that the characters in this version of the world, with more logic, detail, and freedom, would realise I was the lost daughter? I felt like all my thoughts were too big for my head all of a sudden. ¡°Can I read it?¡± I asked. Antoinette handed the parchment to me, over my mini cauldron. The letter detailed how, in the town of Altolia, a business family with great legacy wealth was targeted through robbery and arson. The entire family¨Chusband, wife, and daughter¨Cwas missing. Maybe the only thing stopping everyone from guessing my identity was because of the considerable distance between Eavredor¡¯s crown city and Altolia. Well, not my identity. Chlo¨¦¡¯s identity. Marie¡¯s identity. I was Hanna. Somewhere very far away, maybe on another ¡®layer¡¯ like in Lou¡¯s painting, I was still Hanna. Somewhere. ¡°Are you alright?¡± I was so frazzled that it took me a second to be flattered that she asked. ¡°It¡¯s so sad, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Greed brings out the worst in all of us.¡± I flipped to the descriptions of the missing people, and they were just as useless and vague as victim profiles in our world. At least there weren''t drawings that could pin the identity directly on¨C I blinked away the flashes to find the table and papers soaked¨Cfirst with the bright purple potion I¡¯d been tinkering with, then with sprouts that grew out of the spill and burst into flowers. Again?! Marie, seriously¨C Antoinette leapt to her feet with a small scream. Flowers popped open on her stomacher and skirt. I jumped away from the table too; I had to grasp the chair for balance. My heart was pounding. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to squeeze away the imagery and the booming narration. My lungs choked with smoke, refusing to heave in another gasp. All around me, I heard the creaking of the house under the assault of the flames. I trembled from the trapped feeling in my body that I knew was from Marie watching her whole life vanish¡­ Calm down, calm down!! Marie¡¯s terror was buried so deep in me that it really did feel like my own. I know! I played this game! Marie, it was just some faceless goons who did this. The writers didn¡¯t even care enough to make proper graphics for them. Stop! I¡¯d be a pretty crappy fic writer, though, if I let myself forget that her parents died during that fire. My heart had broken for her during tons of writing sessions and while playing the game over and over. Now, I knew what true heartbreak felt like. Anything to shut you up! Okay, sorry, that was mean. Let¡¯s be on the same team, Marie, okay? Just stop it¡­ 14: JUST CANT WIN Sitting on my bed, I was tapping through an episode of Love Blooming on my DS with one hand, and typing my Discord replies with the other. I¡¯d been through this part of the game thrice over by now¨Cplus I knew all the much better fan-imaginings via the fics¨Cso I only glanced over occasionally to make sure I hadn¡¯t bumped into a dialogue choice. To tab over once more to my tumblr dash, I flicked aside the cord linking my DS to my laptop. The less-than-legal recording software chugged along in the background. I narrowed my eyes at that blue 12 over the little envelope icon. I refreshed the page. 12. Another few dialogue tap-tap-taps. Refresh. Ah, 13! When shit really popped off in this drama-hungry fandom, it felt like I was in a high school cafeteria, hearing the bubbling whispers all around me, not sure what conversations were boiling or whose fault they were¡­but I had a pretty good guess that it was gonna be me who got someone¡¯s tray of greasy pizza and limp salad thrown on their shirt. Staci would totally lecture me if I made a cheeky text post about the state of my inbox. However. Oh, the temptation. Why bug me if they didn¡¯t want me to give them attention? Meanwhile, on my DS screen, I was running through another few routes I¡¯d bookmarked in my save files to find sprite designs that no one had uploaded to the fanwiki and gifs no one had posted to tumblr. There was almost definitely a better way to do this. I¡¯d never figured out how people tore out the assets from a game. Could you even do that with a physical game? Whatever, I liked re-experiencing the game anyways. Not like I had anything better to do. I was on bed rest. My dad occasionally stopped by after his work to drop off some snacks and see how I was recovering from my latest flare-up that landed me in the hospital, and I¡¯d gotten a series of way-too-nice classmates to email me their notes and pics of the lecture slides. One thing they couldn¡¯t help me with? The boredom. In flares like this, when I could do nothing besides wait impatiently for my body to get itself together, my life seemed to flatten like a smashed cardboard box. Everything I had around me, everything I¡¯d ever had, turned two-dimensional, unimportant, and it felt like that flatness would continue on forever into my future, too. And that, in a roundabout way, was why I¡¯d messaged Staci in the first place. She was pretty smart. School smart (she was in engineering), art smart (she wrote fics that were the most¡­well, they were just the most!), and people smart (she¡¯d told me I was kinda addicted to drama, especially when my life was in smashed-cardboard-mode). So what? I was bored! And she wasn¡¯t scolding me fast enough! I refreshed the webpage to a delightful, shimmery 14, and clicked the envelope. My cheeks were tingly and hot as I scrolled through the truly heinous, accusatory messages in my inbox, all sent by the same grey blob with the sunglasses. What a goofy design for what almost always ended up being anonymous hate. Stolen novel; please report. I picked up my DS as the tinny ringing noise filled the speakers, notifying me that Marie was having another memory. I knew this part of the route like the back of my hand. Still, against my better, pettier judgment, I knew Staci was right. I¡¯d listen to her. I wished I could be somewhere without consequences, but that place was not here or my cultivated tumblr environment. My DS was the closest thing to me in my apartment that wasn¡¯t an internet slapfight, so at least it¡¯d put my brain elsewhere. The screen wobbled out of the usual flowery, bright halls of Love Blooming¡¯s main plot and into Marie¡¯s memory. A dark manor background panned up, along with two finely-dressed figures with their faces mostly blacked out. Her parents, M. and Mme. Gagnon. The memory was of a nice little dinner between the family. The dynamic between them wasn¡¯t much to write home about, though their topic of conversation was glaring: where would Marie go to school? She¡¯d graduated from finishing school upon her mother¡¯s request. Now she wanted something more thrilling (and expensive). ¡°Oh, Mother, I want to go to a magic school. I¡¯ve had enough of folding napkins and arranging spoons and embroidering flowers. La Belle Lavande is only a day¡¯s ride away, and all the ladies speak highly of its culture!¡± Her mother said, ¡°Marie,¡± (I¡¯d picked the default name this time, to keep the gifsets from my footage as neutral as possible,) ¡°there¡¯s no sense in you learning all about magic when you aren¡¯t a magician.¡± ¡°What about all the other students? Sure, all the magicians in the region go to La Belle Lavande, but not all the students are magicians. There are hardly enough of those to fill a daycare, much less a university. Why can¡¯t I join anyways?¡± ¡°You need to go where you¡¯ll fit best. You don¡¯t have magic and have never shown any affinity for it. Why are you so interested in it now?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s only¡­I¡¯m getting older, and I want to meet¡­¡± Her dialogue trailed off with plenty of ellipses. ¡°Besides, even the Delphines sponsor La Belle Lavande! Doesn¡¯t that show their quality?¡± Her father added, ¡°Don¡¯t aspire to follow your idols around blindly.¡± ¡°But they¡¯re the Delphines!¡± Marie said. ¡°You might find that family leading somewhere you don¡¯t like.¡± Their conversation was cut short a few lines later as one of the very few harrowing scenes of Love Blooming began. The game got a Teen rating solely for the innuendo and the fade to blacks (as any respectable dating sim should), though this scene must have been the top of their violence budget. The house was infiltrated by a trio of masked intruders. They threatened the family, bagging valuables, refusing to answer questions about the suspiciously missing butlers and maids while the Gagnon family huddled against the wall. Marie¡¯s world was torn asunder when the fire began. A candelabra had been knocked over in the chaos¨Cyet the fire seemed to consume the house too fast, too fully. The masked intruders hustled the family up and separated them, the smoke too thick and searing for Marie to even see where she was being taken, much less where her family went. She was certain they were trying to kill her. I tapped through the narration and the sparse full-screen illustrations, watching Marie realize her dormant power as her entire world burned around her. Even though she never could have guessed it, in that moment, she was opening a door to let herself start life all over again. (What I wouldn¡¯t give for that sometimes!) When she woke up in the rubble, she found a token. On its edges were scraps of black fabric; the same fabric was under her nails and tangled in the overgrown thorns that now surrounded her. On the token was a sketchy symbol of poison ivy that would fire us into the next act, giving us plenty more clues as to what happened in the Gagnon manor. Did the clues really matter, though? Her assailants never got faces. They didn¡¯t even get names. I had a theory¨CStaci agreed¨Cthat there was supposed to be more plot, but it got left on the cutting room floor thanks to a lack of budget or lack of time. What was the rest of the story here supposed to be? I mean, what the heck? Wouldn¡¯t it have been cool and creepy if the assailants realized the daughter was still alive and had made it to La Belle Lavande? They would definitely guess that if she recovered her memories, it would be a death sentence for them and their poison ivy brigade. It¡¯d be a dang good reason to try to kill her. I sighed and stretched as the proper school setting faded back in. And then after muttering some comebacks under my breath, I finally deleted those dumb tumblr messages, sending Staci a screenshot of my empty inbox as evidence. I slapped shut my laptop, curled into my throne of pillows, and continued to play. 15: SAME PAGE The palace library sizzled and snapped back into view. Jesus H! I could consider myself lucky that I hadn¡¯t been shot into Marie¡¯s actual memory of the event. I didn¡¯t really feel like inheriting her pre-scripted PTSD, thank you very much. I blinked the room into focus. I was on the floor, amidst, of course, a tidal wave of flowers. And Antoinette? ¡°I¡¯m stuck,¡± she snapped. ¡°Chlo¨¦, for god¡¯s sake!¡± She yanked at her skirt. It was tied to the floor by a net of vines and lavender flowers. Even the bouquets on the nearby study tables had exploded out of their vases; water and shards of pottery dirtied the library floor. Somewhere in the mess of it all, ¨¦tienne had rushed into the room. Princely concern clear on his face, ¨¦tienne extended a hand to me, even though I waved him off. ¡°I¡¯m okay now.¡± Am I? I did a quick once-over. Head: on straight. Screws: no longer loose. Phew. ¡°Promise. You should help Antoinette.¡± The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me: it was only when I was comfortably back in Marie¡¯s body that I felt like everything was sorted out again. Thankfully, the flowers had stopped growing. Not before eating up Antoinette¡¯s skirt and half her bodice with their giant blooms, though, turning her into a bedraggled Persephone. ¨¦tienne was gentle with her as he helped untangle her locks of red hair from the stalks, plus he handed her a letter opener from a desk to help cut through the thicker vines and unsalvageable fabric. I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling my heart calm. Could I tolerate terrifying crap like this for the whole year, until the game revealed who burned down the estate and ¡°Marie¡± got all her memories back? Antoinette took ¨¦tienne¡¯s hands as he helped her out of the nest of flowers and onto the dirtied library floor. She grimaced at herself, dress still packed with blooms and hanging onto her by threads. Thank god for shifts, I guess. ¡°Thank you ever so much, Chlo¨¦. I was looking for an excuse to throw this dress out.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got to have something in the palace to lend her,¡± I told ¨¦tienne. Eyes brightening, he nodded. "Most definitely. We have plenty of dresses that were to be auctioned off to charity." Perfect! Antoinette wouldn''t want to keep a hand-me-down, even from the prince. With no choice, she''d take a dress, but insist on returning it later because she didn''t want charity. Then they''d be forced to interact alone¡­ "Fine," Antoinette snapped. "Whatever will get me out of this mess." Her skirt was so heavy with flowers that ¨¦tienne and I had to literally hoist it up as we went through the halls. He directed us to a room (on the next floor, agh!) that was stuffed floor to ceiling with racks of clothing. ¨¦tienne and I clumsily set down her skirt. We were both pretending not to pant; he caught my eye and smiled. "Take anything you want. These racks here were all donations from Duchess Mariette; I think they''ll be close to your size." He stepped outside and shut the door. Antoinette¡¯s cheeks were considerably less pink (I probably wasn''t, thanks to hauling that dress up the stairs) as she flicked through the racks. "I''m so sorry," I said. "My magic, it just¨C" "It was an accident. I was watching ¨¦tienne try to teach you all afternoon; you clearly couldn¡¯t do something like this on purpose." She brushed petals out of her hair. "Help me find a sundress or something. I''ll look ridiculous going home in a ballgown." Each item of clothing was more gorgeous than the last. Nothing looked like it¡¯d been worn more than once¨Cif they¡¯d been worn at all! Most intriguing were all the patterns and shapes obviously inspired by Japan, Ukraine, Egypt, and more. Were some of these dresses from concept art hidden in the game¡¯s files or in the limited-run art book that went around Japan a decade ago? (And was now being sold at disgustingly inflated prices on eBay? Come on, I thought this game was irrelevant.) Finally, I found a pretty jewel-blue sundress with an A-line ruffled skirt and modern halter straps. It wasn¡¯t so simple that Antoinette would feel fine trashing it instead of returning it (I hoped)¨Cthe bodice was dense with embroidery that hinted at a half-remembered design from Russia¨Cand not so fancy that she¡¯d feel weird heading home. ¡°How about this?¡± ¡°Blue isn¡¯t my colour.¡± ¡°What? But it matches your eyes.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t match my jewelry.¡± She showed me a big emerald ring on her finger that looked like it¡¯d crack your jaw if she slapped you. ¡°Oh, whatever. Not like I can embarrass myself more. Help me get this damned garden off.¡± I draped the dress on a nearby table. I made a move to untie the ribbon-threaded corset on the back, but she just handed me the letter opener from the library. ¡°What do I do with that?¡± ¡°Cut me out, obviously. It¡¯s destroyed anyways.¡± Argh, talk about otome game shenanigans¡­ With the help of a floor-length mirror, we figured out it¡¯d be fastest to just cut the dress in half at her stomach. She picked out half-dead roots and flowers as I cut bits of fabric, careful not to nick her or catch on her shift. ¡°What upset you, anyways?¡± I pretended to get stuck so I could think over my answer. ¡°That story of the missing family¡­I don¡¯t know. It really hit me.¡± ¡°I suppose it¡¯s almost like you have a missing family now,¡± she said as she pulled her mass of red hair over her ridiculously smooth shoulder and out of my way. ¡°My father has connections within the detective department. You should speak with them. I don¡¯t know how much they¡¯ll tolerate a magical bomb of a girl with absolutely no memories to help them, but it can¡¯t hurt to try.¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I tiptoed to the edge of this topic, looking down over the drop. If we talked about this, wouldn¡¯t it be glaringly obvious that I was the missing girl? On second thought, who cared if she knew? It wouldn¡¯t mess up my plan to save Antoinette. It actually might make it easier if I got the mystery of Chlo¨¦-Marie figured out early on, before I had to throw all my effort into things like the invention competition and getting her dates for the many school dances. But maybe it¡¯d choke up the plot and everything would be thrown way out of order. ¡°You strike me as bizarrely incurious about your old life,¡± Antoinette continued. ¡°Though I suppose you can¡¯t get a much better deal than your current one.¡± Current? I didn¡¯t want to get too close to the thought that maybe I really was Marie in this weird, upside-down way. My old life, my family, were gone. ¡°One doesn¡¯t lose their memories for no reason, after all.¡± My life wasn¡¯t big or complicated or successful, but it was still mine. I had friends who I laughed with and created with. I was getting super good at writing and maybe one day, I could publish a real book and finally let my family see the craft I was working so hard on for so many years (and then I¡¯d keep writing and keep improving, and get really embarrassed that they¡¯d read it at all). I had classes to finish, a stage to walk for my degree. I had a future, even though it was a blurry, confusing mess most of the time, and getting blurrier with every day I spent in Love Blooming. Ugh, damn it. I was so lost in my gloomy thoughts that I wasn¡¯t even enjoying helping Antoinette take off her dress! ¡°Done,¡± I said. At her sharp gesture, I took the cue to lift up her flower-filled skirt and the two of us heaved it over her head. For a second, I spotted a glimpse of her in the shadowy, flower-scented mass of fabric, and it felt bizarrely intimate. Her annoyed huff skimmed past my cheek. It was like I could sense the shape of her in the way the air bent against my skin. Then after another rustle of fabric, she was gone, and that weird second was over. Antoinette kicked the dress away. She stepped out of her shoes with a shudder¨Cthey were tattered and torn and bristling with leaves. ¡°You can probably find a use for those flowers. Unless your magic screwed up the potion components.¡± As she dressed, I got to work tugging out the flowers¨Cthe ones that weren¡¯t big as Halloween pumpkins, that is. ¡°Why did you offer me help?¡± ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Antoinette, uh¡­you¡¯re not very nice.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not nice?¡± Did she sound genuinely surprised? Girl, you¡¯re the villainess, and it¡¯s a lot less cute when you¡¯re real. She asked, ¡°What would you call that offer, if not nice?¡± ¡°...Considerate, I guess. They¡¯re different things.¡± ¡°I¡¯m as nice as I have to be. It certainly hasn¡¯t scared you away.¡± That¡¯s because I know you can be someone else underneath all the prickliness. ¡°I¡¯m more surprised that you didn¡¯t chase me off, actually. You made it pretty clear that you didn¡¯t trust me.¡± She snorted, adjusting her big emerald ring and opening boxes to find new shoes. ¡°If you were sent as a scheme to get close to me and siphon information, you were an awful choice. For one, I¡¯m not exactly known for my charity friendships. And for another, there¡¯s so much information about me in gossip rags that anyone could manipulate to get close to me. Yet you don¡¯t seem to know me at all.¡± E-...excuse me? Me? Hanna? Not know Antoinette Delphine? I didn¡¯t win the Love Blooming fic-athon just to be told that by Antoinette herself!!! She added, ¡°You didn¡¯t know my mother was dead. You invite me to trivia nights with total nobodies, and you stare at me and the prince like you expect us to break into song together. You¡¯re too bizarre to be a threat. But I¡¯m curious about you.¡± Sliding into her new shoes, Antoinette spun her skirt in front of the floor-length mirror. ¡°Because no one else would ever dare tell me I¡¯m not nice to my face.¡± ~*~ Because of my flowery fiasco, we ended up finishing the lesson around sunset. ¨¦tienne offered to let us sleep over at the palace¨Cit was the weekend tomorrow and he had appointments here, so he wasn¡¯t going back to La Belle Lavande. I excitedly agreed for both Antoinette and me. While we were being led to the guest wing after a wonderful dinner (without the king and queen, notably), Antoinette whispered, smirking, ¡°Are you hoping ¨¦tienne will throw pebbles at my window tonight?¡± The servant brought us up one last flight of stairs to a triangular landing. As he pointed out which door belonged to each of us, I recognised him. He was one of the grooms who took ¨¦tienne¡¯s horse. He was a nondescript 40-something-year old man. Gaunt and lined in the very precise way that shojo art tends to make faces look older. I didn¡¯t know much, but I was pretty sure being a groom and being a butler or whatever were two different job titles. Game was probably running out of graphics. Antoinette noted this, too. ¡°You''re one of the stable grooms, are you not?¡± ¡°I am, Mademoiselle Delphine.¡± ¡°I saw you earlier, after the prince was riding. He gave you instructions and you disobeyed them.¡± Oh no. ¡°I need not remind you that his animals and their safety matter deeply to him, and yet you insisted. On what else do you ignore his wishes?¡± The servant didn¡¯t react; I bet most of their training was about learning how to not grimace. ¡°I was following instructions from His Majesty.¡± ¡°Ugh. Servants always find excuses.¡± I had a feeling it was more about servants finding ways to not get fired. I pinched Antoinette''s sleeve and tugged. ¡°Thank you for showing us to our rooms. Good night!¡± Maybe I pulled too hard: Antoinette stumbled a little in her donated shoes, leading the butler/groom to catch her arm and set her right. She swished past me to the furthest door, let the butler open it for her, and then flicked her hand to dismiss him. I dramatically opened my own door. ¡°Guess I gotta do everything myself around here,¡± I joked weakly. ¡°Well, see you t¨C¡± As she tucked back a lock of red hair, I noticed something on her hand. Or the lack of something. ¡°Your ring,¡± I said. ¡°The green one. Did you forget it in the wardrobe room?¡± Antoinette examined her hand as if she hadn¡¯t realised. She blinked slowly, a little bit of that faraway look creeping back into her gaze, just like in the art studio. I was instantly on high alert. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure that servant will find it for me soon.¡± ¡°What do you¡­¡± Shit. She must have slipped it in his pocket or something when she ¡®tripped.¡¯ I turned on a heel and made to go after the servant. Antoinette neatly stepped in front of me. ¡°Don¡¯t bother, Chlo¨¦.¡± ¡°He¡¯ll get fired!¡± ¡°He¡¯ll only get fired if we say anything. Otherwise, he¡¯ll simply get a scare.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t fair. You already told him what he did wrong.¡± ¡°You¡¯re so naive. People need consequences to learn.¡± I blinked at her, stunned. Consequences? Images raced through my mind¨Cthe CG of Antoinette furiously screaming as they arrested her, Antoinette all humbled and dirty in prison, Antoinette tossed aside in fic after fic, Antoinette in that goddamn creepy revenge comic. And then I thought of all the things Antoinette did to Marie in canon. I suddenly cared a lot less about the carefully blank look on her face. ¡°You were right, after all. Maybe I¡¯m not nice.¡± Antoinette turned away. ¡°Good night.¡± 16: Endurance Potion: GAME DAY Sometimes, the fact that I was following the beats of a video game made my weird life totally anxiety-inducing. Other times, I felt like I had some measure of control over the world that I otherwise wouldn''t have. For example: when R¨¦mi drank our endurance potion, I knew he wasn¡¯t about to be poisoned. Lou, Sylvain, ¨¦tienne, and I all sat on the volleyball court while R¨¦mi stood before us, surrounded by barbells. Lou was sketching (I¡¯d asked him if he wanted to draw up some product designs and logos for us, and he was so flattered that I thought he¡¯d keel over). Sylvain handled the stopwatch and the notes. Watching R¨¦mi in action was way more thrilling than being told about it in the game, mainly via silly sound effects and one CG art meant to get you eyeing his muscles. I cheered and clapped as he showed off how the potion let him lift a barbell twice his max weight, hardly breaking a sweat. Sylvain wrote his notes dutifully. Lou fist pumped. Lou told me, ¡°We were testing prototypes all weekend.¡± I giggled, bumping his shoulder to let him know he was in on the joke. ¡°Sylvain said you and R¨¦mi got super sick.¡± ¡°This one is totally safe, we promise!¡± ¡°I woulda rushed to school to help, but I had no idea at the time. If only someone didn¡¯t try being funny in his letter to the prince¡­¡± Antoinette, ¨¦tienne, and I ended up hanging out at the palace for the whole weekend. R¨¦mi had sent us a note, telling us to come help test potion prototypes, but if his retelling was to be believed, he¡¯d phrased the letter like he was inviting ¨¦tienne to come to a regency-era orgy. The staff threw it out and a very confused ¨¦tienne got another lecture. As much as I wanted to help the guys with the potions, I was happy to skip their brush with food poisoning. Besides, ¨¦tienne had been called home in the first place to help with the finishing touches on the charity auction preparations¡­and that included trying tons of hors d¡¯oeuvres and sweets to decide what the caterers should serve. Antoinette was discerning and picky, ¨¦tienne effusively complimented everything when the cooks were present (though we bullied him into admitting his true thoughts afterwards), and I was just happy to have so much free cake. ¡°Hey, princess!¡± R¨¦mi shouted, looking past the court. I turned. Speak of the devil; there was Antoinette, frowning at us from the gate. The autumn wind tossed her long pleated uniform skirt and toyed in the tail of her puffy red braid. She called, ¡°Didn¡¯t that silly potion land you in the infirmary, R¨¦mi? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re trying again.¡± ¡°We got it all perfected! Come on in and enjoy the show.¡± She rolled her eyes¡­and entered the court. She slid some dry leaves away with the edge of her shoe and sat between me and Louis, tucking her legs beneath her. I intended to pay extra attention to how all the guys reacted to her presence, but I got stuck on Sylvain. He was watching her very closely, seeming puzzled. He said, ¡°You were at the palace this weekend with Chlo¨¦?¡± ¡°And ¨¦tienne.¡± She checked her nails, brushing away the court dirt. Sylvain glowered at me. Okay, even though technically it was my fault, what was there to blame me for? Making her eat strawberry mousse and help price the charity dresses and meet ¨¦tienne¡¯s adorable pet horse?! So I said, being extra emphatic, ¡°We had sooooo much fun.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good to hear,¡± ¨¦tienne said, smiling in his rare way that was desperately pushing away a grin. ¡°I worried all my official nonsense would bore you two.¡± Antoinette scoffed. ¡°That was your official nonsense? God, I should marry into the royal family. It was much better than all of my work. I get stuck with endless paperwork and boring factory tours!¡± Louis asked, ¡°You¡¯re allowed to do paperwork?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good with numbers and writing up contracts.¡± Sylvain studied her, gray eyes keen as a cat¡¯s. ¡°You have actual say in Aconitum¡¯s processes, then.¡± ¡°Why are you surprised?¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here with you all, isn¡¯t it? So I can help you cheat for my father¡¯s favour?¡± ¡°Okay, quit flirting!¡± R¨¦mi snapped. ¡°I¡¯m trying to show you something.¡± We all dutifully turned our attention to R¨¦mi. He hoisted up another, heavier barbell high above his head. He could hold it for about ten seconds before sweat popped on his brow and he had to throw it down onto the court with a bang. ¡°Before the potion,¡± I told Antoinette, ¡°he couldn¡¯t get it higher than his knees.¡± Sylvain made a note in his book. ¡°Well, its capabilities on strength are obvious.¡± R¨¦mi brushed off his hands. ¡°Yeah, last time we tested it, I even got Lou to lift up one of his dorm beds! Which he''s clearly never done since it looked like something died under there.¡± ¡°Let''s see how well it works with other skills that are key to athletics. Endurance, speed, precision¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s the perfect spot to test them out,¡± Lou said, gesturing at the volleyball court. R¨¦mi grinned. ¡°Who wants to take a swig and play against me?¡± ¨¦tienne blurted, ¡°It can''t be me.¡± ¡°Yeah, those hands can''t look like they¡¯ve seen a day of labour in their life.¡± So R¨¦mi obviously pointed at me instead. ¡°Get up here, firecracker.¡± Maybe the game was influencing me. I stood up right away. This was real magic; I''d be stupid to turn it down! R¨¦mi asked, ¡°Want in, Delphine?¡± ¡°Should I really be toying with things like this, right before the Samhain Formal?¡± ¡°I never took you for a coward.¡± She scowled with the power of a thousand suns¡­and got to her feet. ¡°Ugh, fine.¡± She folded up the waist of her skirt so the hem was a fair bit off the ground. ¡°If this does anything unexpected to me, you''re all dead.¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. R¨¦mi made to hand me the potion, but Sylvain interjected loudly, ¡°Do a practice game first, so we can control for the potion¡¯s effects.¡± ¡°Argh, fuck off, that¡¯s boring.¡± R¨¦mi groaned. I laughed. ¡°I¡¯m bad at everything sporty. We don¡¯t need to test for that.¡± I bet I was a total disaster now that I was in Marie¡¯s body. It took me long enough to master walking without bonking my head on things or tripping on my uniform skirt. Flipping to a new notebook page, Sylvain muttered under his breath. Probably something about how us idiots were ruining his scientific method. R¨¦mi said that his sneakers versus my and Antoinette''s delicate Mary Jane-like uniform shoes wouldn''t be fair, so we all kicked off our shoes and socks and I stripped down to my button-up uniform shirt and rolled up my skirt like Antoinette¡¯s. R¨¦mi handed the potion to me first. ¡°Two capfuls for twenty, thirty minutes. Lou and I dealt with the brunt of the side effects. You''re good to go.¡± The way they kept reminding me of the food poisoning fiasco didn¡¯t actually make me feel more confident. Still, I knocked back one cap, then the other. ¡°Soapy,¡± I said with a wrinkled nose, passing on the potion to Antoinette. ¡°Yikes, man, we really have to work on the taste. Ew.¡± ¡°Any advice, Miss Delphine?¡± ¡°Maybe if you win the game,¡± she quipped, taking her own dose. ¡°Oh, ugh!¡± As Antoinette recovered, I noticed the new sensation that had washed over me: I could feel myself standing taller. My every move seemed light, effortless, and I felt sure in my stance. Antoinette didn¡¯t look any different. Did she feel like this all the time? R¨¦mi let Antoinette serve first. She balanced the volleyball in one hand, carefully measuring up the swing of her other wrist with it. Love Blooming never touched on her extracurriculars, sure, but from living with her, I could see she was a comfortably sedate girl, her hobbies leaning more towards words than working out. But when she hit the volleyball, it made a fantastic, perfect arc, sailing over the net towards R¨¦mi. He grinned up at it and gave it a little bump back with the inside of his forearms. This time it was heading for me, and without even thinking about it, I spiked it back and earned our first point as the ball crashed inside the white line. Energy charged through me. I felt the rush I''d get while sprinting, but with none of the exhaustion catching up to me. As Antoinette and I got a feel for our new abilities, we started to play way more aggressively, sprinting up and down the court and even calling to each other like the teams on TV. R¨¦mi tried to get the ball through us, crashing it down like a bullet, but one of us was always in his way. I was pretty sure we just invented doping. At a point, we had such an aggressive volley going on that Louis began counting our passes out loud. The potions seemed to be making us evenly matched with R¨¦mi, even if he''d started out from a much higher skill and endurance level than us. That gave a cool insight into how the potion worked¨C But honestly, I struggled to focus on that. Sometimes, I struggled to even focus on the game. Antoinette was as riled up as she was in the trivia night, her blue eyes sharp as chips of ice, her scowl permanent. The physical exertion put some pink in her cheeks and had her wrangle her wavy red hair into a braided bun that made her look incredible. Sweat shone on the nape of her long, white neck, and her uniform shirt was sticking a little to her back just above the bundled-up waist of her skirt. She wasn''t afraid of being rough and chaotic when she was in the midst of a competition, and more than once she did a crazy dive to save the ball from hitting the ground. (She even lent me a spare ribbon to tie up my hair in a ponytail, eeee!) Despite all that distraction, I managed to score another goal. It was a good one, too, a spike that lifted R¨¦mi¡¯s hair that had long fallen from its coif, and hit the ground between his feet with a satisfying thwack. It must have been really good because Lou whooped, ¨¦tienne clapped, and R¨¦mi ducked under the net to give me a tight, slightly-sweaty one-armed hug. To my shock, he kissed the top of my head. ¡°We just might need you on the team, now!¡± I had nowhere to brace my hand except against his warm chest. He held me close¨Conly for a second, really, but I let the moment stretch out like taffy in my senses. In my real life, I didn''t get hugs often, and he was clearly so comfortable with me that I realised what I''d been missing. Maybe being the automatically-lovable protagonist wasn''t so scary? I''d never felt lovable in all my life. Antoinette appeared then, holding the ball. Her mouth was tight. ¡°Our serve,¡± she said, and spun on a heel towards the back corner of the court. We all got back into position. I was feeling pretty good, adrenaline coursing through me, and now my heart was warm with R¨¦mi''s kindness, too. My palm stung with the power of that spike. R¨¦mi smirked at me like he knew I was gonna try it again and was ready for me. I was actually worth paying attention to, even in this little way, in this narrow situation. Antoinette served the ball to me. It was coming at a weird angle, so I wouldn''t be able to spike it; I bumped it with the insides of my arms instead, but my overconfidence got the best of me and the ball sailed backwards over my head. I swiveled to see how Antoinette handled my dumb move. Our eyes met. For a split second, her eyes tightened, the blue going a few degrees colder. And then she spiked the ball, hard¨C Right at my head. I didn¡¯t feel it hit me. I didn''t feel myself fall. How did everyone get here, crowding me? How did Sylvain start his concussion tests and Lou start supporting my head and R¨¦mi¨Cwhy was R¨¦mi shirtless?! ¡°Ow,¡± I mumbled. ¡°Again?¡± ¨¦tienne handed me a water bottle. I drank eagerly, my mouth dry as a desert. The water cleared up the rest of the fog and brought with it a pain zapping through my skull. R¨¦mi asked, ¡°You remember who you are this time, right?¡± ¡°Yep. Chlo¨¦ Something-or-Other¨C¡± ¨¦tienne corrected, the shake of nerves in his voice, ¡°Alarie; we named you that as long as you''re under the protection of the king, remember?¡± ¡°Yeah, I was kidding, don''t worry.¡± I named them all in a circle, ending with Antoinette, who was seated a bit behind Sylvain. She¡¯d locked eyes with me right before hitting me with the ball. Did she mean to do it? Or was the eye contact accidental, and it was like when you look the wrong way riding a bike, and your body pulls that direction? I knew the answer, even if I hated it. She did it for a similar reason as to why she dumped the paint and put her ring in the servant¡¯s pocket. R¨¦mi had kissed me and it threatened her. I hadn¡¯t thought much of her reactions until now. It was like I¡¯d forgotten she was the villainess. This was no good. I wiped water off my mouth and tried to act cool. ¡°R¨¦mi, where''d your shirt go?¡± Louis said, ¡°Your head, it was bleeding really badly¡­ I hate blood.¡± I noticed the soft bundle he was pressing against the back of my head. Wow. Sylvain explained, ¡°When the ball hit you, you fell into the net post. It''s metal.¡± ¡°Jesus H. Christ,¡± I whispered. Being a clumsy protagonist wasn''t as cute and quirky as all the otome games made it out to be. ¡°Who?¡± Lou asked. ¡°Nothing.¡± I reached out a hand and R¨¦mi grasped it to help me sit up. Even though Louis tried to warn me that my head might still be bleeding, I took the shirt away. It was blotted with a big stain of blood, totally ruined. I touched the back of my head. My hair was a bit crunchy, but¡­ Sylvain¡¯s tone was grim and thoughtful. ¡°It''s stopped bleeding.¡± ¡°No way,¡± Lou said. ¡°Head injuries take forever to heal, and we all saw that gash.¡± ¡°It seems¡­¡± Sylvain gently pieced apart my hair. ¡°The gash. It''s closed.¡± Everyone traded looks, except Antoinette, who was still watching me, expression inscrutable. I tore my gaze away from hers and asked, ¡°Does that mean¡­?¡± R¨¦mi lifted his eyebrows. ¡°Looks like our potion''s got more uses than we thought.¡± A bubble of pride moved through the group. ¨¦tienne said, ¡°We should look into that. A product that makes you stronger, faster, and heal is a recipe for encouraging destructive behaviour and¨C¡± ¡°Aw, ¨¦tienne,¡± Lou said, ¡°you can agree it''s pretty cool for now, right?¡± He smiled. ¡°I guess so.¡± ¡°For being a downer,¡± R¨¦mi said, ¡°you can help me clean the court.¡± Sylvain said, ¡°I still want someone to help Chlo¨¦ to the infirmary. Antoinette?¡± She stood quickly. ¡°No. I''ll help with the court. It was my error, anyhow.¡± She turned away to fetch the ball, rolling against the fence, before I could read her expression. 17.1: SAMHAIN FORMAL (+ Art!) The Samhain Formal, just like Antoinette had told me, wasn¡¯t any simple school dance. Guests came from all over the kingdom of Eavredor, hoping to mingle with the impressionable children of the elite and score beneficial matches for their children. Families surveyed the quality of the new generation, and precocious students forged connections to assure their careers. Antoinette had assured me that amongst the kisses and break-ups that happened in that ballroom, there were also decade-defining business alliances and reputation-crushing scandals. As for me? I was mostly worried about the kisses. When entering the golden ballroom, I was immediately bowled over by a wave of awe that had me freezing in the doorway, mouth dropping open as I took in the glitz and gleam. Sure, I could compare the La Belle Lavande ballroom to about a billion fantasy films, but nothing captured the feeling of being surrounded by its swooping ceilings, sea of glamorous dancers, and chandeliers jingling with diamonds that seemed about to rain on my face. Like the majesty of the place entered my heart and swelled up. R¨¦mi slid in out of nowhere and caught my hand, leading me out of the entry¨Cwhere I¡¯d been blocking the way. He gave me a twirl. ¡°Didn¡¯t recognise you until I saw that deer-in-headlights expression. Here I was, thinking the Goddess Liria had just stepped into our humble little academy.¡± I rolled my eyes at his comparison to this world¡¯s Persephone stand-in. ¡°Come on, R¨¦mi.¡± ¡°I mean it. Nothing makes you look more like Chlo¨¦ than wide-eyed confusion.¡± I curtseyed in my sunny-yellow gown with daisies embroidered all over its skirt and its draping sleeves (I¡¯d have to be careful to not drag them in my food¡­or spill food on my dress¡­maybe I shouldn¡¯t eat at all). ¡°You don¡¯t look so bad, yourself!¡± Super handsome¨Cwithout sacrificing his usual devil-may-care style. His hair was slicked back as always, but the bottle-green suit made it look less punk and more regal. The colour brought out his eyes. A brash white narcissus bloomed from his lapel. Of course, all the inessential buttons and knots were undone, in true R¨¦mi fashion. He caught me looking at his lapel. He plucked out the narcissus and offered it to me. I waved my hands. ¡°I couldn¡¯t! Your outfit looks so good with it.¡± ¡°Ah-ah, don¡¯t you worry your pretty little head about that.¡± I tucked the flower in my hair above my ear, then watched, at his indication, as another flower bloomed from his lapel. ¡°Oh!¡± ¡°I had a friend charm it.¡± ¡°Soooo, you¡¯re telling me¡­I¡¯m nowhere near the first or last girl who¡¯s gotten a flower from you?¡± ¡°Maaaybe. But you¡¯re the only girl I¡¯ll show that trick to.¡± He winked. The ballroom was packed with guests, most of which I didn¡¯t recognise. Hell, I barely recognised my own classmates, considering how dolled up they were in silk gowns, shiny suits, and jewelry that made the room glitter like Smaug¡¯s hoard. At the top of the room was a raised stage, presenting a live ten-piece orchestra. Waiters slid through the crowd like fish, letting guests snag hors d¡¯oeuvres off their trays; over by a chocolate fountain, glasses filled with pink champagne were stacked in a precarious tower twice my height. I asked the resident Tall at my side, ¡°Where are our friends?¡± "Well, first off, ¨¦tienne¡¯s being passed around like a blunt between this season''s scum-suckers." He jerked a thumb to the left of the ballroom. Sure enough, there was the prince in his white suit and gold adornments, seemingly holding his own in a pack of smoking, furrowed-brow businessmen. Good. I needed to stay out of ¨¦tienne¡¯s sights tonight. ¡°Lou?¡± Again, R¨¦mi pointed me in the right direction. Louis looked like he was in a terse argument with C¨¦cile near the flower arrangements. "He''s a serious pack of nerves. His sisters are all into the helping-the-school thing, so they volunteered him to be waitstaff before he knew his parents were coming. He said the Duke and Duchess are gonna give him hell for it, because it makes him look poor. And as for Sylvain, he¡¯s brooding it up.¡± He took my shoulders and spun me around to see Sylvain. He was standing between some gargantuan flower arrangements (note to self: no big freak-outs tonight) and scowling. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching girls trying to hype each other up to ask him to dance, but so far, no one¡¯s managed it.¡± ¡°And, uh, and Antoinette?¡± He smiled at me. Weirdly knowingly. ¡°She left your dorm without you, huh?¡± ¡°Yeah. After lending me her earrings.¡± Sun-shaped gold medallions with a teardrop of jade that made a fun jingling noise when I moved my head. ¡°She said that everyone knows by now that we room together so she wouldn¡¯t let me embarrass her by being an unfashionable dork.¡± ¡°That¡¯s nice. Y¡¯know, for Princess Delphine. What¡¯s the frown about?¡± Nothing. Just thinkin¡¯ about the volleyball I took to the face. R¨¦mi didn¡¯t even need to point Antoinette out: I spotted her immediately, surrounded by a pack of girlfriends and overeager boys. She¡¯d looked great in our room, but now with the drama and gold of the ballroom surrounding her, she embodied the title of a glorious heiress. Her red hair was immaculately curled into a waterfall of silk, tucked back just enough to show off her massive butterfly-shaped gold earrings. That plus the iridescent butterfly wing decor on her deep purple dress exemplified the game¡¯s early-2000s release date. Regardless, she pulled it off effortlessly. A wistful sigh just came out of me. Totally accidental. R¨¦mi said, ¡°She really is gorgeous, huh?¡± Gorgeous and villainess¡­-y. In Love Blooming, it was after this ball that Antoinette escalated from schoolyard bully to seriously wicked romantic rival. This event was essentially an affection point dump and where the plot began to diverge depending on who you danced and flirted with. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. (Or worse, if ¨¦tienne was your guy.) If the volleyball thing hadn¡¯t happened¨Cplus the ring-planting and the paint-pouring¨CI¡¯d be spending my time scheming to get every single guy dancing with Antoinette and make her as flustered and flirty as Marie. Now, I felt unmoored, like I¡¯d been shoved into a whole new world¡­again. Maybe it was naive to not have guessed this would be a problem. She wasn¡¯t the Antoinette from my fanfics. She was something else entirely. Still. I couldn¡¯t fail her! Against my better judgment, I asked R¨¦mi, ¡°Stay with me?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± He offered an arm and I happily took it. R¨¦mi and I went around, chatting with his buddies, a few businessmen he knew by name, and even his mother, a confident, gray-haired woman whose charming, crooked grin was passed down to her son. We occasionally twirled to the music. R¨¦mi got us drinks from Louis¡¯s tray and teased the poor guy. I held my glass like a lifeline, even if my stomach was already flipping around like Charlie Bucket after chugging fizzy lifting drink. I didn¡¯t take a single sip. A young woman approached us from the crowd. While the whole room was filled with Disney princesses, she made me think of Sleeping Beauty, with her floor-length blue gown with tight sleeves, and shoulders that swept around her upper arms in layers of fluffy, glimmering fabric. ¡°M. Fontaine,¡± she started. ¡°And¡­Chlo¨¦, yes? Antoinette¡¯s roommate?¡± Damn, Antoinette was right. R¨¦mi said, ¡°Just Chlo¨¦ and R¨¦mi, hey? How are you?¡± ¡°Feeling quite popular, thanks to you.¡± She tucked her hair behind her ear, showing him a huge silver earring sculpted like a delicately-painted amphora. ¡°Even the prince complimented them.¡± R¨¦mi lightly touched the earring. ¡°I had to practically beg my father to keep the design under wraps for you. Give it a couple days and the formal release will be all over the papers, and everyone here will remember you as the woman who modeled the first set.¡± As he pulled away, his fingers brushed her cheek. She went pink. Who could resist him? The fandom sure didn¡¯t give him his dues. ¡°You see her?¡± R¨¦mi pointed at a portly woman in a royal purple fox stole, laughing with Lou¡¯s mother. ¡°That¡¯s Huguette Yves. Her company¡¯s hoping to expand into jewelry, if her deal with my family shakes out well. Let¡¯s just say I have it on good authority that it will¡­and she¡¯ll be looking for models. You have the complexion and pretty hands for jewelry modeling. Not to mention the eyes. Any gem would make you shimmer. You should talk to her. Mention my name.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the gem here, R¨¦mi. Thank you.¡± She danced off in Huguette¡¯s direction. ¡°What was that about, ya flirt?¡± I touched my glass to my lips¨Cbut the crazy smell coming off of the drink made me jerk it back down. Fantasy world, fantasy flavours, I guess. Blech. ¡°Eh, nothing big. I let her wear some early prototypes. Hopefully this¡¯ll lead to some career opportunities for her, or at least some nice connections that she can use down the road. I owe her.¡± ¡°Owe her?¡± I asked. Memories of his game route slotted into place. R¨¦mi explained, my recollection swelling with each word. ¡°A few years ago, not as many years as I¡¯d like, really, I cheated her brother at a gambling table. I took more from him than I should have. It¡¯s eaten me up. So I¡¯m trying to pay the siblings back a little.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you a gentleman!¡± He leaned down to my level so he could point me towards a few faces in the crowd. "Him, I broke the windows of his new cobbler shop when it opened. He was expanding, so it''s not like the windows set him back, but it was his employees who had to clean up all that glass and got scolded for letting it happen. Her, we went to a private middle school together, and after I found out her pops messed with mine in some ancient feud, I took it out on her show pony, shaving its mane and tail before a competition. I was a serious shithead." "I''m sure if you explained yourself¨Cyou know, you were a stupid kid and everything¨Cthey''d understand." R¨¦mi shook his head. "It''s not about forgiveness. It''s about putting things back to rights. Evening out the universe." A flash of violet drew my eye to Antoinette. When she reached us, R¨¦mi brightened up and kissed the gold rings on her fingers, thankfully not handing her a flower. I stepped away from R¨¦mi, very aware that our arms were touching. ¡°Good evening, you two.¡± She flicked open her purse and took out a pencil and a folded piece of paper. She twirled her finger at R¨¦mi. He turned around; she put the paper on his back and started scribbling. ¡°You were wro-ong,¡± she sing-songed. ¡°Sophie Lavigne lost her internship because they caught her writing for a rebel newspaper.¡± ¡°What! I swore she got kicked out because of her dad¡¯s affair with the secretary. Are you sure the newspaper thing wasn¡¯t just a cover?¡± ¡°Likely not, since M. Lavigne is here with the secretary in question on his arm. What did we say¡­ten silvers?¡± ¡°Argh. Yeah.¡± Antoinette smiled, folding up the paper and slipping it into her purse. ¡°I bet you another ten that C¨¦cile Chapelle leaves here in tears.¡± ¡°Her parents are here. She¡¯s gonna batten down the hatches. No way.¡± ¡°She¡¯s already screamed at Louis and Colette, and she hasn¡¯t even discovered that she lost a caterer last-minute. She absolutely will cry.¡± They shook on it. Antoinette frowned at me. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± I blinked. ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Like I was going to take a knife out of my purse.¡± R¨¦mi set a hand on my back. ¡°You forget how intimidating us elites are.¡± He plucked my glass from my hand and to my surprise, offered it to Antoinette. ¡°She hasn¡¯t touched it. And if you¡¯re gonna win more bets, princess, you need to loosen up a bit.¡± She rolled her eyes before taking the glass. When she drank, one phrase burst through my nerves: hey!! That¡¯s like an indirect kiss!!!! (?*?*) She wiggled her fingers at us and vanished into the crowd. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least until I saw that ¨¦tienne was coming towards us from the other direction. The poor prince was smiling at and apologizing to everyone who tried to get his attention¨Cwhich was literally everyone. Was it for better or for worse that ¨¦tienne rebuilt his reputation post-Gambling-gate by being a personable, friendly, approachable prince to contrast his chilly parents? Better for me right now, since it was taking him about six hundred years to reach us. ¡°You know,¡± I blurted, turning away, ¡°I should really thank Antoinette properly for the earrings. I¡¯ll¨C¡± ¡°Give it a sec, ¨¦tienne¡¯s coming.¡± ¡°Oh, sure, but I¨C¡± ¡°Chlo¨¦, R¨¦mi.¡± ¨¦tienne emerged from the sea of admirers. He sounded a little out of breath. ¡°Wait, Chlo¨¦. I haven¡¯t seen you yet tonight.¡± I was giving him a spastic little curtsey, ready to run off, when R¨¦mi asked, ¡°Do you want to steal one of us for a dance, after all that talking, Your Highness?¡± ¡°Only the lady, if she¡¯d allow it.¡± ¡°Damn it.¡± R¨¦mi looked down at me. ¡°How about it? There¡¯s no chance a girl like you wants to dance with the crown prince, is there?¡± ¨¦tienne put out a hand to me. Oh thank god. I could just refuse to dance with him and avoid this whole situation. ¡­And dance with R¨¦mi instead. The frozen chunk of time that the dialogue box granted me was comforting, for once. I had time to think. To reconsider. And steel myself. Was I gonna spend the rest of my school year dancing around scenarios? Was I gonna scurry around the Samhain Formal like a mouse, hiding in R¨¦mi¡¯s shadow, until Antoinette took offense to that too? Nope. Phew. Okay. Time to face the game and its scripted flirting head-on. After all, it was only gonna get harder from here on out. 1. 17.2: SAMHAIN FORMAL ¨¦tienne led me into the crowd of dancers, my hand light in his. Students and high society folks alike parted to let us through. Everyone was staring at the new girl who caught the prince¡¯s affections. Including Antoinette. I caught her eye only a split second before ¨¦tienne gently turned me and we settled our hands where they ought to be for the dance¨Chip, shoulder, clasped together. Determination aside, I was still a little nervous. ¡°I can¡¯t dance like this,¡± I hissed. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I never learned.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind teaching you,¡± ¨¦tienne said. He probably regretted saying so when I stumbled into him, unused to the size of my skirts and the sweep of the steps. He laughed lightly, righted me (damn your niceness!!), and added, ¡°I only wanted a reason to be close to you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to step on your nice white boots!¡± He pointedly slowed us. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, Chlo¨¦. One thing I know for certain about you is that you¡¯re adaptable.¡± Despite myself, once he let me concentrate on the steps, giving me little instructions under his breath through his soft princely smile, I started to relax. ¨¦tienne was the first sure thing in my world after I woke up on that harrowing, bizarre, rainy evening, and had been helping me get my bearings ever since; I wanted to hold onto him. It was in Marie¡¯s DNA. Eventually I got my dance skills under enough control for ¨¦tienne to say, ¡°I¡¯m wondering how you are, Chlo¨¦. Genuinely. You¡¯ve been here for a month¨Care you enjoying yourself? Do you need help?¡± A month! It felt like I¡¯d been here for an eternity. I guess that happened when every experience was brand new. ¡°I¡¯m great,¡± I said. ¡°Seriously, I¡­¡± His earnest look of interest made me falter. ¡°...I¡¯m okay.¡± ¡°I worry about you. I know I¡¯ve been¡­reticent, I suppose? After our weekend together, I realized that there¡¯s no sense in that.¡± Right, the weekend at the palace, full of party prep. He gave my hand a little squeeze. ¡°There must be more I can do for you, when it comes to finding where you came from.¡± ¡°No, no. Thank you, but that¡¯s for me to straighten out, alone.¡± ¡°I understand. But know that you can ask me for anything. I¡¯ve done what I could to make you safe. Now I want to do what I can to make you happy.¡± They¡¯re little programmed computer guys, only here to fall in love with you. No matter what you do, he¡¯ll love you. It¡¯s all a script, even if he isn¡¯t reciting the game word for word. But once again, face to face with him, all I could think of was that he was my friend. And hearing someone say they wanted me to be safe and happy, with that genuine tone¡­? I blinked rapidly. Ugh, I¡¯d agreed to dance with him so I could set a boundary with him, not get all misty! ¡°That seriously means a lot, ¨¦tienne. More than you even know. I¡¯m really relieved I have you as a friend.¡± Friend, yeah? ¡°I have something to ask you, though.¡± ¡°Oh, no, don¡¯t you want to bask in this moment of friendship for another minute?¡± He laughed and said, ¡°I¡¯d like to introduce you to the King and Queen. Would you allow that?¡± I knew this would happen¨Cit was part of why I was avoiding ¨¦tienne in the first place¨Cbut I was still making a pretty good impression of the blinking white guy meme. As we spun, I caught a glance of Antoinette, watching us like a cat on the prowl near the chocolate fountain. I said, ¡°You don¡¯t mean it in a normal, ¡®meet your benefactors¡¯ kind of way, do you?¡± ¡°...No,¡± he admitted. ¡°Please don¡¯t hold this against me, but they aren¡¯t exactly keen on the idea of me helping you. A distraction, they called you. You aren¡¯t the kind of girl I should be getting close to. You aren¡¯t the kind of girl,¡± even ¨¦tienne couldn¡¯t stop the creep of sarcasm in his voice at that, ¡°I should invite to dance.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re going out on a limb by associating with me at all.¡± ¡°I feel like I have no choice. In a good way, I mean¡­¡± He looked askance for the first time, seeming to lose his words. (He totally was the poster boy for the he-falls-first trope.) ¡°I would be denying my feelings if I kept you out of my personal life any longer. I want the whole world to know that you¡¯re the kind of girl I want to help.¡± OMG ¨¦tienne. It¡¯s been a month, please¡­ Still. How the hell could I say no? This really mattered to him. And maybe I didn¡¯t wanna be the newest princess of Eavredor or whatever, but I did want to support any endeavour that helped him stand up to his parents. He said, ¡°I wanted to tell you¡­I¡¯ve become quite fond of you over these last weeks. I hope that isn¡¯t too forward to say, and I don¡¯t expect you to have the same feelings. I hope you don¡¯t feel obligated to, because of who I am.¡± We¡¯d gotten very close all of a sudden. I could feel the buttons of his tailcoat pressing against the stomach of my dress, and see how the chandeliers cast shadows on his blue eyes from his long lashes. I could practically hear the paparazzi shutter clicks all around us¨Cor, at least, feel the pressure of a kajillion eyes wondering who this new suitor for the crown prince was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Antoinette watching us, a blur of red and purple and scary auras. In the game, this was ¨¦tienne and Chlo¨¦¡¯s first kiss if you chose to dance with him and you¡¯d stacked your affection okay so far. Maybe that was a little much for so early in the game, but if that monologue just now didn¡¯t prove it, he was kind of feeling a lot. Right as he leaned in the slightest bit, hand lifting to cup my face, I panicked. I smacked a hand over his mouth. We spun to a halt and stared at each other, both surprised by what I¡¯d done. I whispered, ¡°What are you doing? Everyone can see us.¡± I removed my hand so he could answer. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°Weren¡¯t you going to kiss me?¡± He went pink. ¡°Your hair is caught in your earring, I was going to fix it¡­¡± ¡°But you did the whole speech and I¨CI¨C¡±...caught a blaze of red flame coming towards us. Antoinette. She was practically sashaying, though her blue eyes were full of blades. And the first thought that jumped in my head was, Yeah, serves you right. I get a volleyball to the noggin and you get all eaten up by jealousy. ¡°I¡¯ll meet your parents. Promise.¡± I slipped out of his hands. ¡°Thank you for the dance. I have to¨C¡± The room halted. Perfectly on time, too, as Antoinette was only a couple strides away. Nowhere to run. I had to confront her. Frankly, I liked her too much to not do so. R¨¦mi was chatting with a crowd of NPCs, all fawning over him. Colette was fixing Lou¡¯s cuffs, both of them as far as possible from their parents. And Sylvain was a straight shot behind Antoinette, leaning against a marble pillar, watching what was about to go down. He probably wanted Antoinette to lecture me to hell and back for being a nasty meddler or whatever. Maybe dump a glass of champagne on my head for good measure. Hmm. He was right behind Antoinette, like they were two perfectly aligned pool balls I could pocket with one hit. If this didn¡¯t work, well¨CI was about to have one dreary dance. 3. Exactly like how the game took over my mouth in dialogue choices, it now took over my body. I spun on a heel towards Sylvain¨CAntoinette¨Cand pushed forwards. My hand sprang up towards her and¨Cthank god¨Clanded with a clumsy hecticness into her own. ¡°Hey, want to dance?¡± The puppeteering stopped. Though I¡¯d betrayed the rules, I was dancing with someone, so could the system really complain? Antoinette gave ¨¦tienne, a few steps away, a tight, knife-edged smile. ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I steal your date?¡± Whether he gave her a nod or not, I didn¡¯t know; she¡¯d swept me away before I could really get my bearings. ¡°You must have known,¡± she said, voice sly and severe, ¡°that I wanted to speak with you.¡± ¡°The glare kinda tipped me off.¡± While ¨¦tienne¡¯s guiding of our dance was gentle, Antoinette made clear that she wasn¡¯t going to tolerate any shitty dancing from me. We were practically close enough to be doing a tango as she forced me through the students and guests. People swiveled to stare at us. ¡°If it¡¯s not R¨¦mi,¡± she said, ¡°it¡¯s Lou. If it¡¯s not Lou, it¡¯s ¨¦tienne. What¡¯s your angle?¡± ¡°Angle? No angle.¡± ¡°I suppose it¡¯s to make them fancy themselves as heroes. You¡¯re their Sleeping Beauty, after all. Stop falling back so hard on your left foot.¡± Aaand here it was. The first real conversation with Antoinette to mark her crossing from schoolyard bully to romantic rival. That Sleeping Beauty metaphor was from the game. Though I stalled for words, the last thing I wanted was for Marie to butt in with dialogue choices, so I forged onwards blindly. ¡°They¡¯re only my friends. I¡¯m serious.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. We¡¯re just girls here, right? Now your right foot¡¯s dragging.¡± Antoinette studied me as I tried to pick up the dancing pace, but she could topple me with merely a look of her blisteringly beautiful blue eyes. Her sheets of wavy red hair swirled around us, light as chiffon. She had gems sparkling on her chest, making the shape of butterfly antennae to match the wings on her bodice. I took a big breath, turning my focus towards her words and away from the way her skirt was swishing between my legs and her manicured nails were digging into the fabric of my bodice. ¡°I¡¯m being honest with you.¡± She spoke through her teeth: ¡°You can¡¯t be, because I know there¡¯s something off with you. I can¡¯t stop thinking about it. You¡¯re driving me insane!¡± Welp, that was new. I nearly asked what she meant, if she would confide in me. But I was smarter than that. I¡¯d played this game. I¡¯d written those fics. I could either be patient and wait hours for her to confide in me like she did about her mother, or push her buttons and get the answer now. ¡°Insane? I can see that! You¡¯re the heiress, surely you shouldn''t stoop so low and worry about the guys who have crushes on me.¡± ¡°I know!¡± She laughed a single, humourless beat. We whirled between two sets of couples, fast enough that I felt my hair lift and hit someone¡¯s back. ¡°And yet I can¡¯t stop. I¡¯m not obsessed, I¡¯m not jealous, I¡¯m not threatened, I¡¯m¨C¡± ¡°And you¡¯re not stupid. Can¡¯t you tell I¡¯ve been pushing you into their arms at every turn?¡± ¡°Yes, I can tell, Chlo¨¦!!¡± Oh, shit. She was mad now. I¡¯d admired countless pink-cheeked, eyes-flaring graphics of Antoinette¡­seeing it up close was something else. And yet I wasn¡¯t intimidated. I knew she wasn¡¯t directing her anger at me, not really, even if she didn¡¯t totally understand it. I can explain, I wanted to say. Instead, I pushed, ¡°If you¡¯re not obsessed, why toss the paint? If you¡¯re not possessive, why hide your ring? If you¡¯re not jealous, why¨C¡± Right as we neared the tower of champagne glasses, her foot hooked behind mine. She threw me into our next turn, upending my balance all topsy-turvy. The ballroom whizzed past me. And I locked my arms behind her neck to drag her down with me. We froze, so fast I nearly expected a dialogue box above my head. The champagne glass tower jingled as my necklace slid backwards against my throat and rang against the glasses. Her hand snapped off my waist to steady herself; I dropped an inch and my butt hit the edge of the table. ¡°Christ on a bike, Antoinette! Were you trying to throw me into the tower?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I squeezed my opposite wrist, linked behind her neck, glaring up at her amidst the curtains of her red hair. ¡°Okay, enough. Cool off,¡± I said. ¡°I''m not your enemy.¡± She scoffed and righted us, ducking out of my hands. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t matter,¡± she said in a scathing hiss, ¡°what you feel about any of them. I¡¯m better than this. I¡¯m better than them.¡± She swallowed, something catching in her voice. ¡°It shouldn''t. I hardly know you. Why do you make me feel like¡­like nothing makes sense?¡± That one shot me in the heart. When I¡¯d thought of the programming messing with the other characters¨Cthe other people¨CI¡¯d thought of it only in terms of how it made them predictable. What was she experiencing, really? What was it like? Totally confusing, apparently, because she steered right back around to the topic the script wanted her to be pissed about. ¡°All those idiots are obsessed with you. How could you not feel superior to everyone for that?¡± ¡°Oh my God, I don¡¯t care about that!¡± ¡°Why not?!¡± ¡°Because I like girls!¡± She stared. And then swooned. Um, that''s a little dramatic, I thought as she caught herself on the edge of the champagne tower¡¯s table. The glasses sang out a strident warning. ¡°Antoinette, look, where I''m from, it''s totally normal, and¨C¡± ¡°Get me off the dance floor,¡± she snapped, voice breathy. When her leg gave out, I nearly wasn¡¯t fast enough to catch her. A couple glasses teetered off the top of the tower and smashed to the floor. Gasps fluttered through the guests. She huffed hard, annoyed, her breath skating past my arm. I helped her up. I felt eyes on us from all corners, pricking my skin like needles. I looped our arms together and marched her to the edge of the ballroom. Though she was almost dead weight against me, to her credit, she was keeping her head up, like she''d knocked down those glasses for the fun of it (seemed like something Antoinette would do). Maybe fresh air would help? Privacy definitely would. When she tumbled onto a bench with a harsh, very un-Antoinette-like slump, and I saw how her milk-pale skin had crossed into greenish and sallow. ¡°Antoinette, are you okay?¡± I asked. ¡°No, obviously.¡± At least she had the energy to sass me. She lifted a hand to push her hair off her face and it was shaking. What was going on? Did something happen while we were dancing? Was it exertion, intoxication? Nothing was so simple. This world was part of a video game at its heart, wasn¡¯t it? This could only be much worse than it seemed. 18: POISON APPLE Antoinette and I were beneath the curtains of a willow tree and outside of the heated pressure cooker that was the rest of the dance. The cool, autumn night air cleared my panic a little, so I could at least find my next obvious step. ¡°Wait one second, just one second. I¡¯ll be back with help. Okay?¡± She looked up from where she¡¯d had her face in her hands. She was snow-pale. I was reassured by the assertion in her voice: ¡°Don¡¯t. If any strangers know, they¡­¡± ¡°No, no. I¡¯m gonna get our friends.¡± ¡°Sylvain,¡± she said. ¡°Absolutely.¡± ¡°If this is from your potion¡­ Dead. Lawsuit. All of you,¡± she snarled, shielding her face again. I ran back into the ballroom, skirts in my fists. I wasn''t shy about calling R¨¦mi''s name, but I at least tried to sound more like a dumb, over-excited friend than someone having a total freakout. Thank god he was so tall. I spotted him in a crowd of his friends, looking around for the source of all the yelling. I waved at him. When he reached me, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him, explaining, ¡°Something¡¯s wrong with Antoinette. It¡¯s like she got sick out of nowhere, it¡¯s really freaking me out.¡± As soon as we got outside on the balcony, he knelt next to Antoinette and began asking her questions about how she felt. She was speaking in a whisper through her fingers, and even though I could hardly pick out her words, I could tell she was becoming more insensible by the second. I, meanwhile, thought I might puke into one of the billion flower bushes crowding the balcony. Oh. Crap. Flower bushes. Sure enough, in the dim torchlight, I could see the telltale signs of my magic reaching its claws into the roots and soil: flowers were blooming rapidly, stems were twisting, leaves were fluttering like rattler tails. ¡°I¡¯m gonna¨CI¡¯m gonna get Sylvain.¡± I spun to the glass balcony doors without waiting for an answer. And ran smack into Louis. As the two resident tiny people of the friend group, we were thrown back with equal force. Lou bonked into the doorframe and a suddenly-appearing ¨¦tienne caught me by the hand. As soon as I was righted, he awkwardly let me go, and I babbled over his questions: ¡°We¡¯ve got a serious problem. Where¡¯s Sylvain?¡± Lou said, rubbing the back of his shoulder, ¡°I think he¡¯s dancing with someone? He¨C¡± ¡°Thanks!¡± I squirmed between them. Holy crap, I had to calm down before I turned the place into a jungle. Focus on the task. Focus on the task. Like, okay, screw Sylvain, but if anyone would know what to do, it was the guy who seemingly had the curriculum for every class downloaded into his brain. True to Lou¡¯s word, I spotted Sylvain on the dance floor, looking scowly as ever with some unfortunate girl who¡¯d probably been working herself up all night to ask him for what turned out to be the blandest waltz in history. And I ruined it by practically screeching at him, ¡°Ireallyneedyourhelprightnow!!!¡± Maybe I was extra convincing. Maybe my otome protagonist powers were working overtime. Maybe he really didn¡¯t want to be dancing. Either way, he dropped the girl like a hot potato and followed me. Finally, the entire gang was on the balcony. R¨¦mi told me to shut the doors and dim the gaslamps so the billion indoor lights would make a wall of reflections on the glass, preventing the guests from peering in on us¨Cmaybe Antoinette made it clear to him, too, that she didn¡¯t want anyone else involved. Why not? I bet everyone in that room would leap at the chance to help her and get brownie points with her family¡­ ¡­Actually, maybe that was exactly why she wanted it to be a secret. It seemed like R¨¦mi alone was keeping Antoinette from totally folding into a rumpled, glittery, balled-up napkin. Sylvain was studying her, touching her gingerly in some doctorly way, as R¨¦mi gave him all Antoinette¡¯s answers from earlier. "We need a professor," Lou squeaked. "No way," R¨¦mi said. "We can''t let this get out. Imagine the rumours. Delphine daughter gets roofied?" "That''s not her fault!¡± "She''s a woman; she''ll have an even harder time shaking the social shame than ¨¦tienne did. Chlo¨¦, sit here with her. If someone gets close enough to spot us, we want it to look like we''re all chatting." R¨¦mi was being gently assertive and confident. I could hug him. Instead I just kinda squeezed his arm as I sat beside Antoinette on the side of the bench closest to the balcony doors, so I would shield her from anyone looking out. Her skin was clammy, temples dotting with sweat. ¡°And Lou, grab two glasses of water. Iced.¡± ¡°Err, my sisters might be looking for me, so¡­¡± ¨¦tienne offered, ¡°I can do it.¡± ¡°Nope. You attract too much attention. Honestly, you shouldn¡¯t even be here. You should get mingling before someone notices you¡¯re gone and¨C¡± ¡°Like hell,¡± ¨¦tienne shot back. R¨¦mi quieted. Then he gave the prince an appreciative look. ¡°Alright, then. Lou, you¡¯ve fought off your sisters enough. I believe you can come back unscathed.¡± As Lou scurried off to his task, Sylvain was methodological, calm, seeming much older than all of us as he checked over Antoinette and asked her much more useful questions than the ones going on in my head: What??? Who??? Where??? How??? She could barely answer now. Pale as calla lilies. Staring at nothing when her eyes finally opened. Her hands had fallen from her face, too weak to lift, and the rest of her seemed as likely to collapse. Once Lou came back and R¨¦mi explained his intention with the water, ¨¦tienne dipped his pocket square into one cup and told me to hold it against the back of her neck, under her hair, a little instruction he said firmly, like it made him feel secure to provide one sure task. The other glass, we couldn''t coax her to drink. Then Sylvain, who hadn''t been talking to any of us, flipped her wrist. I gasped. Thin tracks of sickly green were visible in her pale skin. Sylvain swore under his breath. I returned the favour. He ordered no one in particular, ¡°Find bluebells and rose roots. And Chlo¨¦, if you start screwing with the plants, get out of here.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Okay. Jesus!¡± Lou, ¨¦tienne, and I plunged into the walls and tubs of flowers that surrounded the balcony. Focus on the task, I reminded myself over and over¨Cstill, the sections of shrubbery I neared grew and twisted and tangled, forcing me to paw through dense puffy hydrangeas and delicate little daisies and curly lilies. The roses I found easily as they nicked my draping sleeves. I plucked them out of the dirt as cleanly as possible and handed them to Lou so I wouldn¡¯t transform them into Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. ¨¦tienne came back with the bluebells. Sylvain placed them all on the stone bench and then said, ¡°Give me your shoe, Chlo¨¦.¡± I did without question. He used the kitten heel to precisely crush open the bluebell stalks and the very base of the bells, exposing the pale insides. As easy as tying a bow, he wrapped the wiry rose roots around the blooms, pressed them flat and small, and told Antoinette to swallow it. It took a lot of coaxing¨Ccould she even understand him? Did she know what was going on?¨Cbut finally, she did. Next, he rubbed the flower paste on her pulse points like her wrists and behind her jaw. Heart pounding, I couldn¡¯t stop staring at the green, root-like veins in her skin, hoping I wasn¡¯t imagining them slowly receding. They looked toxic. They looked fantastical. Finally, Sylvain sat back with a sigh. "It would work faster if we could increase the potency of the flower. Regardless, this will stabilize her." ¡°I can try,¡± I said. "You¡¯d only cause more problems. What would be the point?" I couldn¡¯t help it. I snapped, ¡°Oh my god, can you go easy on me for two seconds? I¨C¡± ¡°Chlo¨¦, Sylvain,¡± R¨¦mi said, ¡°argue later, okay?¡± I blushed. I guess my temper got ahead of me. Lou asked, "What was that? What happened?" Sylvain brushed his hands off. He let loose another sigh, and I sensed a bit more than exhaustion in it this time. "Someone poisoned her. I can¡¯t be entirely sure with what, but it was at least partly Maiden¡¯s Bane; nothing else makes those characteristic green tracks. It¡¯s meant to make her lose consciousness for a couple days if untreated.¡± My breathing went shallow. There was nothing in the game about that. Nothing. All the dark drama and mortal peril was locked into Marie''s backstory, what with the arson and family murdering and all that. What was poison doing in the main timeline, and with Antoinette of all people? Sylvain continued, ¡°She should really visit the infirmary, but I¡¯m certain she¡¯ll insist on resting alone until she gets her bearings. Did any of you see her eat or drink anything?¡± ¡°She had a glass of champagne,¡± I offered. ¡°And she picked some canap¨¦s off my tray,¡± Lou said. "You''re sure you can''t remember anything else? Anything suspicious?" Sylvain asked. He was looking right at me this time. "I''ll tell you right away if I do." I didn''t like his implication. R¨¦mi wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. "Okay, gang, fun¡¯s over. Chlo¨¦ and I will get Antoinette back to the dorm. Everyone else, act normal.¡± Lou, ¨¦tienne, and Sylvain dispersed back into the party. R¨¦mi and I waited with Antoinette until finally, she was sensible enough to drink the second glass of water¨Cto chug it, actually, streams of it slipping out the corners of her mouth and soaking her dress, until R¨¦mi had to pull it away. "How are you feeling?" I asked. "Horrendous," she growled. ¡°Just get me back to our room.¡± We helped her up. R¨¦mi and I arranged ourselves so we both held one of her arms, making her look less like a drunk we had to tow home and more like a princess we were both attending on her way to the royal ball. Looking at our trajectory, my heart sunk. We had to cross the ballroom to get to the outer hall, where we could access the dorms. I bit my lip. Antoinette would be humiliated by any questions, suspicions, stares, or¨C The ringing of metal on glass made me look up, puzzled. Same with everyone else in the ballroom. There was ¨¦tienne at the head of the room, up on the dais before the quieted orchestra, tapping a spoon against his glass until all eyes were on him. He had his most polished, most princely voice armed and ready as he said, "I wanted to thank you all for attending the Samhain Formal. Students, faculty, even," and here he glanced at R¨¦mi and me, "the very best of our kingdom who have come to see the prosperous magic and minds of the new generation." While the whole room was focused on His Royal Highness, R¨¦mi and I hustled Antoinette through the back of the crowd towards the door. If anyone saw us, I sure wasn''t paying enough attention to notice, only listening to Antoinette''s shallow breathing and focusing on how the door kept seeming to get further and further away. At the end of an eternity, we finally got to our dorm. R¨¦mi and I set Antoinette on the bed and I said goodbye to him in the hall. "Tell me what happens, or if you remember anything," he said. ¡°I¡¯ll pass anything on to Sylvain if you don¡¯t want to tell him yourself.¡± "Thank you so much, R¨¦mi," I said. And suddenly my eyes filled up with tears. ¡°If you weren¡¯t there, everything would¡¯ve fallen apart.¡± "Aw, hey, firecracker. Cut yourself some slack." He gave me a strong, warm hug. I held on tight, trying to not get my tears on his coat and totally failing. R¨¦mi bade me goodnight and I locked the dorm door behind him. When I turned around, I found Antoinette curled up in bed, her hair and gown spilled around her like flames in a dusky sky. She was still wearing her high heels and all her jewelry, the gems digging into her face and arms. I whispered, ¡°Antoinette? Do you need help with your jewelry? You might break them¡­¡± ¡°Whatever. Whoever did this to me probably wanted to steal them, anyways.¡± I took that as a yes. I carefully took off her strappy heels and unclipped her dozens of bracelets and necklaces, extracting them from the tangles of her hair. She limply lifted her head to let me take out her dangling butterfly earrings, but I didn¡¯t touch the gold hoops that lined the cartilage of her left ear. Now that was anachronistic, but she rocked it so much that I couldn¡¯t even snark at the game devs. ¡°Do you have any idea who did¨C?¡± She yanked her knitted blanket over her head before I¡¯d even finished. I considered going back to the party to keep brainstorming on the events with the guys, but I felt like I¡¯d ran three miles. Besides, I needed to stay in case Antoinette needed help. Sylvain hadn¡¯t given me any more instructions, at least, so that was a comfort. I cleaned off all my makeup, brushed out my hairspray, and changed into my cozy pyjamas, then slid shut the partition by my bed and turned on my lamp. Maybe the journal would give me some clues about what happened tonight. I¡¯d been checking it on and off since I realised it changed, but turns out recaps of your days weren¡¯t needed so much when you were actually living them and not, like, putting a DS down for a week at a time. The only advantage was that sometimes it snuck in details from the ¡®background¡¯ of my life, things I ignored or forgot at the time. This time was not so different. Antoinette¡¯s page was disappointingly unhelpful. There was a new paragraph saying things like how beautiful she¡¯d looked and how strange our argument had been and how scary it was to see her crumble. Apparently, she got into a fight with her friends when I wasn¡¯t looking and she¡¯d chatted with a business mogul, turning down his insistence that she dance with his son. It did say that she was suddenly poisoned¡­minus any clues about shadowy figures or masked assassins. I threw the journal on my sheets. What was the point in this stupid thing if it couldn¡¯t even tell me details about a poisoning?! Was it as confused as I was since this wasn¡¯t part of the game¡¯s code? How far could the events stray off the game before the whole world cracked in half? The journal had fallen open onto Antoinette¡¯s profile page, the spine worn by all the time I spent scouring it for hints on a day to day basis. Antoinette and R¨¦mi were engaged in a betting game. I wish I was there when they made their initial bargains; wouldn¡¯t that be fun? It¡¯s so nice to see them getting along¡­and maybe I could have been involved? Or, well, maybe not¡­ The drinks in this school are nothing like anything I¡¯ve tasted before. Even the smell of my cherry-lemon champagne made my nose wrinkle and my eyes water. But Antoinette was raised on fancy foods like this, so R¨¦mi gave her my glass. Sipping from my glass¨Cwell, that¡¯s like an indirect kiss, isn¡¯t it? I would have liked it even more if she gave me her glass. Our fun night ended when¨C The champagne! In all the craziness of the night, I¡¯d totally forgotten about our glass switcheroo. If it weren¡¯t for the ¡®indirect kiss,¡¯ I¡¯m sure I would have never remembered at all. If Antoinette was poisoned by my glass¡­did that mean the poison was for me? 19: BLACKMAIL ¡°...so, does that make any sense at all?¡± I asked the table of love interests, after running them through my theory on what the hell happened last night at the Samhain Formal. We had booked a private study room in the library. Even though we all brought stuff to work on our invention project, I think we all knew what the actual topic of discussion would be. ¨¦tienne was first to speak up. ¡°The glass could easily have been tampered with when no one was looking. Did you ever set it down alone, Chlo¨¦?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know? Probably. There was so much going on.¡± R¨¦mi added, folding his arms on the table, ¡°I asked around; no one else got sick last night¨Cbesides the usual, you know, drinking¨Cso it wasn¡¯t like some idiot sprinkled poison over all the canapes to see who they could hit. It was targeted.¡± ¡°But why would¡­¡± Lou tucked his ginger hair behind his ear, giving me a shy smile like he was gonna tell me I had spaghetti sauce on my chin. ¡°Why would someone target you, Chlo¨¦?¡± I guess at this school, full of students who were worth millions in a hostage situation, that would be an awkward question. ¡°Yes, Chlo¨¦,¡± Sylvain finally said without looking up from his notes that he¡¯d been flicking through. ¡°Why suspect they were targeting you rather than the heiress, if you have no idea who you are?¡± ¡°That¡¯s exactly why!¡± I said, maybe a bit more harshly than I should have. Sylvain was so annoying even if he did save Antoinette¡¯s butt last night. ¡°Maybe they wanted to be extra sure that I never remember whoever did this to me.¡± It sounded more and more believable as I said it. Whoever targeted Marie¡¯s family had murdered her parents and burned down their estate. Drugging a drink would be child¡¯s play. In the game, the culprits were no one important. They were obviously tossed into the story for drama with such discordant abruptness it was like the game writers didn¡¯t feel like editing in clues or a bigger mystery or a more consistent tone. They weren¡¯t the point¨Cthey were the set dressing to Marie¡¯s amnesia and the marriage that had to happen to get her to secure her fortune from their grubby, evil paws. Didn¡¯t I once wish that the game made the perps chase down Marie and cause her more trouble? What the hell, Hanna! ¨¦tienne hummed sympathetically. ¡°I understand your suspicions, Chlo¨¦. However, I think it¡¯s far more likely they were aiming for Antoinette. She¡¯s a much bigger target.¡± ¡°And the Delphine corporation¡¯s caused trouble before,¡± Lou added, biting a hangnail. ¡°I mean, they¡¯re a huge company. There are all sorts of rumours about how the company started and what it¡¯s doing. They¡¯ve dodged the king¡¯s rules a couple times, we all know it. No one gets to do that without hurting¨C¡± We were snapped out of it by the study door swinging open and a huge book landing on the table. Bang! Antoinette scowled down at all of us. ¡°That¡¯s for last night.¡± The book¡¯s cover was stamped with a giant red CONFIDENTIAL. ¡°I trust you all can keep your mouths shut about that, non?¡± R¨¦mi took the book and flicked it open. I could see a ton of upside down figures and charts from where I was sitting. He whispered, ¡°The Delphine pricing and sourcing Bible. Holy crap.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± I''d last seen Antoinette this morning, after coordinating this meeting with all the guys and before nervously choking down my mandarin orange crepes. She''d cracked open her bathroom door, letting out a Chinook of steam and catching me off-guard by her wearing nothing but a towel (I swear, this girl¡¯s sense of modesty was from another planet). She¡¯d wanted me to fake a migraine and get some herbs from the infirmary for her. When I came back with her request, she was sleeping again, her face a patchwork of steam-flushed and sick-pale. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Now, she was tattered around the edges, hair up in a bun and lips shimmery with chapstick that wasn''t doing much to combat their dryness. Despite the warm autumn day, she wore long sleeves pulled over the backs of her hands. I had the odd sense that I might be one of the few people who''d even notice she was off today. Maybe I had a teeny-tiny thorn in my side with Sylvain¡¯s name on it, but I trusted his expertise with potions. Not to mention his guard-dog passion for protecting Antoinette from me. She would be okay. ¡°What happened does not leave this circle, yes?¡± she said through her teeth. Sylvain looked up, gaze sharp enough to cut. ¡°Antoinette. This wasn''t some class prank. This poison was meant to land you in the infirmary. You could have been seriously hurt.¡± ¡°And yet I wasn''t.¡± ¡°Only because Sylvain''s the brains of the group,¡± R¨¦mi countered. ¡°And Chlo¨¦ was close enough to you to notice. Your other friends wouldn''t have been able to do anything. I bet whoever spiked your drink was counting on that.¡± Okay, so no one was convinced I was the target? Fair enough. Sylvain added, ¡°Even if, let''s pretend, it was childish revenge for an old slight, your father should¨C¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Antoinette pressed her hands to her forehead. ¡°You boys know the stories, don''t you? Who do you guess did this to me? Was it Lillie, as revenge for me stealing her internship freshman year? Or Martin, for how I stomped on his heart after revealing all the disgusting love letters he''d been sending me? Perhaps it was one of your sisters, Louis, for how I pushed them into the lake at their debut.¡± She rolled her eyes, like those events were as inconsequential and flat as they were in the game¡­just a list tossed out to give you reasons to hate her. Louis mumbled, ¡°I dunno. You being the Aconitum heiress is a pretty good reason alone¡­¡± ¡°My point is, you will not figure it out. Running around in circles about it will help no one. I need you to swear to me that you won''t tell a soul.¡± Easy enough for me. I didn¡¯t have anyone else to tell! I held up my hand to her, pinkie out. ¡°I promise. Pinkie swear.¡± ¡°A what? Goodness, you''re so weird.¡± Antoinette snatched Louis''s notebook and ripped out a fresh sheet of paper. She tore it into four and put the scraps in the middle of the table. ¡°I don''t think a signature works without a contract to bind it,¡± R¨¦mi said. ¡°I don''t want a signature.¡± She planted her hands on the table, scowling at us all. ¡°I want a secret.¡± We all stared at each other, puzzled. Louis took a breath to ask the obvious¨CAntoinette steamrolled over him. ¡°I won''t reveal it unless you open your mouth first. C¡¯est bien?¡± It was a true testament to Antoinette¡¯s terrifying, unquestionable authority that none of us argued. All the guys took a scrap of paper. Louis handled his like it was dripping with slime. I asked, ¡°There''s no paper for me?¡± Antoinette shrugged. ¡°There''s only one worthy secret that you could be hiding.¡± That I wasn''t actually an amnesiac? (And that I was a college student from another world who sure used to write a lot of fics where I described the taste of her kiss?) The guys wrote down their secrets and folded up their papers before handing them back. What was on each? Love Blooming made them each hold the weight of an insecurity or a fear, not really a secret. And it wouldn''t do Antoinette''s blackmail campaign any good if Louis wrote he was jealous of how his sisters got all the support in the Chapelle house and ¨¦tienne wrote how he felt controlled and suffocated. I suddenly felt nosy. It wasn¡¯t often that these guys felt anything that I hadn¡¯t read on their fanwiki page or learned from the game. Oh well. None of us would tattle, especially not to Georges Delphine, right? So Antoinette would have no reason to read¨C She opened all the papers and literally read them right in front of us. Louis was red as a fire engine and Sylvain went pale. R¨¦mi was lounging in his chair, acting cool, but I clocked the stiffness in his mouth. ¨¦tienne gave a little breathless chuckle, like he couldn¡¯t believe her. Antoinette shook her head and handed Sylvain his paper back. ¡°Pathetic. Give me another.¡± ¡°You can''t be serious.¡± ¡°I am.¡± ¡°You''ve already got the first secret. That''s uneven.¡± ¡°What, do you want me to confess something too, to cancel it out? I have no secrets.¡± After a little more bickering, ¨¦tienne said gently, ¡°Write something, Sylvain.¡± Antoinette announced, ¡°Don''t mistake me. I don''t care about your secrets. I don''t care about your lives.¡± She snatched Sylvain''s paper once he''d finished writing and stuffed all the scraps into her shoulder bag. ¡°You''ve sacrificed nothing here, unless you plan on sacrificing me. I need that book back once Autumn break is over, by the way.¡± At that, she turned away, vanishing out the study room door. ¡®Sacrificing me?¡¯ 20: SLEUTHING Autumn break trundled on. After the Samhain Formal, the entire student body was some combination of 1) hungover, 2) disgruntled about their failed business deals, 3) lazily riding on their successful business deals, or 4) stressed to the point of paralysis about future business deals. The campus was pleasantly subdued without the normal rush of classes. Of course, some nerds were still hard at work. For example, today, a mostly-recovered Antoinette was in a meeting with one of the other magi-botany class groups to discuss their project. Sooooo, I decided to misbehave a little bit and use her makeup. Look, I had to disguise myself somehow. The backstory goons and their cohorts clearly knew my plain face, since I didn¡¯t wear makeup on the daily and I¡¯d had little more than some eyeliner and shadow during the Samhain Formal. R¨¦mi knocked on my door halfway through, trying with all his might to initiate a game event, but I turned him down. He grinned at me, totally recognising that he¡¯d just walked into the equivalent of a little girl trying on mommy¡¯s makeup. At least Marie let me encourage him to drop the date, and he left. When I was done, I looked more 2010¡¯s Taylor Momsen than anything else. It made my reflection alienating and unfamiliar all over again, so it was perfect, even if it¡¯d shock the people of the nearby hamlet. I tied up my black hair and tucked it under a pageboy cap I''d stolen from Lou''s room yesterday when planning this trip, and the look was complete. Once I arrived at the hamlet near La Belle Lavande, I had no idea where to start. It wasn¡¯t like anyone had quest marker exclamation points floating above their heads. But in games, you learned things by talking and looking around until every stone was turned, right? I popped into boutiques and cafes, asking the workers and anyone who looked at me too long if they knew anything about the Gagnon arson case. I flipped through the newspapers in roadside stands, sure that there¡¯d be a conveniently concise and informational paragraph. Nothing. Hey, Marie, want to chime in with a dialogue box? Maybe a nice jpg full of clues? No? One place left. I walked into the police station exuding all the confidence I could. The station¨Cslick, dark, so full of glass panels and tables that I thought I¡¯d shatter the place if I stomped too hard¨Cwas deserted except for a young secretary at the front desk. He was so comically weedy and nerdy that I could practically see the spirals drawn on his oversized glasses and the messy curlicues sprouting from his sandy brown hair. He tossed down the stack of loose files he was holding, caught the few that made a leap for the floor, and said, ¡°H-hello? What brings you here today?¡± ¡°Hiya. I need a little help with something.¡± He squinted at my face. I may have misjudged how much the raccoon-eye makeup would help me. ¡°O-of course. I can call a guard¨C¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s okay. You can help! I want information on the Gagnon family arson case.¡± I pointedly looked at his stack of files. ¡°Any and all information.¡± He pushed up his glasses¡­and pushed the stack so it was tucked under the overhang of the desk, away from my prying eyes. ¡°Anything you need, you can find in the newspapers. We¨Cwe have a free selection right outside.¡± ¡°I need things you can¡¯t find in the newspapers.¡± I batted my eyelashes, summoning Marie¡¯s sweet, persuasive naivete, tilting my tone so if it was written out, it''d be bracketed by uwu¡¯s and ~¡¯s. ¡°I wish I could tell you why, but it¡¯s really private and important to me, and I¡­I¡­I¡¯ll be so indebted to you.¡± Clearly this guy had more integrity than I guessed, because he straightened up his bony shoulders and said, ¡°I¡¯m very sorry. Further details on the case are classified.¡± ¡°But I said I''d be indebted to you! Don''t you know what that means?¡± ¡°Miss, you can look in the newspapers.¡± Argh, give me dialogue options!!! The secretary said, voice shaky around his newfound authority, ¡°Is there anything else I can help you with?¡± I scowled. ¡°I guess not.¡± ¡°Have a good day.¡± He turned back to his files, kinda shuffling and flicking through them, probably so he wouldn¡¯t have to look me in my sparkly protagonist eyes. I dragged myself outside. All dead ends. What was I supposed to do? Wait for another informational booklet to land in ¨¦tienne¡¯s lap? Go to another opera and hope the emcee¡¯s trying out for a true crime gig? Knock knock, Marie. Got a helpful memory for me? ¡°Chlo¨¦?¡± I looked up to see Antoinette, frowning at me quizzically from a shop away. ¡°What on earth is on your face?¡± ¡°It¡¯s, um, it¡¯s a long story.¡± Her gaze snapped to the station sign above my head. She strode up to me, heels clicking on the cobblestones, and said once we were side by side, ¡°You weren¡¯t telling them anything about the dance, were you?¡± ¡°No, of course not.¡± ¡°Well, what happened, then? You looked like they didn''t help you. Dressed like that, it''s no wonder.¡± ¡°It''s a disguise.¡± ¡°Who would be looking for you?¡± ¡°The answer to that is why I''m here¡­¡± We hadn''t spoken much since the dance. I gave her privacy in our dorm to recover, electing to hang out with the guys or explore the campus, but whenever we did speak, she was apparently determined to act normal. I guess if your ¡®normal¡¯ was cranky, did it really matter if you were mad at someone for a new reason? ¡°You remember the Gagnons?¡± ¡°Yes, the missing family. Why?¡± ¡°I really want to learn more about them. There''s gotta be some kind of police¨CI mean, guard report I can read, something that the newspapers can''t reveal.¡± She tilted her head, putting a hand on her hip. Then something occurred to her, her red eyebrows shooting up behind her bangs, and she said, ¡°Oh, you think you''re the missing daughter, don''t you?¡± Hearing that, I should have been alarmed. But all I felt was relief. ¡°A little bit?¡± ¡°I was wondering when you¡¯d figure it out.¡± Antoinette bit her lip, seemingly unaware of how much my relief nearly bowled me over. ¡°Were you telling the guard that when they turned you away?¡± I could kiss her feet with how easily she took the news. No wonder¨Cit¡¯d take the target off her back if there was a chance the poisoning wasn¡¯t about her at all, which she seemed desperate to do. Besides, she just said I thought I was the missing daughter, not that I was. ¡°No way, they¡¯d think I was crazy if I said I was a Gagnon!¡± Antoinette¡¯s blue eyes narrowed in on the weedy little secretary through the window, now trying to fit a handful of pencils into a cup in one go. ¡°Come with me.¡± I scurried after her. The boy at the desk looked alarmed again at the intrusion, but this time, Antoinette¡¯s presence kept him terrified. She swept directly up to him, no slowing or weaving like I¡¯d done, and set her hands firmly on the raised part of the desk that acted as a partition (and file-hider). ¡°Salut. I am Antoinette Delphine, daughter of Georges Delphine, heiress to the Aconitum Corporation. A corporation who, you may know, if they respect you enough to give you any information at all, does what for the city guard?¡± He blurted the answer, like a prof had called on him in class, ¡°Th-they fund our buildings.¡± Talk about a conflict of interest! ¡°Precisely. That chair you¡¯re sitting on?¡± She extended a sharp red nail to indicate the red satin and blonde wood peeking over his narrow shoulders. ¡°Taken right from my very own nook in my estate library. I could take it back, if I so pleased, along with anything else that belongs to the Delphines in this pathetic little office. And what is your name?¡± ¡°I¨C...Jean-Paul, miss.¡± ¡°Fabulous. Now that we know each other, Jean-Paul, I can trust you to listen to a concern I have, non?¡± ¡°O-of course, m-m-miss.¡± ¡°This friend of mine,¡± and here she gestured to me, and Jean-Paul stared at me like he hadn¡¯t even realized I was there beyond the corona that was Antoinette (who could blame him?), ¡°asked you for a summary of the Gagnon case, and you denied her. Is that so?¡± ¡°It¡¯s, um, it¡¯s confidential¨C¡± ¡°Oh, of course it is. I fully intend to keep this a secret between the three of us. But if you say no, well, I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to keep a secret about the guard secretary¡¯s horrible rudeness to the heiress.¡± She was speaking at top speed. His eyes darted all over her face like he couldn¡¯t catch half her words. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. So when she hit him with a pointed, icy, ¡°Yes?¡± he nodded out of what seemed like pure instinct. ¡°Merci,¡± she cooed. ¡°We¡¯ll find a private corner to read and return all files posthaste.¡± ¡°Well, um, actually¡­the files are locked up. I don¡¯t have access.¡± She frowned. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°These are little things.¡± He slid aside that damn pile of files for her to see. ¡°Like carriage parking violations and taxes and stuff¡­¡± I groaned. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you say that?¡± ¡°Because I¡­um¡­¡± Jean-Paul blushed fantastically. ¡°Because I kind of transcribed the files about the Gagnon case, so¡­I know¡­¡± I lit up. Antoinette said coyly, ¡°Oh, your thoughts on the case¨Cevery single one of them, I must insist¨Cwould be grand.¡± In his halting way, constantly checking the door, Jean-Paul first gave us a refresher on the tale: out of nowhere, the Gagnon estate in the nearby city of Altolia burned to the ground. The family¨CClaude Gagnon, Helene Gagnon, and Marie Gagnon (shudder!) were gone. Poof. Nothing was stolen as far as investigators could tell, and the scene was too damaged to assess if there was forced entry or any blood, but they could suss out that the fire was set on purpose, oil dumped all over the floor of the entrance hall and around the support beams, so the house would collapse. ¡°Could you tell us more about the Gagnons?¡± I asked. ¡°Um¡­Helene Gagnon was pretty well-known for her business. They bound books of all kinds and even published some stuff that the big companies wouldn¡¯t touch a-and had their own factory outside Altolia and everything. They¡¯d gotten into a little bit of, um, trouble recently, I guess, with one of their factories getting damaged and the whole operation having to go on hold, but they were in an okay spot, because of Georges Delphine¡­¡± Antoinette tilted her head. ¡°My father?¡± ¡°Yes, she, um¨CHelene and Georges were involved in business together.¡± Antoinette and I glanced at each other. ¡°Georges Delphine made a couple statements to the guard once the news reached the crown city,¡± Jean-Paul said. Obviously I didn¡¯t remember any of this stuff, but Antoinette¡¯s eyebrows were dented together, giving me a hint that maybe she never knew about this either. Maybe the business stuff in question was too boring for the daughters to be involved? Antoinette said, ¡°What kinds of statements?¡± ¡°Uh, nothing really of note, as far as I was told? Sympathies and stuff¡­ He explained their previous work together. It was private because it was publishing and wasn¡¯t set to be released yet, you know how that can go, reporting bans and stuff if the topic is really sensitive¡­¡± Aaand what else? Antoinette brushed it off. ¡°My father has endless business connections. Are there any suspects? Persons of interest?¡± He blushed and pressed his lips together. Antoinette pointedly leaned on the counter. He blurted, ¡°The¨Cthe insurance and the will are strange.¡± ¡°How strange?¡± I pushed. ¡°The beneficiaries were changed a bit over a year ago? So in the case of Helene and Claude dying, the insurance money and the inheritance passed on to Helene¡¯s nephew and niece.¡± Antoinette asked the question that was caught in my throat. ¡°What about the Gagnon daughter?¡± ¡°Th-that¡¯s weird, right? So obviously the nephew and niece were¡­considered as suspects¡­but they had perfect alibis, nothing seemed amiss¡­I mean, last I heard¡­¡± Although we peppered him with more questions, he couldn¡¯t give us much more. When a guard entered the office with his fancy red suit and riding boots, Jean-Paul shut up entirely (looking more suspicious than if he¡¯d kept talking, but whatever). Antoinette and I left. Niece and nephew? I was stuck on that. In the game, the whole Gagnon case was half-assed and half-explained, pinning the arson on random anonymous goons who wanted to rob the Gagnon family, so their defense could easily be collapsed by Marie¡¯s new beau helping her earn all her money back and put them in jail. Claude and Helene (not even named in Love Blooming!) died in the fire, while Marie ran off, losing her memory thanks to a head injury and plot convenience. Why hadn¡¯t the police (police, guard, whatever) here not even found the dead parents yet? Were their bodies hidden? Were they not even dead? And what did that mean for me? If I was gonna get far enough in the game¡¯s timeline to give Antoinette her happy ending, well, I¡¯d have to run into the Gagnon murder plot too. What if I never solved it? What if I never got the money and estate back? What would I do, just float around this world forever? Oh, god, would I have to job search again and endlessly tour apartments, this time in a world without internet? And what if I did get the money? I couldn¡¯t run a publishing business! I¡¯d never had more than three thousand bucks in my bank account at any one time, and even that was right before rent was due! I felt like I¡¯d just stepped off the tilt-a-whirl. ¡°Chlo¨¦?¡± I blinked up at Antoinette. We were walking aimlessly through the hamlet streets. ¡°Sorry? What?¡± ¡°You were lost in thought. What is it?¡± ¡°I¡­If it is me¨Cif I¡¯m Marie¨Cit¡¯s not like I can help them solve the mystery or anything.¡± ¡°That conversation didn¡¯t dislodge any of your memories?¡± ¡°Nope. By the way, if flowers start exploding around me, I¡¯m probably remembering something.¡± ¡°...Noted.¡± I deflated. ¡°I feel like we¡¯re still on square one.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s some guidance. If the poison was about you, then investigate your little heart out. But if it was about me, I suggest you stop snooping.¡± ¡°Are you that worried about your dad finding out?¡± Or was she worried that if I dug, I might find out the Aconitum secrets that, in Love Blooming, landed her in prison? ¡°If he learns about this, he¡¯ll turn it around on me and how stupid I¡¯ve been. Of course he¡¯ll want vengeance, but that will only blow everything up more. For all his lecturing me about not putting a target on my back, he sure can¡¯t help doing the same when he¡¯s on the warpath.¡± ¡°Antoinette, that¡¯s not fair. It¡¯s your safety. And¨C¡± She waved a manicured hand at my face. ¡°Are you still anxious? Do you want something? Will that make you feel better? There¡¯s an ice cream shop nearby.¡± I laughed. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing, nothing, just the way you asked it. How about, ¡®hey, Chlo¨¦, want to grab some ice cream?¡¯¡± I grinned up at her flustered expression. ¡°Of course. I¡¯d love to.¡± That was enough to reroute my brain. I skipped alongside her as she led me through the hamlet¡¯s cobblestone streets, under shop awnings laden with garlands of pastel flowers and cutesy cafes with names like The Rabbit¡¯s Den and Miss Muffet¡¯s Tuffet and hand-painted tea sets in the windows. The smells of sweet pies and breads wafted through the hamlet. It was like I¡¯d fallen headfirst into one of my own sugar!Marie x Antoinette fluff drabbles. We were only missing the ice cream blotting on our cheeks and the other gently wiping it off, but there was still time for that! When we passed a cute fountain in the middle of town, Antoinette dipped in a handkerchief from her purse and handed it to me. ¡°For the makeup, or whatever you were trying to do.¡± I didn¡¯t argue with washing it off. ¡°I didn¡¯t want anyone to point to me as the girl who was looking for info on the Gagnons.¡± ¡°That¡¯s shot, because we needed my reputation. Besides,¡± she said, taking the handkerchief back now that it was streaked with eyeliner, ¡°I think you blend in fine. You¡¯re very pretty, but not in a very interesting way. Girls like you disappear easily. Don¡¯t underestimate that advantage.¡± Um, thank you? Right next to the fountain was a little ice cream parlour, clearly built from the structure of a cottage home. A bell jangled over the wooden door when we entered, the hardwood floor creaking comfortably under our shoes in its own little greeting. The place was chilly to keep the ice cream from melting, and there weren¡¯t as many flavour choices as I was used to staring down at a Baskin Robbins or a even a roadside stand that got their scoops from Costco tubs; Antoinette was quick to tell me that cherry was the best, with lemon being a close second. I went with cherry. It was served in a little porcelain dish and with a tiny porcelain spoon that I marveled over, used to getting my ice cream in thin plastic or an edible waffle cone (far superior). We sat outside at a small mismatched table with mismatched chairs, shielded from the noon sun by a lacy umbrella. For a minute I simply enjoyed the atmosphere¨Cthe people walking by in their old-timey clothes, talking and laughing; a horse-drawn cab carrying a pack of students I recognised from La Belle Lavande, showing each other their clothing purchases for the upcoming chilly weather; the buildings without a single polished, shaved-down corner to make them more palatable to the HOA or marketable to big-box businesses. Plus, I enjoyed Antoinette sitting quietly with me, taking dainty little bites of her lemon ice cream, but¨Calas!¨Cnot getting any of it dotted cutely on her nose. ¡°Thank you for helping me,¡± I said. ¡°Mhmm.¡± ¡°Does this have anything to do with our conversation at the dance?¡± She quirked an eyebrow at me. ¡°Conversation, is that what you''re calling it?¡± ¡°Argument?¡± She daintily shrugged, taking a perfect little spoonful of her ice cream and looking out at the square. ¡°Maybe it''s an apology of sorts.¡± I wanted to instantly say it was okay. But something stopped me. I was ready from the first moment I stepped into this world to forgive her for everything, to ignore her crap behaviour because of the good girl underneath. Maybe I''d totally invented that girl, with my fics and my theories. Maybe this was the best Antoinette could do. And I didn''t want to say that was okay. Taking a deep breath, I said, ¡°You can''t keep turning your anger onto other people.¡± Even if it''s a little sexy when you''re being commandeering. ¡°I told you that you weren''t nice, and I meant it, but I want to be persuaded otherwise.¡± We sat in silence for a long moment, the hamlet whirring around us. Finally, she said, ¡°What if I told you that I didn''t feel like it was me who did all those things?¡± ¡°I''d understand. Truly!¡± I added when she shot me a sardonic look. ¡°I''d get it more than you know! I only remember who I was in flashes, right? Everything about me is unfamiliar. I keep doing things that don''t feel right, because I never really, totally, feel like me. So I''d understand it. But I wouldn''t automatically forgive you.¡± She studied me, spoon in her mouth. ¡°You''re already more forgiving than I deserve.¡± ¡°You have friends; I''m not the only one who lets you get away with stuff.¡± ¡°Friends? Hardly.¡± Oh yes, oh man. Is this where she''ll tell me all her friends are shallow and power hungry? And she feels alone in a crowded room? ¡°They forgive me because otherwise they''ll lose their grip on the scaffolding of my family''s patience. All of it, shallow and silly. Sylvain was my only true friend, and still, I feel him pulling away.¡± ¡°He cares a lot about you. Like, maybe too much.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Well, then, all of this considered, will you treat me accordingly from now on? Will you understand me, if not forgive me, Chlo¨¦?¡± Who ever would have guessed that I¡¯d hear that from the snarky, selfish villainess? ¡°I will. I promise.¡± I extended my hand across the table, pinkie up. She smirked. Did the same, touching our hands, so I locked our pinkies together tightly. We finished our ice cream and headed back out onto the street. I asked, ¡°What were you in town for, anyways? Weren¡¯t you helping some classmates out this morning?¡± She didn¡¯t have any shopping bags. ¡°I can help you do whatever you meant to do before I caught you up in all my nonsense.¡± She opened her mouth to answer, but didn¡¯t say a word. Her brow screwed up. ¡°¡­I¡¯m not sure. Perhaps your amnesia is catching. Let¡¯s go back to the academy.¡± Okay, wait a minute. R¨¦mi had asked me to hang out today. In Love Blooming, Marie had ice cream with him, and they learned a bit more about his family¡¯s empire of clothing and fashion stores, cumulating in R¨¦mi apparently coming for ¨¦tienne¡¯s bag by giving Marie loads of jewels and accessories as gifts. And then Marie and R¨¦mi ran into Antoinette in the boutique, where she sneered at Marie¡¯s appearance and blah blah poor loser girls blah blah. I guess that Antoinette¡¯s old programming urged her to go to town, but without a love interest to hunt down, she was lost. Until she found me again. ¡°Yep. Let¡¯s go.¡± 21: Sylvain - BETWEEN THE LINES Am¨¦lie hadn¡¯t yet made it off the front porch. Sylvain waited for her after locking the door, looking over her for any sign that he should rush back inside for a coat or a hat to shield her eyes from the late-autumn sun. She turned her face to the warmth of it, closing her eyes and tilting up on her toes. He¡¯d rigorously tested the endurance potion, ensuring that there were no subtle adverse effects that flew over R¨¦mi and Louis¡¯ inexperienced heads. Luckily, after adjusting the quantities of particular dried roots to counteract the quickened heartbeat and drastic come-down, it became perfectly suitable for a couple hours of increased¨Cyet manageable¨Cstamina. It was a potion of unreal potential. He felt stupid for not having made it before. Sylvain offered his sister his elbow. Am¨¦lie took it, settling her cane comfortably in her other hand, and so he supported her much in the same way he would when heading down the stairs or when coming to sit on this very porch with tea and a book. This time, though, she pulled him into the yard with an insistence that seemed to surprise even her. They first explored the winding residential streets. Am¨¦lie pointed out all the plants she could name thanks to her close study of his textbooks, and then all the insects that settled on leaves long enough for her to examine them. In town, she wanted to pop into every shop and say hello to every clerk. Sylvain watched Am¨¦lie fluttering among the shoppers¨Cfluttering, yes, that was the right word. She was small enough to be picked up by the wind and whisked away. She walked while tilting forwards on her toes, unfamiliar with the movements and leaning awkwardly into them. Villagers turned to stare at her as she glided by; maybe that was because she was smiling at all of them. So open, naive¡­ These strangers¡­they didn¡¯t know she was a floating little thing caught up in their current. They were surrounded by things he took for granted every day. Their home was so isolated, even in this quaint hamlet¨Cshe¡¯d lost so much that her books and songs could never fill. Why didn¡¯t she ask him about his life anymore? Maybe because it was full of classes and boring lectures, hardly any friends? Maybe she didn¡¯t want to hear it when it was merely steps away, and yet denied to her. Was this potion taunting her with something that wasn¡¯t permanent? Am¨¦lie wanted to stay in a coffee shop¨Che ordered them tea and a couple danishes, and they sat together in companionable silence as they sipped. Am¨¦lie had brought him a newspaper off the stand; meanwhile, she seemed plenty happy to just people-watch. ¡°Sylvain! Look at what she¡¯s reading,¡± Am¨¦lie eventually whispered, surreptitiously pointing at the next table. The young woman next to them must have been a student from La Belle Lavande: a fresh copy of the freshman class¡¯s most-hated assigned book, Lure the Midnight Hour, was propped open against a tower of cups so she could write notes and sip her coffee as she read. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Am¨¦lie said, leaning towards the young woman¡¯s table, ¡°how far are you in that book?¡± Sylvain cringed. The young woman blinked in surprise, then said, ¡°Well, the lead¡¯s just left for his kingdom tour. He¡¯s boarded the train¡­¡± ¡°Oh, the tour section is my favourite.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve read it?¡± ¡°Only a half-dozen times!¡± The woman laughed lightly. ¡°I wish I had your enthusiasm. I¡¯m reading it for class. The only sections I really like are when he¡¯s in court¨CI like the clever dialogue of the lawyers, you know, and the intrigue.¡± ¡°Ooh, is that so? You might prefer the author¡¯s other books, then, they¡­¡± As Am¨¦lie spoke, she nudged Sylvain¡¯s foot under the table. He obediently turned back to his paper and tried to tune them out as they traded book titles back and forth. He¡¯d given Am¨¦lie his copy of Midnight Hour after he¡¯d burned through it and the subsequent assignments, not thinking it¡¯d be worth much more to her than a way to occupy her busy mind in that bedroom, but she¡¯d ended up understanding it even more deeply than he did. Apparently she found the wrongly-convicted man at the center of the story (and the endless court scenes surrounding him) thrilling and interesting, while they left a sour taste in Sylvain¡¯s mouth. A few pages of the newspaper later, the young woman was packing up her things. Am¨¦lie drank her tea that she¡¯d been neglecting and stood up, so fast that she swayed. Sylvain made to tidy up too, until Am¨¦lie interjected, ¡°No, you can stay, brother. Sophie and I are going to talk about books.¡± ¡°Where?¡± Sophie glanced between them. Perhaps his tone had been too sharp. ¡°I was going to take her for a walk around the main square. You said you haven¡¯t seen the bookstore yet, right?¡± Am¨¦lie nodded. ¡°Sophie tells me that they have signed copies of Midnight Hour that they can¡¯t get rid of!¡± She laughed, totally unembarrassed of how loud she was in the small coffee shop. ¡°Can I borrow your wallet?¡± ¡°I should come. I don¡¯t want to lose you in town.¡± ¡°It¡¯s only a few minutes away. You don¡¯t have to follow me around.¡± Accurately reading the air, Sophie said, ¡°I¡¯m going to bring our dishes to the counter.¡± She gathered up both her and Am¨¦lie¡¯s dishes then wove between the tables. Once she was out of earshot, Sylvain insisted, ¡°I should stay with you, in case anything happens. Besides,¡± he added, ¡°I don¡¯t want to miss anything.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a child learning how to walk and speak, Sylvain.¡± Am¨¦lie set her fingertips on the back of his hand. ¡°I think I could be her friend. Please?¡± ¡°You very well might vanish from town after today, you know.¡± ¡°Let me pretend I won¡¯t.¡± He¡¯d never heard her so certain before. Much less heard her deny him what he thought was best¨Cand so Sylvain had no choice but to let her go. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Am¨¦lie and Sophie strolled out of the coffee shop, Am¨¦lie stepping even more confidently with her cane, hugging the billfold Sylvain gave her. Sylvain let them get a few blocks away before leaving the shop, too, and then finding a seat on a bench near the mermaid fountain in the center of the main thoroughfare. The bookstore really wasn¡¯t far: Sylvain watched them both stop outside, prowling the tables of donated books together. ¡°Is that your sister?¡± Sylvain turned to see Antoinette. Her red hair was tied up in a bun made of braids, and she was carrying a small sketchbook in the crook of her arm, with a satchel of pencils hooked into her chunky leather belt over her skirt. ¡°Ah¡­it is.¡± ¡°I should have guessed you¡¯d give her a taste of that potion of yours.¡± Yours. He had to admit¨Che liked hearing it phrased that way. ¡°I took a vial with me over the break; I perfected it.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t trust your friends to get it right?¡± Friends? ¡°Maybe it was good enough for a competition, but not good enough for her.¡± Antoinette sat beside him and opened her sketchbook. For a moment she only sketched the contours of the town square, not looking at him, and he was content to be in her silence. ¡°Autumn break project,¡± she said simply. It had been a while since Antoinette elected to spend time with him alone. Ever since Chlo¨¦ appeared, in fact. They had always been good at enjoying the silence, so he took advantage of it for a few minutes, letting her work. Eventually he asked, ¡°Are you feeling much better?¡± She hesitated. Antoinette was not one to hesitate, so he was surprised enough to look at her; she shook her head and said, ¡°Yes. I suppose.¡± ¡°You suppose?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t felt like myself,¡± she admitted stiffly. ¡°But that¡¯s been going on since before the poison.¡± What did she mean? Why keep it a secret from him? She continued, ¡°R¨¦mi kept insisting that I use that damn potion too. I refused.¡± ¡°I told him not to even try that¡­¡± ¡°They¡¯re all excited about their invention. It¡¯s a bit sweet.¡± She blew an autumn leaf off her page. ¡°You were once excited about things like that. I remember your first potion.¡± Am¨¦lie was showing Sophie a handful of books, talking a mile a minute, though he couldn¡¯t hear her. She often talked about things he didn¡¯t understand or wasn¡¯t interested in, but he enjoyed listening to her regardless. ¡°You even chided me when I wasn¡¯t excited like you were.¡± ¡°Sorry?¡± She frowned at him. ¡°Don¡¯t you remember? When you were tutoring me. You¡¯re a stoic old man, now. Back then, you practically expected me to dance a jig with you when my potion worked.¡± A few years ago, when Antoinette¡¯s mother, Gabrielle Delphine, fell ill, Antoinette¡¯s marks dropped severely. The heiress ended up on Sylvain¡¯s doorstep, demanding that he help her with her classes. She¡¯d pay him a salary that was even more than his father was getting, working at Aconitum, but he couldn¡¯t say a damned word. She must have thought very little of him back then, the son of a mere factory worker. But M. Laflamme floated around Georges Delphine¡¯s upper echelon so often, trying to get into their good graces, that Antoinette must have overheard that Sylvain was very intelligent. Maybe Sylvain¡¯s father used that as a way to get Georges to pay attention. Sylvain did help her. After a couple months, she¡¯d regained her foothold in academia, Antoinette and Sylvain were sort of friends, Gabrielle¡¯s condition did not improve, and Sylvain had no idea what to do with the salary. Shortly after that¨Conce his father was arrested¨Che used it to pay the entry fee into La Belle Lavande. Sylvain asked something he¡¯d always wondered. ¡°Why did you come to me, anyhow? I was only a student. A public school student.¡± ¡°Your father made sure that even your headmasters dropped your name any chance they got. It was only a matter of time before that name got to me. Besides, if I¡¯d asked for a formal tutor, my father would know something was wrong.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°And then we know what would happen.¡± ¡°Something similar to why you won¡¯t let us talk about the poisoning?¡± ¡°Obviously.¡± Am¨¦lie and Sophie finished looking over the outdoor books. Am¨¦lie had a whole stack of battered paperbacks in her arms and shook her head when Sophie held out her hands to take them. Am¨¦lie¡¯s cane caught on the edge of the door and she stumbled. Antoinette grabbed his sleeve moments before he could spring to his feet. ¡°Oh, let her be.¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°She wants to try out being a young woman without her brother hanging over her shoulder like a ghoul.¡± Am¨¦lie vanished into the bookstore. His chest constricted, very similarly to how his first dosage of the potion felt, coursing energy through a heart that wasn¡¯t trained how to manage it. Sylvain said sharply, ¡°You don¡¯t understand what¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°No, I suppose I don¡¯t. Though I know of some therapists who might.¡± Antoinette dashed a few impressionist lines on the page. ¡°And some physicians.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t trust that they know anything.¡± She sighed. In typical Antoinette fashion, she went directly for the jugular: ¡°Your stubbornness will cost that girl so much. You have the money, so I refuse to help you with that. It¡¯s connections you need help with. Why not¨C¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Please. My family has countless physicians on-call.¡± ¡°They were all trained on old information. So much has changed since magic arrived.¡± Antoinette scowled, sighing through her nose. ¡°True. I suppose that¡¯s why you want to cure her yourself, isn¡¯t it?¡± Lack of knowledge, the ignorance that ran through Eavredor like a poison¡­distrust, suspicion, in the elites, well-founded after all that happened to him. In this kingdom, there were people like the Laflammes, and then people like Antoinette, ¨¦tienne, R¨¦mi, and Louis. Even like Sophie. Those people could throw anyone in jail if they so pleased. Could turn Am¨¦lie into a curious medical anomaly, a sideshow, an experiment, and would openly lie about it to him. He¡¯d done enough research to know that these sorts of things happen. Am¨¦lie¡¯s sickness was a mystery and Sylvain would keep it a mystery from those who loved to make myths. Sylvain folded his hands over his knee. ¡°Have you found anything on Chlo¨¦ yet?¡± She took her time with the next bit of her drawing, giving extra care to the detailed stone masonry of the bakery. ¡°I¡¯m ending my search. There¡¯s nothing of interest at all. I think her story really might be as simple as I originally posited¨Ca very unlucky girl who had something to run away from, who schemed herself into the prince¡¯s arms.¡± ¡°But why?¡± Antoinette shot him her characteristic, ¡°You¡¯re kidding, right?¡± look. ¡°You are not a girl. You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡± ¡°Enlighten me.¡± Her tone was sharp¨Cyes, characteristic for Antoinette, but a little surprising considering the subject. Wasn¡¯t it only a month ago that she told Sylvain she was going to use all her father¡¯s resources and connections to find where Chlo¨¦ came from? ¡°You weren¡¯t raised to be silly enough to believe that princes are all you have in this world. Or worse, raised smart enough to know that there¡¯s nothing you can do about it.¡± ¡°I suppose I wasn¡¯t.¡± ¡°So don¡¯t bother with her. She¡¯s simply doing what you¡¯re too proud to do, and using her circumstances to her advantage. I don¡¯t hate her half as much as I expected I would, and so, I don¡¯t mind if I have to keep an eye on her for all of us.¡± Sylvain wasn¡¯t so sure. The girl brought spider web threads of danger with her. What did she know that no one else did? What was she hiding? Why not go to the guard? Well¡­on that, he could understand. The guard never did anything to help Sylvain¡¯s father. They only saw the coins that bought them out, not the evidence. ¡°Either way. It must be better to be ignorant and an amnesiac,¡± Antoinette said pointedly, ¡°than someone who knows every detail and yet can do nothing about it. I hear that can drive a man mad.¡± She folded up her sketchbook and clipped shut the pencil satchel on her hip. She stood, looking down on him, and said, ¡°I¡¯ll see you in class. Tell me how Am¨¦lie fares. Maybe integrate it into your potion project? A miracle story like that will win my father¡¯s heart for sure. And most definitely a perfect score for you.¡± To hell with your father. 22: SLICE AND DICE On the day I was gonna meet the royals, ¨¦tienne left classes early for a pre-game meeting with them. Or something. He apologized about a thousand times (the prof let him talk to me even while the lecture was going on); I didn¡¯t really understand what fancy-schmancy tasks he had to do, and I also didn¡¯t mind, especially when he reassured me that a carriage would pick me up at six PM. After classes, I went to my dorm. Put away my supplies. Washed my face. Took down my hair from its braid. And asked Antoinette, ¡°What should I wear to the palace?¡± She eyed me from her desk (she liked to recopy her daily class notes into tidy paragraphs before dinnertime). ¡°Depends. Which of us would you rather get all of ¨¦tienne¡¯s attention?¡± ¡°Heyyy, I didn¡¯t even invite you!¡± ¡°Silly me, I was being presumptuous.¡± She smiled her coy smile. I couldn¡¯t help smiling back. ~*~ Fast-forward a couple hours and we were all dolled up, being led through the palace by a pair of butlers. I was happy to let Antoinette take all the attention tonight¨Cnot like I had a choice in the matter. After all, Antoinette was elegant¡­poised¡­mature¡­and (as long as she clipped a leash on her sniping) the perfect portrait of a queen. I had no idea how to navigate the labyrinth that was a formal dinner (why so many spoons??), while Antoinette regularly parried with professors about everything from philosophy to politics. I said, skip in my step, ¡°The King and Queen are gonna love you.¡± Antoinette tilted her head at me. ¡°This dinner is with the King and Queen?¡± ¡°Wait, didn¡¯t I mention that? This is the invitation you got so mad about at the dance, silly.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember that night very well. Did you tell ¨¦tienne that you invited me?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± ¡°My God. That poor boy is going to get a scare.¡± She laughed, pressing her manicured fingers to her brow. I guess I should¡¯ve been clearer that this wasn¡¯t just another hangout between the three of us? After all, the Alaries and Georges Delphine weren¡¯t exactly on great terms. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Anything ¨¦tienne can say around me, he can say around you.¡± She quirked an eyebrow. We didn¡¯t really have a way to put her behaviour re. me and the guys into words, but that expression said it all. I waved it off. ¡°Whatever! Sorry that I didn¡¯t warn you. I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be a big deal.¡± ¡°Oh¡­oh, I suppose you wouldn¡¯t know, hm?¡± Mischief glinted in her eye. ¡°None of the Delphines have been able to directly address the King and Queen for a decade. You¡¯ve given me a wonderful opportunity.¡± Ah, crap. That¡­okay, that did sound familiar. But honestly, on one of my many nights scouring the journal, I¡¯d sorted that little factoid away, thinking it was simply a headcanon from one of Staci¡¯s fics (she loved to play on the familial tensions when she dipped into Antoinette x ¨¦tienne). Before I could handle the bomb she dropped on me, the staff pulled open the dining hall doors and Antoinette escorted me in by the arm. Alarm flashed across the attractive faces of the three Alaries seated at the table. The room¡¯s temperature plunged ten degrees. The staff pulled out our chairs. We sat beside each other, across from ¨¦tienne, the King and Queen side by side at the head of the table. Antoinette was missing cutlery and dishes. The staff rushed out to fix the situation. Antoinette said pleasantly, ¡°It¡¯s been such a long time, Your Majesties. Thank you ever so much for allowing us to join you.¡± I couldn¡¯t remember why the Delphines were banned from speaking to the King and Queen. Maybe that was a good sign¡­? Nothing crazy had happened, or else even I would¡¯ve mined it for fic drama. But I was having some pretty bad luck these days with the world trying to fill the gaps that the game left behind. The Queen looked past Antoinette, right to her son. She was almost comically pinch-faced, bird-like, her hair pulled back into a bun as tight as a ballet dancer¡¯s. ¡°We weren¡¯t under the impression that you had two guests.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t. I mean, of course, you¡¯re welcome at our table, but¨CI didn¡¯t know.¡± Antoinette smiled at everyone. ¡°I didn¡¯t know either until this afternoon. Though shouldn¡¯t you have expected this? Chlo¨¦ and I are practically connected at the hip.¡± A servant swooped in to give her a glass and pour us some sparkling white wine. I gave her a pointed look over the servant¡¯s shoulder, back to the royals: Don¡¯t blow it! She batted her eyelashes at me, smirking. I would never! ¨¦tienne stared at us like ???? Argh, here I was, wanting ¨¦tienne¡¯s parents to be impressed by Antoinette¡¯s flawless etiquette, and I may have unwittingly started a cage match. I addressed the royals. ¡°I never got the chance to thank you personally for helping me. You know, for letting me live here for a couple days, for arranging a meeting with the headmaster to get me into La Belle Lavande¡­I can never repay that.¡± ¡°It was no trouble, mademoiselle,¡± the Queen said. ¡°How have things been faring? ¨¦tienne says your memory hasn¡¯t improved.¡± ¡°...No, unfortunately not. I¡¯m okay, though. ¨¦tienne¡¯s been a godsend; he¡¯s always there to help me.¡± ¡°Has he been helping you gain connections to recover it?¡± ¡°Sorry, what do you mean¡­?¡± The King¨Ca cliche representation from his sculpted beard to broad silhouette¨Cclarified, ¡°Connections with magicians, physicians, and the like.¡± ¡°Ah¡­I decided I wanted to handle all that privately.¡± The Queen gave a tiny little hmph. ¡°¨¦tienne, how could you not have recommended her to M. Aubert? He has written many treatises on the mind and memory.¡± I blushed. ¡°No, thank you, that¡¯s okay¨C¡± ¡°You should be trying to heal yourself. After all, we¡¯ve heard you have exemplary magical abilities, and those would be wasted on a weak mind.¡± Her eyes were a frosty blue; though her tone was calm, I could feel the bite of cold as she stared me down. ¡°I guess? I mean, thank you. I¡¯ve been trying to hone those as much as I can.¡± LOL, hardly. ¡°If you have magic, that would mean your family is located in Eavredor, and has had roots here for a few generations. Magic like that is unique to this kingdom, as Lady Delphine and ¨¦tienne could explain to you in great detail.¡± ¡°Oh, totally, and my classes have¨C¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Has ¨¦tienne been helping you understand where your magic comes from?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not his responsibility; I don¡¯t want to bother him.¡± The King and Queen shared a look. Why were they so concerned about my memory? Servants started bringing in food. Platters of things I definitely couldn¡¯t name, but they smelled amazing, full of herbs and rich sauces that shone on the plates. Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t start eating¨Cthe interrogation wasn¡¯t over. The Queen continued, ¡°Do you possess any other skills? Any other interests befitting a young lady like yourself?¡± The questions were practically innocent, but I felt like a spotlight had been turned on me, hot and oppressive. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying out lots of things. La Belle Lavande is amazing. I¡¯ve met so many wonderful people. Like ¨¦tienne and Antoinette, of course, and the Chapelle siblings, and¨C¡± ¡°I asked you about skills and interests, not your social life.¡± ¨¦tienne neatly stepped in. ¡°It¡¯s through her friends that she¡¯s had the opportunity to find new interests, after all.¡± ¡°Yeah, absolutely. Thank you again for sponsoring me.¡± And that¡¯s all I¡¯ve got to say on the matter! ¡°I¡¯m very happy to help a young woman, especially one of magical ability, to learn and discover herself. However, I¡¯m not sure I understand why my son has brought you here.¡± ¨¦tienne cleared his throat. ¡°I wanted you to meet Chlo¨¦ after all your help.¡± ¡°Yes, but am I supposed to be impressed?¡± I threw a glance at Antoinette. She played the innocent, looking over the decorations in the dining hall. Help me!! A memory from my fandom life flickered in the back of my mind. An anon once pointed out to me that all the women in Love Blooming were antagonists, or at least crappy people. Lou¡¯s sisters were snobby, talked down to him, and were easily manipulated into hating Marie. Scattered NPCs from R¨¦mi¡¯s past were jealous and judgy. Antoinette was¡­Antoinette. And the Queen was the biggest blockade in ¨¦tienne¡¯s route. She hated Marie. She messed with ¨¦tienne¡¯s mind, as was clear from his characterisation. The King was all innocently quiet and complicit as the Queen and her annoying writing said to me, point-blank, ¡°You¡¯re the prince¡¯s project, do you understand this?¡± ¨¦tienne gave a semi-panicked little laugh. ¡°Project is a harsh way of putting it. I was put in a position to help her, and so I will help her for as long as she needs.¡± ¡°To what end?¡± The King said neutrally, ¡°Yes, that is my question as well.¡± ¡°Your magic may make you a prodigy, but that isn¡¯t enough to rule a country. Where do you come from? If you don¡¯t want ¨¦tienne to help you anymore, why are you still associating with him?¡± Antoinette turned back to royals, her blue eyes going hard. She clearly knew where the conversation was heading. I was holding on for dear life. The Queen finally said the quiet part out loud: ¡°The girl is not fit for marriage, no matter how much schooling she gets.¡± I squeaked, ¡°Marriage?¡± ¨¦tienne added frantically, ¡°I never said marriage.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be naive, ¨¦tienne,¡± Antoinette said dryly. ¡°Finding a spouse is your only job until your father dies.¡± The King said firmly, ¡°Lady Delphine.¡± ¡°No offense intended, Your Majesty. I only say that because it''s my job too.¡± She casually took a bite of food like she¡¯d only commented on the weather. Once again, ¨¦tienne cleared his throat. ¡°I didn''t introduce you to Chlo¨¦ because I''m going to marry her. She''s my friend.¡± ¡°What does that matter?¡± the Queen asked. Antoinette set down her fork on her plate with a chiiing. ¡°It matters because your son is sharing a part of his life with you. These two can¡¯t go a day without speaking together. Of course he wants you to meet her!¡± The King folded his hands neatly on the table. ¡°I think it might be best, Lady Delphine, if you allowed us to discuss this topic without interjecting.¡± ¡°I''ve bitten my tongue at plenty of family dinners, so no thank you, Your Majesty.¡± I thought about drowning myself in my soup. ¡°What about me?¡± Antoinette asked. ¡°I¡¯d consider myself a stellar match for the prince. Though my pedigree comes from the hierarchy of business, you can¡¯t argue that I wasn¡¯t bred from the very best of the best. I¡¯m a top student at La Belle Lavande. I can hardly handle the amount of invitations I get¨Cto speak at events, to sponsor, to fund, to work, even to marry. ¡°I¡¯m trained in opera, dressage, ballet, embroidery, painting, and poetry-writing. I¡¯ve won awards in all categories since I could speak. I¡¯m involved in the Aconitum finances. If you believe the artists and stylists hired to flatter me, I¡¯m beyond comparison in my beauty, poise, and elegance. A marriage with me would mean the two most powerful pillars of Eavredor society would be bound together in iron.¡± Hear, hear! I knew she had a mic drop line to wrap all that up, but the Queen spoke first: ¡°It is your arrogance, Lady Delphine, that would disqualify you.¡± ¨¦tienne and I held our breaths, but Antoinette smiled. ¡°Thank you for proving my point, Your Majesty.¡± Antoinette flicked a hand at ¨¦tienne. ¡°No one will ever be good enough for you, ¨¦tienne, not to them. Don¡¯t wait for them to choose for you. Don¡¯t let your family decide anything for you.¡± ¡°Lady Delphine, please maintain your tone.¡± ¡°It is well-maintained, Your Majesty; perhaps it bothers you only because it is so familiar. My family is known for our tempers.¡± I kicked her ankle under the table. She kicked me back. ¨¦tienne cleared his throat again. ¡°I think we¡¯re veering¡­we¡¯ve gone off topic.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry if you got the wrong impression,¡± I added before Antoinette could keep shoveling her own grave (a favourite pastime of hers). ¡°¨¦tienne is a dear friend of mine, and I would love to stay his friend and grow closer to him, and part of that is meeting his parents and seeing his home. But I don¡¯t want to marry him.¡± ¡°If he isn¡¯t able to work on you any longer and he isn¡¯t interested in marrying you, then why are you here at all?¡± ¡°I¨Cthat¨Cwhat?¡± What am I, a character to level up in a video game? Antoinette read my mind: ¡°What is she, a table to refurbish?¡± ¡°I never even said marriage,¡± ¨¦tienne insisted, not looking up, but there was a slant of annoyance in his voice. It kinda sounded like R¨¦mi¡¯s sarcasm. He cleared his throat for about the gazillionth time. He folded his fabric napkin and stood up. ¡°Please excuse us.¡± The Queen waved a dainty hand. ¡°The Ladies can be excused. I want a word with you.¡± Antoinette pointedly adjusted in her chair, making clear that she wasn''t leaving. I slipped out of my seat, curtseyed to the best of my ability (and forgot to enunciate my thank yous and other kindnesses quoted out of Bridgerton), and then gave Antoinette a pointed stare. A couple moments passed. Then she threw down her napkin. In the hall, two butlers shut the dining hall doors behind us with a resounding crash. I wished for more rings and rude staff for Antoinette to plant them on. I was so freaking lucky back then! Who knew she would graduate to mouthing off to the King and Queen?! Antoinette snarled between her teeth. ¡°They cannot conceive of sharing in ¨¦tienne¡¯s life at all. All they care about is him catching a wife who¡¯ll sew her mouth shut and fill their family tree with equally spineless babies!¡± Welp, I can say one of Antoinette¡¯s romance routes is done for! Before I could respond, ¨¦tienne came out of the doors. He was a little flushed. And no wonder; he must have run after us. Antoinette turned, yanked off her elbow-length glove, and whacked him on the shoulder with it. ¡°How could you embarrass Chlo¨¦ like that!¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know¨C¡± ¡°¨¦tienne, you should have known!¡± she cried. ¡°They''ve seen the things you care about as projects since we were children! Of course they saw no use in Chlo¨¦. They want her to be a harmless morality tale on your way to kingship or some nonsense! Chlo¨¦''s outlived her usefulness to them, because they don''t see you having friends as useful. How do you not see that?! How could you put her in that position?!¡± She whacked him a couple more times. It wasn¡¯t doing anything worse than stirring his hair and weirding him out, but I grabbed her hands, turning her to me. ¡°I don¡¯t care what they think about me. But thank you, Antoinette.¡± She released a breath in a long, drawn-out sigh, biting her lip. I let go of her hands. ¨¦tienne folded his arms, glancing back at the door. ¡°Even so, Antoinette is right. I¡¯m sorry, whether you think it¡¯s needed or not. I¡¯m very sorry to you both. I wasn¡¯t thinking.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think, you don¡¯t act, and¨C¡± ¡°I did. Well, I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯d be up to your standards, but I¡­I told them you were both my friends. And their thoughts on you don¡¯t matter, because you both matter a lot to me.¡± This was the character development I¡¯d been waiting for. The change he needed. And all I could see was my friend, who¡¯d made a hard choice. I took his arm and gave it an affectionate squeeze. Antoinette said, ¡°Did you really?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I guess I should believe you, considering you look like you just outran a dragon.¡± Antoinette poked him in the chest. ¡°Thank you.¡± He smiled a little. ¡°By the way, as soon as I¡¯m able, I''ll have that stupid rule about your family revoked.¡± ¡°Oh, leave it. My father deserves it! Now,¡± she huffed, ¡°at least make sure dinner is sent up to the library. It all smelled very good and I don''t want to miss it.¡± 23: LOUS REHEARSAL A couple days later, Sylvain asked me, like he had a gun to his head, to come with him out of town to a nearby lake to gather specimens for class. Pretty ballsy invitation¨Cthe sort of invitation that would come from a guy who¡¯s being prompted by a higher power to think we were closer than we were. After the chaos that was the poisoning and investigating and sparring with the royals, I was blindsided by¨Coh yeah, game stuff. Gah. We were post-Samhain Formal, so the game was meant to break into separate routes and plots. I said I¡¯d get back to him later. Not like I would have picked ¡°yes¡± if that was an option. Then ¨¦tienne walked me to the dining hall for breakfast and, after stringing me along through an extensive chat about local holidays, asked if I wanted to come with him to his dressage competition. He could help me learn how to groom the horses and ride a little. Next in the revolving door of event prompts: in class, R¨¦mi threw me a paper plane that had written inside, Want to come with me to this weekend¡¯s fashion show? Company¡¯s showing off new stuff for winter. Could get you a free thing or two! By that point, I¡¯d figured out what episode I was in. So I wasn¡¯t a fraction as surprised as Lou when, during dinner that R¨¦mi persuaded us all to take outside to enjoy one of the last nice evenings of autumn, ¨¦tienne announced, ¡°C¨¦cile caught me in the hall earlier, Louis. She said all your sisters are very excited to submit their paintings. How is yours coming along?¡± Lou nearly choked on his overly-sweet cherry crumble. ¡°My what?¡± ¡°Your painting¡­?¡± ¡°Painting? There¡¯s no painting. What did you tell my sisters?¡± The autumn wind tossed ¨¦tienne¡¯s hair; he delicately brushed it off his furrowed brow. ¡°I spoke to the Duke and Duchess Chapelle about having you all submit your work to the charity auction to sell. What?¡± he asked, as Lou dropped his face into his hands with a groan. ¡°What did I do?¡± ¡°You went to his parents, man,¡± R¨¦mi sighed, leaning back on his jacket on the grass. ¡°Should I not have?¡± Antoinette (who I could not believe had deigned to eat with us again), added, ¡°Clearly, because they didn¡¯t bother to tell Louis about your offer.¡± ¡°Mon dieu. Did they really?¡± Sylvain sighed. ¡°Are these folks your parents or your managers?¡± Lou pushed his crumble around on his plate with his fork. We weren¡¯t technically allowed to take the fancy dining hall dishes outside, but R¨¦mi had distracted the student monitor at the door with his patented flirtation powers. I knew this scene from the game, and the cute CG that followed it¨Ca rare image of the entire gang together. Barring Antoinette, obviously. ¨¦tienne said, ¡°Well, now I¡¯m extending the offer to you. I always meant for you to be involved. The Chapelle painters deserve to be known.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t, apparently.¡± R¨¦mi and I punched Lou¡¯s shoulders at the same time. I said, ¡°Yes, you do! You have to make something! Show them you deserve to be included.¡± R¨¦mi nodded. ¡°The Chapelle set¡¯s not complete without you.¡± Sylvain asked, sounding studiously disinterested, ¡°How much time until the paintings are due, ¨¦tienne?¡± ¡°We need all the items this week, since we have a team coming in to appraise them and whatnot.¡± ¡°See!¡± I said. ¡°Plenty of time. I¡¯ve seen how fast you draw in class. Let¡¯s do it.¡± I expected Louis to get worn down and agree¨Cafter all, that¡¯s what happened in the game. Antoinette¡¯s addition was a surprise, though: ¡°I agree. Your family didn¡¯t tell you for selfish reasons. Time to prove them wrong. Let¡¯s go to your estate this weekend.¡± ¡°I can paint in the classroom¨C¡± ¡°And hide away? No. Don¡¯t you want them to see your rebellion?¡± Lou said, ¡°My little sister¡¯s end-of-year recital is this weekend. The estate¡¯s gonna be stuffed.¡± ¡°So? We¡¯re all used to crowds, aren¡¯t we?¡± Sylvain said, ¡°After what happened, you shouldn¡¯t be in large crowds of strangers.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Antoinette flicked her fork at him. ¡°Old news.¡± ¡°Your poisoning is not old news.¡± She gave him a sharp little smile. ¡°My what, now?¡± R¨¦mi laughed. ¡°Your illness, obviously. How embarrassing that the Delphine heiress came down with something right in the biggest party of the season.¡± ¡°C¡¯est exacte, R¨¦mi.¡± ¡°Poor girl.¡± ¡°Luckily she had so many people to help her make a perfect recovery. So. This weekend?¡± Ping! Huh. So Antoinette could say the magic words, activating the dialogue choices like everyone else. This wasn¡¯t as decisive as the Holly Gala date decision, but it lent a ton of approval points towards the guy you were interested in, and it was particularly mean in that you could only choose one. Lots of players, myself included, created four different save files here, to experience each of the dates before moving forward with their preferred dreamboat. Looking at the gang¡¯s frozen faces, all of them determined to do this for Lou, I¡¯d be an idiot to choose anything but yes. ~*~ All six of us piled into two school-issued carriages and headed out to the Chapelle estate. Louis looked like he was gonna chew his own fingers off from nerves. ¨¦tienne kept sneaking in apologies as we chit-chatted, getting more and more insistent every time Lou didn¡¯t reassure him that it was perfectly lovely and fine and I love you ¨¦tienne you¡¯re perfect. Antoinette and R¨¦mi were a united front, telling the prince that it was great that he hecked up, actually, because now we had the chance to prove the Chapelles wrong. I hoped Antoinette wouldn¡¯t have a repeat of the paint-pouring incident. The Chapelle Estate was uncannily adorable. Massive, with each intricately carved, gold-handled door probably costing more than my monthly rent back in the real world, but somehow cute with its dozens of frothy flower boxes, clapboard siding in soft eggshell white, and wooden porches that reminded me of Antebellum-era mansions with none of the nasty connotations. It was smack in the middle of a hilly flower field, shaded by orange-yellow-red-purple trees like a Bob Ross painting. The Love Blooming art of the place had been glittering and lovely, but I couldn¡¯t deny the true magic that came from actually stepping into these places¨Csmelling the powdery flowers and warm hearths and fresh paint, skipping off the cobblestone paths to feel the high grasses on my ankles, hearing the hum of bees and twittering of birds. However, there was a little piece of hell on the doorstep. C¨¦cile was waiting for us. Her crossed arms fell to the sides of her dress once her eyes set on ¨¦tienne and Antoinette, but she didn¡¯t release the tension in her mouth. The only one who had to introduce himself was Sylvain. She curtseyed to us all, but pinned her brother with a pointed, ¡°I didn¡¯t know Maman allowed us to bring so many friends, and so early.¡± Oh, another woman with harsh rules, Love Blooming? Yeesh. ¡°The recital isn¡¯t until five. How will we entertain them until then?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you worry,¡± R¨¦mi said, skirting around her to the porch. ¡°We¡¯ve got plans.¡± Antoinette tailed him closely. ¡°You recall the prince¡¯s invitation for you all to submit paintings to the auction, yes? Apparently the news didn¡¯t make it to Louis. How strange. We all figured we¡¯d help him in his own studio.¡± We were nearly in the door when C¨¦cile called, ¡°Wait, wait a moment.¡± We all did. Louis had his arms folded tightly over his chest, though it was a surprisingly warm afternoon for November. I¡¯d gotten shuffled between Antoinette and R¨¦mi, feeling pretty short. C¨¦cile cleared her throat. Her tone was even, clearly watching herself around these people. Was it ¨¦tienne or Antoinette who kept her in line? ¡°Louis, I know you. You don¡¯t like attention. You don¡¯t want to submit anything.¡± ¡°An artist¨Cany entrepreneur, really,¡± Antoinette said, ¡°would be a fool to not try any offer he¡¯s given. Especially one like this.¡± ¡°But surely the prince doesn¡¯t need three paintings from the same family. Aren¡¯t there hundreds of other items in the auction?¡± R¨¦mi and Antoinette traded a look. ¨¦tienne was probably about to make some middling excuse, but he barely got a syllable in before those two took the reins. Antoinette began with, ¡°You¡¯re most certainly right.¡± ¡°Hundreds, if not a thousand, by now. Even my family got in on it.¡± ¡°Surely, three paintings would be too many; this is very astute of you, C¨¦cile.¡± C¨¦cile glowed under the praise. ¡°So Louis¨C¡± R¨¦mi interrupted, ¡°There¡¯s gotta be a way to mitigate that problem, right? We can¡¯t have three¡­ So why not just one?¡± Antoinette nodded approvingly, tapping his chest. ¡°Only one, chosen by the prince himself. How about you and your sister join us in the studio, then? After all, we have the prince here, ready to judge.¡± ¨¦tienne started, ¡°Sorry, wh¨C¡± R¨¦mi grinned. ¡°Sounds like a good time for a competition.¡± Those two!!! Like when she¡¯d confronted that poor kid in the police station, Antoinette was speaking quickly, her tone razor-sharp. Of course, C¨¦cile wasn¡¯t a confused, shy guy who was caught up by her beauty, but she was being confronted by people way above her status, and she was bred to respect these people within an inch of her life. She turned to Louis. ¡°Is that your plan? Hm?¡± Louis hesitated, biting at a hangnail. ¨¦tienne set a hand on his back. After a second, Louis said, ¡°Yeah. Does Camille have a few free hours before she has to perform?¡± ¡°...Probably. Maman will want her all dolled up for tonight¡¯s show, so she has to be careful.¡± ¡°You three are nothing but careful. Okay. Fine. Meet you in my studio.¡± 24: QUIET ON SET ¡°C¨¦cile is the political one,¡± Antoinette explained to me. Everyone was setting up in Lou¡¯s studio, and she was sitting beside me, doing her own makeup. Although I wanted to help, I knew I¡¯d probably cause some serious damage, so I settled with watching her pretty face up close. ¡°She¡¯s how Louis gets his odd jobs around the dorms, like when you met him. She¡¯s always been sitting pretty at the top of whatever hierarchy of power her school or extracurriculars can give her¡­captain of this, student president of that. She can paint, obviously, though it isn¡¯t her personal passion.¡± ¡°Instead we¡¯re dealing with Colette and Camille.¡± I raised an eyebrow at the youngest Chapelle sister, who was spending a glacial age picking out perfect paint brushes, holding each of them up to the light. She couldn¡¯t be older than eleven! She had her sisters¡¯ wavy blonde hair and wide-set, gem-bright eyes, plus the family freckles. ¡°But isn¡¯t Camille the musical one?¡± R¨¦mi appeared behind us with a jaunty, ¡°Gossiping, ladies?¡± I jumped. Antoinette blew the blush off her palette into his face as revenge. While shaking the powder out of his hair, R¨¦mi explained, ¡°¡®Musical one¡¯¨Cyou say that like the Chapelles haven¡¯t been training her to be a multi-threat before she was even born. She¡¯s a violin prodigy, top of her class, has early acceptance into the junior academy out east. She even raises bees. And yesterday, Lou snored his way through 10 AM maths.¡± I sighed. ¡°No wonder he feels outmatched.¡± He was fumbling his paints as Sylvain helped him set up an easel. ¡°Maybe we shoulda given him longer to prepare?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t let him fool you. He¡¯s been starved for a chance to show them up, he just doesn¡¯t know it yet. You ready, princess?¡± Antoinette shot him a sardonic look; she only had blush on one cheek. ¡°Hurry it up.¡± He plucked the brush from her hand and dabbed her face¨Cshe deftly stole it and coloured his face right back. I dodged the flying powder with a giggle. Done bugging me and Antoinette, R¨¦mi sauntered over to C¨¦cile and ¨¦tienne. They were setting up the little stage where Antoinette and ¨¦tienne, the models du jour, would be posed. Antoinette had insisted that they be lit by the open veranda window, and be sitting on the sofa amongst a mixture of fabrics with different patterns and colours. She said this was to prove who was the master of lighting and texture and something-something-something. To be honest, I think she was having fun playing dress-up. In the game, painting sure went down¨CMarie was painted privately by Louis. Draw me like one of your french girls, but a billion times more chaste and adorable. No competition. No Antoinette. No other love interests. Not me, thinking about how elegant Antoinette would look¨Cirresistible to all the guys in the room! Sylvain had clearly gotten sick of Lou¡¯s fidgeting. He¡¯d entirely taken over setting up with his usual quiet scrutiny, leaving Louis to float around him like a moth who was working up the confidence to fly at a lamp. Antoinette said, ¡°We should save him,¡± so I waved Louis over. He slumped his way to us. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± I asked. ¡°You look like you¡¯re about to compete in the Olympics.¡± ¡°The what?¡± ¡°Never mind. So?¡± He scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze to Antoinette. She was drawing on her eyeliner, doing that cute thing where she bit the tip of her tongue to focus. I added, giving him a little nudge, ¡°This isn¡¯t the painting you¡¯re submitting to the auction or anything. It¡¯s just a practice run. Don¡¯t worry too much!¡± ¡°Unless someone wants to buy a painting of that.¡± Antoinette pointed her eyeliner kohl at ¨¦tienne, who R¨¦mi was practically wrestling into what I was pretty damn sure was a kitsune stage mask. Lou blurted, ¡°You can¡¯t make me win.¡± ¡°What?¡± I asked. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°You guys are my friends. They¡¯re gonna know it¡¯s a pity win and hold that against me. The Chapelles don¡¯t do pity.¡± Antoinette scoffed. ¡°Am I known to have any pity, Louis?¡± ¡°No, but ¨¦tienne¡­¡± I snorted. ¡°¨¦tienne would compliment the knifework of his own assassin.¡± Antoinette laughed before saying to Louis, ¡°I¡¯ll decide the winner. I¡¯ll treat you all as fairly as I¡¯d treat strangers.¡± ¡°Okay, so if I lose, I¡¯ll have really deserved to lose. That doesn¡¯t make me feel any better.¡± ¡°You¡¯re being silly.¡± Antoinette snapped shut her compact and turned to face him, her legs pressing against mine. ¡°What¡¯s actually bothering you?¡± He didn¡¯t answer right away, so I prompted, ¡°You can tell us. What¡¯s up?¡± Louis sighed, turned his back to his sisters, and then it all spilled out in a whisper. ¡°My sisters are nuts, and pretty mean, but I don¡¯t hate them or anything. We used to be really close before¡­I dunno, before our parents got so intense about everything? And since there¡¯s no sign that they¡¯re gonna get less intense¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°I guess I don¡¯t want to force us further apart if I can help it. Does that make sense?¡± ¡°Loads of sense, Louis.¡± How to encourage him without giving away that I knew how everything in his life shook out? ¡°Do you think this might make it worse?¡± ¡°I mean, how could it not? We¡¯ve never been literally pit against each other¡­I shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve started this.¡± Antoinette began affixing the sparkly hairpiece (¡°Representing thrown shards of light will show true expertise,¡± she¡¯d told me as we dug it out of the still-life junk closet, ¡°plus it¡¯s perfectly tacky¡±). ¡°Well, one, you didn¡¯t start it, R¨¦mi and I did. Two, your parents did the pitting when they decided to not tell you about the auction. Think of it like¨CChlo¨¦, can you help me with the tiara?¡± I eagerly did, arranging her red locks around the tiara as she spoke. ¡°Think of it like this. You aren¡¯t trying to best them or make fools of them. You aren¡¯t cheating them. You¡¯re telling them¨Cand therefore your parents, the puppet masters¨Cthat you want to be judged on the merits of your skill, not depending on what they think of your skill, or what they think you should be involved in, or who they think you are. You¡¯re putting yourself back into the equation.¡± ¡°...But my parents aren¡¯t here.¡± ¡°No. So I suppose you must promise one more thing.¡± She pointed at him. ¡°Whether you win or lose, you¡¯ll have to tell them, unless you think your sisters will tattle on you?¡± He smiled a little, scrubbing at his mouth. ¡°Camille probably will.¡± ¡°Wonderful. Now, are you ready?¡± He took a breath. I reluctantly let go of Antoinette¡¯s silky hair and grabbed his shoulders, looking him in the eye, and said, ¡°You¡¯ll do great. I have faith in you.¡± Even if Antoinette was the one with the big speech, by now I knew better than to underestimate my protagonist powers. My words finally got Lou to break into a relieved smile. He even seemed to mean it when he nodded. I wiggled between R¨¦mi and Sylvain on the bench as Antoinette and ¨¦tienne took their places. As ¨¦tienne fixed his jacket and cuffs, Antoinette spoke to the contestants: Camille, Louis, and Colette, all at the ready behind their easels. C¨¦cile sat near us with a pocket watch in hand. ¡°You each have an hour to paint ¨¦tienne, me, or both of us. We¡¯ve both had our portraits done countless times¡± ¨Cfor real; when touring the castle, ¨¦tienne stared down at me from like every mantle¨C ¡°so we know what¡¯s standard and expected.¡± She pointedly leaned on the word. ¡°C¨¦cile, announce when we strike the minute¨C¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Wait, wait!¡± R¨¦mi scrambled off the bench. He was so urgent that I thought he¡¯d call the whole thing off. Instead, he pulled a flask out of his jacket and thrust it at Lou. ¡°What is that?¡± ¡°Trust me.¡± Louis glanced at me like he wanted me to tell him it was cool, but I just raised an eyebrow at him. He took the flask and took a sip. His face screwed up impressively as R¨¦mi snatched it back and dove back onto our bench. C¨¦cile called the minute and they started to paint. ¡°Do not tell me that was a potion,¡± I whispered. ¡°No. Vodka. Poor kid.¡± I snorted. Sylvain settled back, crossing his legs leisurely. ¡°A modern artist is as much his connections as his skills.¡± Even he had a tiny smirk on his face. He got R¨¦mi roughly shaking his shoulder in that annoying bro-y way as repayment. It was kinda amazing to see the three Chapelles work. Camille and Colette were experts, even if Camille had to stand on a stool to reach the top of her canvas. Right away, the sisters went for the bright red that signified Antoinette¡¯s hair, and their every confident stroke informed such depth of colour, shape, and shade. R¨¦mi asked me quietly, ¡°Did you put that stupid crown on her head?¡± ¡°She picked it out.¡± ¡°No way.¡± ¡°Yes way. She thought it was tacky.¡± He whistled. ¡°I swear, she loosens up more every day.¡± ¡°We always knew she could do that! Remember her at the trivia night? That definitely wasn¡¯t some pretty and poised princess. She was intense.¡± Sylvain said, ¡°No, it¡¯s new. She¡¯s relaxed here. Antoinette intense and angry isn¡¯t Antoinette relaxed, or even truly honest.¡± I swallowed whatever dumb instant retort had come to my lips. Settled with those words for a second. Then ¨¦tienne sneezed. A non-event, in any other situation. But right here, right now, Louis was concentrating so hard that he flinched, smearing paint across the canvas. Colette grit out a, ¡°Bless you,¡± with such annoyance that made it clear that she¡¯d totally forgotten it was a prince who¡¯d broken her concentration¨Cand realized it right after, judging by the bright blush that spread across her face. Antoinette giggled before resetting to the exact same perfect pose. And R¨¦mi leapt up to fix the staging that was knocked out of order. As R¨¦mi made a big fuss of it, pretending ¨¦tienne¡¯s collar had gotten ruined, I glanced at Sylvain. His expression was unreadable as usual. ¡°Bored of us kids and our shenanigans?¡± ¡°Only thinking.¡± ¡°Hmm, how suspicious. What about?¡± ¡°Them and their strange, strange problems.¡± He sighed, sinking back into the bench a little. ¡°It¡¯s people like this who have to invent issues. They have money, property, the opportunity for endless investments, plus four immensely talented children. And what do they do? Pit them against each other.¡± Hey man, I¡¯ve been on tumblr since 2014. I know a little something about shallow analysis of class inequality. ¡°¨¦tienne is set to rule an entire kingdom, so his parents apparently need to see him as little more than a tool. Antoinette told me what happened at that dinner, by the way.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­it was messy. I feel bad for him. Louis, too.¡± Sylvain gave truly the deepest, most dramatic sigh I¡¯d ever heard from any living being. He said, voice laced with annoyance like this was the worst fate he ever could¡¯ve been given, ¡°So do I.¡± At this point, R¨¦mi was just teasing ¨¦tienne, mussing up his hair and trying to get a rise out of him. Everyone had gone back to painting Antoinette, but from what I could see, it was only Louis who bothered to add in her little poorly-hidden smirk at the shenanigans going on right beside her. Time ticked by, until finally, C¨¦cile (who had been glued to her timepiece like it¡¯d go backwards if she wasn¡¯t looking) announced that the hour was up. ¡°Artists, put down your brushes!¡± I cried, zooming back to the half-circle of easels. Even I couldn¡¯t stare at Antoinette for an hour straight, so I¡¯d been watching the garden pavilion get decorated for Camille¡¯s recital out the window. R¨¦mi and Sylvain took all the paintings and set them up, side by side, on the sofa where ¨¦tienne and Antoinette had been sitting. Antoinette paced before the finished paintings. All depicted her, of course. She was clearly the most arresting subject, plus the sisters had some social ground to make up with her. ¡°These are absolutely beautiful. Technical mastery, to be sure. It reminds me of the old masters. Can¡¯t you see them over your mantle, ¨¦tienne?¡± Stopping before Camille¡¯s painting, she pointed at the light refracting off the tiara and onto the complex folds of silk. She gave the artists a little smile over her shoulder. ¡°However, maybe these new friends of mine have been a bad influence on me. I said I knew what was standard and expected¡­apparently I didn¡¯t inject enough venom into those terms for you to get my point.¡± Colette blanched. ¡°Camille, you¡¯re less confident with your strokes, that¡¯s the only difference; Colette, your blues are too muddy. However, those things go away with training. If they did, I wouldn¡¯t be able to tell the paintings apart at all. Don¡¯t misunderstand me. They¡¯re exceptionally done and you should be proud that such beauty is hardly an hour¡¯s work for you. But you were all competing, non?¡± She headed over to Lou¡¯s painting. His style was graphic, anachronistic, strong¨Cthe agile lines and angular edges brought out the wild waves in her hair and the strong line of her nose. He¡¯d captured her looking aside at ¨¦tienne and R¨¦mi, head tilting a bit, eyelashes strong black strokes on her cheek, lips in a sharp smirk. Her hair transformed into jagged blood-red roses that obscured the silks that his sisters had paid so much attention to. They grew with all the riot yet none of the ugliness of my magic. ¡°This looks like me, not the delicate, pink-cheeked waifs that all my father¡¯s artists think they see.¡± She flicked a hand at the sisters¡¯ portraits. ¡°Do not soften me, ladies, or else you¡¯ll feel like you must soften yourself.¡± Louis had his hand at his mouth, chewing the inside of his cheek. Colette was playing the part of the perfect student, nodding emphatically at Antoinette¡¯s every word. Antoinette announced, ¡°Camille, without a doubt, I can say that my father would buy yours.¡± The little girl glowed with pride. C¨¦cile patted her shoulder. ¡°But why would I? I have a thousand of the exact same.¡± Yowch. I wondered, then, if there was any serious competition between the sisters, or if this rivalry was drawn specifically around Louis. Antoinette shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s no sense in me deciding who wins. There¡¯s so much history between all of us; you could easily call my bias. And it¡¯s not my charity auction. The royal appraisers would know who¡¯s best suited to send in their artwork, not me.¡± She picked up Colette¡¯s palette knife and gestured at them with it. ¡°You all win. Or you all lose. What does it matter?¡± Looking flustered, C¨¦cile asked, ¡°What was the point in this charade?¡± ¡°Come on, think of it for a minute. Why did you not tell Louis about the auction? Isn¡¯t the answer the same?¡± She was waving the palette knife around as she talked. ¡°Alright, no more sharp edges for you,¡± R¨¦mi said as he easily reached over Antoinette¡¯s head and plucked it from her hand¨Che probably guessed the same as me. She was gonna rip the canvases or something to make a point. Colette insisted, ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Someone has to win. Isn¡¯t that why you made this silly thing up?¡± R¨¦mi tossed the palette knife across the half-circle, underhand. I didn¡¯t get why¨Cuntil Louis frantically fumbled it. Attention swiveled towards him. He stared at us, hands smeared with the paint (and a little dabbed on his shirt), looking like he¡¯d finally got at that lamp and it¡¯d been a lot more burny than he expected. R¨¦mi was giving him a pointed look, eyebrow raised. Ah, so he¡¯d meant to force him into the spotlight. Colette turned right back to Antoinette, the obvious authority in the room. ¡°Then why¨C¡± ¡°You can ask me,¡± Louis said. ¡°I didn¡¯t make it up, but I wanted to do it, right? So ask me.¡± ¡°Okay. Then I am asking you.¡± ¡°Because I¡­¡± He sighed through his nose. ¡°I wanted you to see that I¡¯m serious about this, too, and I can stand toe to toe with you guys. Even if I don¡¯t always want to, and we care about different things, and¡­. Well, okay, I¡¯m different, but that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t get to be included at all. You can¡¯t decide that for me.¡± The twin sisters traded a glance. Sylvain made a soft, approving hum next to me¨CI didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever see him give a shit about the first-world-problems that made up all the drama in the other love interests¡¯ routes, but it sure seemed like Louis had touched his heart just a little bit! Colette said, ¡°We didn¡¯t decide that. Maman and Papa did.¡± ¡°No¡­¡± It was Camille who said this in her small voice. ¡°We should have told you anyways.¡± ¡°Yeah, you should¡¯ve,¡± he said firmly. C¨¦cile strode forward. She held out her hand to Louis, and he gave her the palette knife. She smeared a stripe of half-dried paint across Antoinette¡¯s face in both Camille and Colette¡¯s works, and then turned resolutely towards Antoinette herself. ¡°They were hardly sketches,¡± she said. ¡°A warm-up for better things in the future.¡± ¡°I sure hope so. I wouldn¡¯t want all your skill and passion to go to waste.¡± I didn¡¯t exactly expect them all to break out in hugs and apologies, especially because the room also had a prince, two heirs, a weirdo peasant, and a scary stranger in it. However, I read a serious thoughtfulness in the way the twin sisters were looking at Louis. They were listening, even if they didn¡¯t speak any more than that. We¡¯d helped put down the first planks, but it¡¯d take a much longer time for them to build the whole bridge. R¨¦mi broke the silence. ¡°Hey, we can still use these.¡± He lifted Camille¡¯s (or Colette¡¯s¡­?) to show it to us, paint gash across the middle and all. ¡°We could sell them to someone looking for anti-Aconitum propaganda.¡± ¡°Oh, shut up,¡± Antoinette said. Clearly not minding the joke. It shot a sudden shiver down my spine, though, reminding me of that CG art of her in prison. Ugh. In the meantime, though¡­ Camille smiled shyly at us all. ¡°Well, um, do you want to hear me play?¡± 25: CURTAINS UP Fortunately for the hosts, the Chapelle estate wouldn¡¯t be swarmed by the whole Love Blooming crew all night. While Antoinette and I were happy to support Louis (especially where all the good food and music was), Remi had to head back for an end-of-season game, and Sylvain had spent so long around us that he¡¯d started itching. Etienne waffled about leaving too as we walked the guys back to the carriage. Of course, it was Antoinette who confronted him. ¡°Do you actually want to leave, or do you just not want to be recognised?¡± Etienne hesitated. ¡°I feel like I¡¯d only be a distraction from Camille.¡± Louis muttered, ¡°And I bet Cecile won¡¯t leave you alone.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not an answer,¡± I said at the same time as Antoinette. ¡°I¡¯ll return to the academy.¡± He started up the carriage step, but to my surprise, it was Sylvain (already sitting in the carriage and ready to go) who stopped him. ¡°There¡¯s enough in the gardens here to make a small disguise potion. You could change your hair and eye colours, at least¡­ Maybe something else superficial if any of you are skilled enough.¡± His gaze pointedly skipped over Louis and me; he tucked a strand of long black hair behind his ear. ¡°Do you remember how to brew a potion like that?¡± Antoinette said through a smirk, ¡°That¡¯s an elementary spell, Sylvain. Of course I know.¡± ¡°Alright. Then stay for a while longer, Etienne.¡± ¡°Wow, thanks!¡± I said¨Cright before he closed the carriage door on me. ~*~ Sylvain¨Cduh¨Cwas right. I kinda felt like we were high school kids trying to make our best impression of cocktails as the four of us made the potion in Lou¡¯s suite bathroom in a chipped tureen he used for still life drawings. Antoinette trusted me to grow one bright, magenta thistle into two, and to my surprise more than anyone¡¯s, I managed it. Outside of school, I didn¡¯t get to play with magic much. So I was totally delighted when the potion instantaneously took effect on Etienne¡¯s appearance. I was looking at an IRL character customization toggle. His pale blonde hair was traded out for a deep brown and Antoinette helped him sweep it off his forehead, out of his characteristic style. His eyes were no longer blue¨Cthey were a brown so dark they were almost black. I laughed. ¡°Holy crap. I hardly recognise you!¡± Seriously! Even if we hadn¡¯t messed with any of his actual features! I definitely wouldn¡¯t say it out loud, but it made me realize what a generic white-boy-handsome Etienne was. Give him different outfits and different hairstyles, and he could easily play every single archetype in a boy band. Or, well, in an otome game. Louis squinted. ¡°That¡¯s so weird. If we got rid of that scar,¡± he pointed at a nick I¡¯d never even noticed on the underside of Etienne¡¯s chin, ¡°you could be anyone.¡± ¡°See,¡± Antoinette said, ¡°you do have an artist¡¯s eye for those sorts of things.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure about this¡­¡± Etienne squinted at himself in the mirror. He¡¯d worn a pretty generic coat and tails to the estate, thinking he¡¯d only have to make a good impression on the Chapelles, sit for a painting, and then leave. Next to Antoinette, he looked like a random student she¡¯d decided to pull along. Antoinette patted his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to anyone for too long and you¡¯ll be fine, Your Highness. Let¡¯s go. The recital is about to start.¡± We all trotted out to the pavilion behind the mansion, Antoinette taking Lou¡¯s arm, me taking Etienne¡¯s. With renewed confidence, I strode into yet another game scene: the tinny, .MIDI babble of the crowd was now snatches of real conversations, and wordy narration about scents gave way to the heady, cozy sweetness of steaming fruit pies and bread rolls drizzled with honey. The bright sun (the last we¡¯ll likely see this autumn, the people around me guessed) warmed my skin and the sleeve of Etienne¡¯s jacket against my arm. Cecile and Colette were playing a flute and harp respectively, surrounded by a polite, pastel crowd. Over the pavilion wall was a field of bumblebees and their hives. The hives were painted with gorgeous pastel flowers and rolling fields, the imagery almost seeming picture-accurate from this distance. The bees lazily flew around our heads and crawled on the fruit plates, but no one seemed to mind. I was just baffled at the thought of a little girl handling bees. Louis said as Antoinette and I selected some raspberry tarts, ¡°Camille kept telling everyone that this party¡¯s actually to celebrate her last honey harvest of the year. She even made bee-themed invitations before my mom caught her.¡± Camille herself had changed into a flouncy blue dress, her hair tumbling in shiny waves like a porcelain doll¡¯s. She was confidently speaking to a middle-aged couple, holding herself like she was their peer as she showed them a sheet of honeycomb and explained how the bees made it. The older Chapelle sisters finished their set. The gardens didn¡¯t erupt in applause so much as they¡­tinkled with it, little pitter-patters of gloved hands lightly tapping together. (Me and my modern sensibilities made my loud clapping draw a few stares, which made Etienne act even less surreptitious than before.) Despite that subdued response, I could see joy in all the faces around me. Nothing like precocious young musicians with all the time and money in the world to train to cheer up the elite. Next, teeny-tiny Mademoiselle Camille Chapelle took her place with her white violin that was practically bigger than her. She was all puffed up with pride, and who could blame her? Especially when she started to play. While I preferred a little more guitar, vocals, and excitement to my live music, I still let myself be carried away by the beautiful tones of Camille¡¯s solo violin. But barely a couple minutes in, Antoinette touched my arm and leaned close to me. She murmured, ¡°Come with me for a moment.¡± ¡°Right now?¡± ¡°Unless you¡¯re so enraptured by the music?¡± The apocalypse or the chance to meet my favourite K-Pop band members or even both at once could not dissuade me from going somewhere with Antoinette. Privately, apparently, because she waved off the guys when they tried to follow us out of the crowd. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± ¡°I need your advice on something.¡± Okay? I followed her through the gardens and back into the estate via its open french doors. She navigated the estate halls and stairs confidently. She scoffed gently. ¡°Is this a house or an art gallery?¡± I¡¯d always known that the Chapelle manor was full of paintings thanks to the Love Blooming background art, but it only struck me now how intimidating it was. Every surface boasted a new piece of art. Portraits, landscapes, flowers, animals, cityscapes, forests, anything you could think of. Even the hallway to Lou¡¯s studio was lined with gleaming picture after picture. Antoinette entered the studio without hesitation, telling me to wait at the door. After a few minutes, she emerged with a palette piled high with rainbow paints, plus a few huge brushes. Antoinette stood in front of me, wielding her palette and brushes like a shield and sword. She took a deep breath. ¡°Tell me,¡± she said. ¡°Is this something I should do?¡± ¡°Uh, depends on what you¡¯re planning.¡± She tilted her head at the wall. We were standing next to one of those frou-frou paintings of a quaint little forest and high society picnic. I lifted my eyebrows. ¡°You wanna¨C¡± ¡°Not ruin it,¡± she said, guessing my thoughts. ¡°Not really, anyways. It¡¯s covered by glass.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll still freak out anyone that sees it!¡± ¡°Exactly. So, should I? I want to. Does that make any sense?¡± I laughed, short and disbelieving. Was this how she intended to make sense of the feelings she couldn¡¯t control? I asked, setting a hand on my hip and pretending to be quite serious, ¡°Well, that depends on why you wanna do it.¡± She flicked a piece of her bangs off her face with her clean brush. ¡°I¡¯m frustrated at¡­oh, so many things. I¡¯m still mad about the king and queen seeing you as something to discard, as if they can¡¯t see their son past all their power and money and things. You were just another thing to them, do you know that? And now, I¡¯m mad about Louis¡¯ parents putting their children under the pressure of all¡­this.¡± She gestured at the hall of paintings. ¡°All this tradition and nonsense. If there wasn¡¯t glass and I was sure the painting wasn¡¯t made by one of the Chapelle siblings, well, I¡¯d ruin the whole canvas.¡± Huh. That answer sure wasn¡¯t, I¡¯m jealous and feeling petty. My thoughts spun towards my old life again. I¡¯d played Love Blooming over and over, saw the characters¡¯ arcs play out, felt feelings towards them that got closer to true empathy with every save file. I¡¯d felt enough about them to read fix-it fanfic and write my own. I¡¯d wanted to learn more about their inner worlds, and especially learn more about how us fans wanted to heal and help them. And here I was, not in a fanfic at all¡­ I took one of the brushes from her hand¨Cnoting that she always must have intended to include me. ¡°You know what, I think you¡¯re making perfect sense, Antoinette.¡± Her action wasn¡¯t anything like when she dumped the red paint on all the students¡¯ paintings. This time, Antoinette was perfectly purposeful and exacting as she took her brush and swept new strokes on the painting. Across the landscape, she created a thorny mass of strange, jagged-edged roses, like they were made of smashed pieces of pottery. They were a lot like the flowers Louis painted out of her hair earlier. I swept up a generous blob of blue on my brush. I made crashing, ugly waves on the quaint little high society picnic¨CAntoinette and I together drew wiggly jellyfish, blobby eels, and dabs of seashells, all with quick, inexpert dashes of paint. Having her next to me, radiating energy, was a rush. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Then we heard a strangled little gasp. I spun, expecting a maid to have caught us¨Cinstead, it was Etienne who greeted us at the landing. Louis came up behind him a second later. ¡°What are you¨C?!¡± Antoinette gave a little curtsey. ¡°I felt inspired by Monsieur Chapelle, here.¡± Louis stared at the mess we¡¯d made of the landscape. At first his ginger eyebrows were screwed up in confusion, but then I saw his expression morph into something wholly different and alight and¡­even a little manic. Antoinette handed her brush to Louis. ¡°Show me how it¡¯s done.¡± He took us further down the hall, and picked the first in a series of bland paintings of flowers. They were all the same uninspired fare, a style that was beginning to make my eyes glaze over. In confident strokes, Lou transformed the bland, papery-thin oleander into a flower-covered dragon-like creature. His shoulders dropped a bit, like one of the steel marionette strings holding him together was cut. I danced to the next painting with Louis, this one a blushing sweet pea, looking like a harsh breeze would rip it to pieces. I snagged a stripe of pink paint and held my breath as I touched it to the canvas. One by one, Antoinette, Louis, and I turned bland, emotionless flowers into birds in panicked flight, tangles of thorns, human figures with petals for heads and Tim Burton-skinny bodies. Lou didn¡¯t even waste time to look over the work we¡¯d done¨Cright as we finished, he took us down the stairs to the next series of paintings. We worked through the empty rooms, quick and chaotic, leaving dream-like, neon paintings in our wake. The glass gave Louis the confidence to paint over portraits of his family and blandly-sentimental landscapes of the Chapelle¡¯s ancestral home. Sometimes we piled chairs to get to the tops of the portraits. Louis only stopped us when the paintings belonged to his sisters. If any of the ones we defaced belonged to him, he didn¡¯t say anything about it. Weirdly, it was in covering them up and transforming them into something new that I really appreciated the fine detail and care for colour in the paintings. Etienne had been emanating guilt in waves, so pretty early on, Antoinette demanded that he act as look-out. When we were in a dessert parlour, he warned us about a group of ladies coming out of the garden party, so we all had to scramble and crush ourselves under the dessert table. I grabbed a fistful of Antoinette¡¯s skirt and yanked it under the edge of the overhanging tablecloth just as a series of high heels clattered into the room. Louis pressed a hand to his mouth to stop his laughter¨Che had mixed success with that, but total success with smearing green paint on his cheeks. Antoinette was holding back my hair from falling into her face, her warm, paint-covered fingers set on my neck, her sweet breath soft on my skin. ¡°Mon dieu!¡± ¡°Les peintures! Someone¡¯s graffitied them!¡± I felt suppressed laughter shiver through me from everyone under the table. In a clatter of heels, the women cried, ¡°We must alert the Madame!¡± As soon as they were gone, Louis was first to burst out laughing in a way I¡¯d never heard from him. We all crawled out from under the table. When Etienne emerged, his newly-brown hair was tousled and his cheeks were pink. Maybe he¡¯d been unable to suppress some laughter, too. I shook out my hair. I felt dry paint on my neck, plus my hands were coloured in smeary rainbows. Lou¡¯s cheek was splashed with green. Antoinette had completely lost her brush at some point, so she was streaked in paint all the way up to her elbows. I smirked. ¡°Is it just me, or is the prince looking awfully tidy?¡± ¡°Very much so.¡± Antoinette nodded thoughtfully, tilting her paint palette towards me. ¡°So much so that if we got caught and he wanted to say he had nothing to do with all this, he could very well get away with it.¡± ¡°Ladies,¡± he said through a laugh. He lifted his hands, but he was no match for the two of us attacking him with paint at once. I, too, was helpless to Antoinette grabbing my face and smearing a big streak of blue across my cheek. She was grinning, her smile as bright as her many earrings. Though she¡¯d started this out of frustration, it was clear now that it was joy that kept her going. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever really seen her this careless. ¡°Well.¡± Antoinette tossed aside the palette onto the dessert table. ¡°I think we¡¯re ready to rejoin the party.¡± The night devolved from there. We rushed back into the garden, covered in paint, but all acted totally normal (strategically avoiding the Chapelles). Antoinette cheerfully chatted with all sorts of people, her arm looped in mine, correcting them when they greeted her as Miss Delphine¨Cno, you¡¯re mistaken, I¡¯m Sylvie, and this is my cousin from a faraway land, you must teach her how to use forks. (I thought she was gonna kill some of these pompous men by pretending she had no idea who they were and what their jobs were.) Etienne gathered endless glasses of water and champagne from every passing waiter and stacked them in teetering towers around the food, even stealing them off of plates while the folks were lost in conversation. Louis leveraged his role as master of the house (and probably whatever cash he had in his pocket) and sweet-talked the band into playing a song that sounded suspiciously like swing. The dance floor was quickly split by huffy old folks unimpressed by the change, and the people who were inspired by us dancing to join in. Antoinette caught me up. After our last disastrous dance, I was happy to have another go at it¨Cshe still had to teach me the moves, but it was through laughter and breathless excitement, leaving smears of paint all over each other. Twilight fell. Word had spread about the paintings in the house, so we were having to dodge more and more butlers and Louis¡¯s father was on the prowl and Cecile was playing his right-hand-man. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get out of here,¡± Lou whispered to us, all of us hiding behind some topiaries. Etienne¨Cwhose hair had gone blonde again and eyes bright blue¨Csaid, ¡°We can take my ride back to the school.¡± ¡°Oh, must we?¡± Antoinette pointed a dagger-sharp nail through a gap between the topiaries, right at the dessert table. ¡°But I¡¯d like to eat before we leave.¡± We all crowded around the gap to see what she meant: a towering, three-tiered cake with gold flakes and piped flowers and chocolate butterflies adorning every perfectly-sharpened edge. Etienne laughed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°You¡¯re trying to corrupt my soul or something.¡± ¡°No, no. I only want to go on a picnic with the prince.¡± ¡°We need a picnic blanket,¡± I said. Lou shrugged at the mass of garden tables with their tablecloths. ¡°Lots of choices.¡± Antoinette grinned. ¡°Alright. Lou and I will get the cake. Chloe and Etienne, you will get some tablecloths and the wine. Then we¡¯ll run behind the band.¡± She lifted her chin at that field of beehives and flowers, dipping into a grove. Etienne asked, ¡°Won¡¯t they follow?¡± Louis said, ¡°Not if we¡¯re sneaky enough.¡± As soon as Mme Chapelle took the stage for her end-of-the-night speech and everyone stood to listen, Antoinette counted us down. I¡¯d never sprinted like this in my life, and it felt near-impossible, my lungs all caught up with peals of laughter. Etienne and I lunged for the nearest table without dishes¨Cunfortunately a couple was chatting there, but they were shocked into silence by us ripping up the tablecloth and tearing away. We got past the bandstand when we saw Antoinette and Lou struggling to heave up the cake, hiding behind the crowd. We plunged down the sets of stairs into the little beehive valley and all gathered together to heave up the cake, losing globs of icing flowers and chocolate butterflies with every laughing stumble. Finally, we were so far from the party that the lights were blobs and Mme Chapelle¡¯s shock was a wavering buzz. It was pitch dark out here besides the gleam of the moonlight, so we bumped into each other as we set up the tablecloth and huddled around the cake. Antoinette and I collapsed beside each other in a huge pouf of dress. Etienne set something on our shoulders¨Ca fur coat. We both looked at him in question. ¡°You were looking cold,¡± he said simply, and took his spot on the tablecloth next to Lou, who was trying to catch his breath. I cuddled into the warm stolen jacket up against Antoinette; she didn¡¯t move away. Etienne popped the wine bottle and was halfway through apologizing about glasses before shrugging, stopping himself, and drinking right from the bottle. If my lack of breath from all the running didn¡¯t shock me into silence, that sure would have. Jesus, what had happened? I collapsed into a fit of disbelieving giggles as Louis and Etienne sliced up the cake and handed them out. I felt like a sticky mess, covered in paint and frosting¨Cand I¡¯d never felt warmer, snuggled under the twilight with my friends. After a while, night blanketed us with its balmy air and quiet, the party dispersing until it was little more than a gentle thrum of classical music from the band and hushed whispers. We watched a few members of the staff look around the grounds for us, but their torchlight couldn¡¯t find us, nestled in the tall flowers and amongst the droning of bees and densely-packed hives. Etienne and Lou fell asleep under one of the tablecloths, practically tumbled on top of each other. Antoinette and I were wrapped up in the big coat, our knees tucked up together. I felt like one of those Barbie cakes, a scrawny little girl emerging from a huge pastel sea of skirts and tulle. I nodded at the guys. ¡°You bring out the best in them, I think.¡± Antoinette scoffed gently. ¡°Me? There isn¡¯t a chance in hell that I¡¯d be here at all if it weren¡¯t for you.¡± I huddled deeper into the coat¡¯s fur. Psshhh, I was right, but it¡¯s not like I could properly explain why I was. Etienne needed to break out of his shell and Lou needed to see his own work¡¯s value, his own strengths. Marie was too gentle and too sweet about the guys and their flaws. Antoinette wouldn¡¯t take insecurity for an answer, no matter how hard she had to fight them. I said, giving in, ¡°Maybe we¡¯re just a pretty good team.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve only now started to get along. Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself.¡± ¡°What do you mean!¡± I nudged her. ¡°Get along¡­ Girl, don¡¯t pretend we share blame for that. You were the one with the problem with me. What was that about, anyways?¡± That¡¯s not fair, I thought. She couldn¡¯t help it. But to my surprise, I¡¯d made her think. She hugged her knees close, high-bridged nose wrinkling a little. Eventually, she said, ¡°I was raised on competition. My great-grandfather was the first to find magic, you know?¡± I did¨Cnot just because of the game, but because of exams in class. How weird must it be to see your own family name in textbooks? ¡°They were doing unrelated tests and discovered a strain of plant that had¡­well, no one knew how to describe it but magic. Everyone fought over it. The Delphines seized it by being the most aggressive and never letting go.¡± Antoinette set her chin on her knees. ¡°Perhaps the instinct has always been in me. And what do I have to fight over? Boys? So stupid. You worried me from the first moment.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°You were too much of a mystery. These boys¡­¡± She carefully nudged a sleeping Lou¡¯s foot away. ¡°I know everything about them and their families. My family knows their weaknesses and their secrets, and so I inherited every little weapon we had. No matter what happened, I knew that I could destroy any of them by using that information. And you¡­¡± ¡°I came with nothing you could use against me.¡± ¡°Absolutely nothing!¡± She laughed. ¡°I had people on it, you know! I needed to know what you were doing and why. I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about you. Maybe it was because of all those dead ends, or in spite of them, but I couldn¡¯t stop. I had no weapons against you, Chloe.¡± ¡°Except a volleyball!¡± She groaned and buried her face against her skirts. ¡°I¡¯m kidding, I¡¯m kidding.¡± Huh¡­it¡¯s kinda like all that energy and all that programming had nowhere to go. I fiddled with the edge of the coat where it closed over both of us. Half-asleep, Etienne¡¯s nose wrinkled as a petal landed on his cheek and he buried his face under his arm. Lou was short enough to almost totally vanish under the tablecloth, all folded up like that. I said, ¡°I mean, gotta say, I kinda love knowing you were obsessed with me immediately.¡± She blushed as red as her hair, narrowing her eyes at me. ¡°Kidding again! No, it¡¯s okay. I want you to know that you¡¯ll never need weapons or to defend yourself against me. You can tell me anything. I¡¯m here to help you.¡± More than you even know. She lifted her head. Her gaze found mine. There was no impatience there, no examination, no wondering, like she was just taking me in the way I was. It stopped my heart. ¡°Thank you.¡± I could tell no one had ever truly offered her that, to listen to her, to understand her. I¡¯d read¨Cor written¨Call the essays and fics and analyses in the world when it came to Antoinette. Looking at her now, I saw the vastness of how much I didn¡¯t understand her, and how much I actually wanted to learn. The vastness turned into a total chasm as she suddenly leaned forward and kissed me. I was pretty sure my brain totally exploded. I couldn¡¯t think of anything. Besides warm warm warm soft sweet lovely oh what what what. She moved back. She blinked. I blinked. We stared at each other, both our eyes wide. I bit my lip. Soft. I¡¯d written a thousand descriptions of the magical experience of Marie kissing Antoinette for the first time. But now, I couldn¡¯t think of anything to even say. My brain was a pleasant blur. I smiled. She watched that smile. And relaxed. ¡°Tonight is very strange,¡± she said. And then laughed a little. ¡°Would you forgive me for that?¡± ¡°What¡¯s to forgive?¡± ¡°Something in the air. I don¡¯t know. I feel strange. Why are you looking at me like that!¡± ¡°Antoinette, you¨C¡± ¡°You said you liked girls, so that shouldn¡¯t be a big deal! I was curious!¡± Her face was redder than her hair. ¡°Oh, stop smiling at me like that. I¡¯m exhausted. I think I''m drunk." She waved her hand at me. "Arghh, I take it back!¡± With a laugh, I buried my face into her shoulder, into the warmth of her skin and the blankets, pressing my fingers against my lips like I could keep the sensation of her kiss there forever. ~*~ That morning, we all woke up at the asscrack of dawn in a pile of ruined fancy clothes, cake, paint, and tablecloths, bees all curious about the sweetness of our skin. A few guards were scowling down at us, ready to drag us into the manor. Everyone froze around me. Behind the guards¡¯ heads, speared by the comforting gleam of the sun, was a big familiar decorated box. 26: DENOUEMENT Antoinette, Louis, ¨¦tienne, and I were all dragged into the drawing room to face the wrath of the Duke and Duchess Chapelle¡­and C¨¦cile, who loitered at the edge of the room, taking notes on, apparently, how to deal with a variety pack of misbehaving heirs. I¡¯d thought that we¡¯d be ordered to clean the paint off our faces and out of our hair before presenting ourselves, but maybe they didn¡¯t let us so we¡¯d feel especially foolish. If so, they had a smart strategy: I was unable to shake the feeling of being a little kid who drew on the walls with markers. Antoinette, however, looked stoic and bored. Louis kept hiding a smirk behind the excuse of rubbing his mouth or biting his lip. And it seemed like we couldn¡¯t totally get the square out of the prince, because he kept breaking his cool, respectful persona to chew on a hangnail. Psh, ¨¦tienne! You¡¯re not gonna get in trouble. Who would actually think they¡¯re so important that they¡¯d scold a prince? ¡°Lady Delphine, both of us agree that you are undoubtedly financially responsible for the artwork that you destroyed.¡± See! Of course, ¨¦tienne said, ¡°If I may¡­I¡¯ll happily handle the finances instead, Madame.¡± Antoinette snorted. ¡°I would have sent you half the bill anyhow.¡± The Duke and Duchess¡¯s eyes skimmed right over me. I was a total nobody to them, huh? I had no esteemed family they could bill, no job they could fire me from, and no¡­ The Duke said, ¡°Your Highness, we could not ask for money. No, in fact, there are many other ways you and your family could repay us.¡± ¡­and no authority or connections they could manipulate. I was anonymous. I was also the girl Antoinette Delphine kissed last night so muahahaha!! ¡°What about Louis, maman?¡± C¨¦cile asked. He shot her a glare like she¡¯d tattled on him. ¡°What is his punishment?¡± The Duke and Duchess gave each other a glance. I was sure they¡¯d plotted his fate all night. Though they both nodded in conclusion of their silent discussion, the Duchess was the one who announced it. ¡°Louis, last night was merely the inevitable conclusion to your lifetime of obvious disdain for your family¡¯s traditions. You clearly have no respect for the arts. We will be permanently closing your studio.¡± Louis stopped smirking, mouth falling open. ¡°What? You can¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°It will be easy enough to give your equipment to your sisters and discard all of your little drawings.¡± As if his problem was merely logistical! ¡°Your father and I will confer and then tell you where you will focus your training instead.¡± ¡°Destroying the paintings was my idea,¡± Antoinette said coolly, stepping forward. ¡°And as for the outrageous disrespect to which you all subjected our friends and colleagues?¡± I insisted, ¡°Louis wouldn¡¯t have done any of it if we didn¡¯t push him around!¡± I looked at ¨¦tienne imploringly. He said nothing, squeezing his hands behind his back. ¡°Then perhaps,¡± the Duke said, ¡°this will teach our son a lesson about refusing to think for himself and never treating anything in his life with respect.¡± Antoinette and I kept trying to cajole them, but despite all our ranting about whose fault last night really was, the Duke and Duchess didn¡¯t budge. Two smartly-dressed butlers practically pushed us out. Antoinette huffed. She looked a butler right in the eye and knocked over a nearby vase. Unfortunately for her, it just bounced on the carpet and didn¡¯t break. She huffed again. ¡°What¡¯s the point of all this status if I can¡¯t use it when it matters?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lou,¡± I groaned. ¡°No, it¡¯s whatever.¡± Lou kicked at the carpet as we exited the hall, being distantly followed by the staff, like they were making sure we didn¡¯t cause more property damage (valid, honestly). ¡°I hated working here anyways.¡± ¡°But they said they were gonna get rid of your art¡­¡± He shrugged a very ¡°don¡¯t wanna talk about it¡± shrug. As we continued through the estate, it hit me that not only were the staff making sure we didn¡¯t cause trouble, they were also corralling us to the door, keeping us away from Louis¡¯ studio. We passed through the room where we¡¯d all hid under the table. A pair of maids were scrubbing at the glass over a huge landscape painting, sweat on their brows and sleeves rolled up. One of them caught my eye and shot me a glare that clearly said, Look at what we have to do because of you! One of the butlers behind us said, sharp and simple, ¡°Mind your manners, Anne.¡± I¡¯d earned that glare. In fact, it would have been just fine with me if we¡¯d had to clean up our own mess¨Cit wasn¡¯t the cleaning staff¡¯s fault! Instead, we got to walk out unscathed. Antoinette was the heiress to the biggest cooperation in the kingdom and ¨¦tienne was the literal prince. Asking them to pay back the monetary value of the art was like when a kajillionaire global mega-corp gets sued and they settle for the cost equivalent of an hour¡¯s profits in one neighborhood. My thoughts drifted as we continued our walk of shame. Antoinette¡¯s ending was brought about because of the exposure of Aconitum and what her family was doing. She got caught in the tidal wave of corporate, white-collar crime that did some serious damage to Eavredor and the surrounding kingdoms. If I wanted to shut up the whistleblower, I¡¯d have to keep a mega-corp¡¯s secrets for them. That was kinda gross, especially now that I was living in this world, and things like its politics might one day affect me. But if I let the whistleblower, uh, blow a whistle, then I¡¯d be solely relying on my matchmaking, and¨C My thoughts drifted once more, as they¡¯d been doing all morning before we got our wrist-slapping, to the kiss. It totally meant nothing. We were a little drunk¨Cespecially drunk on adrenaline, which is the craziest drunk of them all. I don¡¯t know. Weird things happen when you¡¯re all cuddled up with someone in a flower field and under a fur coat and there are streaks of paint and frosting on your skin in the shape of their touch. Besides. Marie couldn¡¯t save her. What would I do, climb up on stage and demand Antoinette go free from prison because I liked her a lot? I was no prince, no heir, no duke. If the politics of the world didn¡¯t let me, the game certainly wouldn¡¯t. That¡¯s what mattered. That¡¯s what mattered. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. After picking up our jackets, we were hustled to the carriage that would take us back to the school. Antoinette suddenly stopped. She told the driver, ¡°I have to use the lavatory. This ride is two hours long.¡± He let her go. She ran off, and within fifteen minutes, she returned, hugging her jacket tightly around her, as if she was caught in a hurricane. We all got into the cab. Doors locked and curtains drawn, Antoinette opened her coat and handed Louis three of his sketchbooks and a satchel of tools. ¡°That¡¯s all I could get before your idiot butlers came hunting for me,¡± she said. ¡°Colette told me you were happy with these books in particular.¡± Lou had been trying to act chill since his parents¡¯ verdict. Now, he clutched the sketchbooks to his chest, shameless. ¡°Thanks, Antoinette.¡± She settled in next to me on the bench. Our fine fabrics were still spattered with paint and stiff with globs of frosting and flowers and grass stains. ¨¦tienne and Louis were noticing the same thing. I snorted. ¡°R¨¦mi is gonna feel like he missed out.¡± ¡°Except for the payment part,¡± Louis said. ¡°I don¡¯t regret it one bit,¡± Antoinette announced, arms folded, determinedly looking at us all¨Cand fixing me with a serious almost-glower. ¡°Not one bit of that night.¡± ~*~ ¡°You guys did what?¡± R¨¦mi¡¯s tone was all envy as we helped Louis mock up logo and tag designs in class. I was snipping lengths of ribbon in purple and blue and red and yellow (we were clearly indecisive when it came to our branding). Louis¡¯ front of grumpiness about the whole thing had died out last night. To R¨¦mi he seemingly couldn¡¯t help finding it funny again. ¡°You should have seen the staff¡¯s faces when they found us¡­You would¡¯ve lost it.¡± He was using one of the very sketchbooks that Antoinette had rescued yesterday, drawing rows and rows of potential elements. ¡°And you¡¯re actually telling me His Highness joined in.¡± ¡°You would¡¯ve been very proud!¡± I laughed. ¨¦tienne was across the lab, failing miserably at removing his polite self from a conversation with a trio of girls, holding the flowers Louis asked him to fetch for art reference. Sylvain yawned. ¡°I¡¯m glad I got out of there. Louis, scrap that filigree, it looks like a ladies¡¯ cosmetics line.¡± He, meanwhile, was writing up an essay for some other class, hardly breaking pace even when giving Louis feedback. R¨¦mi kept pulling details out of Louis, especially the parts about us goofing around with the partygoers. My gaze drifted to Antoinette, who was helping a different group with their project. She was her usual ice queen archetype self, arms folded and mouth taut, arched eyebrow crawling higher and higher on her forehead as she listened to their explanations. I hadn¡¯t said anything about the kiss. It was making me doubt everything, feel like everything was tilted off-kilter. What if it was the-event-that-shall-not-be-named? What if it broke the plot into a million pieces? That event was Lou¡¯s special route event and it had totally gotten messed up! But if I was being honest¡­I knew the real reason I hadn¡¯t said anything. Maybe I had been Ben Drowned into a shovelware otome game, but I was still a human girl. I still had feelings for that woman. It was still soul-crushingly weird to say anything about it. Like, okay, I wasn¡¯t a junior high kid anymore. These kinds of things happened with adults. At parties, as a joke, between friends, whatever. Antoinette was programmed to be a heartbreaker to all the losers who tailed her. If I mentioned it, I¡¯d probably end up sounding like an even bigger loser. Who knew. I was trying my best to not be naive about the whole thing, but whenever I thought about it, I felt like my brain was a pinball being thrown around for a high score. Louis said, ¡°Chlo¨¦?¡± ¡°...Hm?¡± R¨¦mi leaned forward, glancing pointedly at my hands. ¡°Something on your mind?¡± Oh, I¡¯d been snipping the air, missing the ribbon by about a mile. ¡°Nope. Nope, nothing at all.¡± Sylvain took the scissors away from me. R¨¦mi folded his hands behind his head, putting new focus on ¨¦tienne across the lab. His green eyes glittered in a way I recognised from when he¡¯d pulled me into that professor¡¯s office. ¡°Soooo. Think we could convince the prince to get into more trouble?¡± I said, ¡°He¡¯s kinda hardheaded about it at first. Like he gets all embarrassed.¡± ¡°True, true¡­ But I don¡¯t know, he¡¯s been getting more animated around me, you notice?¡± ¡°Maybe that¡¯s just because you aggravate him?¡± He lightly flicked the side of my head. ¡°Y¡¯know, you never told me if you wanted to come to that fashion show, firecracker. Maybe we could all make a date of it? Yes, Sylvain, including you.¡± ¡°What use do I have for a fashion show?¡± ¡°Ah, Sylvain, you¡¯re so funny and charming all the time. Anyways, I know some stylists there who¡¯d be over the moon at the chance to pierce the prince¡¯s ears or something¡­¡± I frowned. ¡°Didn¡¯t the show already pass? While we were at the Chapelle¡¯s?¡± ¡°Nah. It¡¯s definitely next Saturday.¡± I furrowed my brow. I couldn¡¯t remember exactly how he¡¯d phrased the invitation, back when all the guys were asking me about their route events. Maybe he was right. It¡¯s not like the passage of time really mattered in the game¨Cwe could have jumped a week to speed to R¨¦mi¡¯s event, for all I knew. My thoughts were interrupted by Antoinette sauntering to our table, the saved ¨¦tienne in tow. He handed Louis the flowers¨CI was proud that I could recognise them now as a marigold, cosmos, and za¡­zen¡­zin¡­something¨Cand Sylvain set them up on the table with my ribbon scraps so Louis could get a good sketch. ¡°I would ask what progress you¡¯ve all made,¡± Antoinette said, perching on the tabletop beside R¨¦mi, ¡°but I know for a fact you¡¯ve all been goofing off.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± R¨¦mi said, ¡°I lost a whole tournament in that time. I¡¯ve done plenty.¡± ¡°Look at this.¡± Antoinette took ¨¦tienne¡¯s hand and showed it to me. ¡°He still has paint under his nails.¡± ¨¦tienne brushed a petal off his cuff, blushing a little. Zinnia! It was a zinnia flower. Ha-ha! Sylvain gestured for her to look at Lou¡¯s sketchbook. ¡°We¡¯ll be pivoting to product designs while the greenhouses are being prepared for the winter by the staff. It¡¯s hardly a setback; I¡¯ve long known what exact plants we needed, anyways. As soon as students are allowed in the greenhouses again, we¡¯ll be back on track.¡± To my surprise, Louis didn¡¯t hesitate at all in showing Antoinette his work. ¡°They¡¯re logos, design elements, motifs, stuff like that¡­ Also, we¡¯re starting to think about what the bottle designs should be.¡± R¨¦mi said, ¡°My family opened a factory last year that¡¯s all set up for glass-making, since they¡¯re expanding into perfumes. We can get custom bottles by the end of the year, no problem.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m sure I can sneak around my parents and get our contacts for printing press companies and stuff¡­¡± I hummed. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that feel a little weird, though? Like we¡¯re cheating? Not everyone has the same connections we do.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad.¡± Antoinette tilted her head to the group she¡¯d been speaking to. ¡°That group has a member whose cousin is married to a famous musician, one my father is a fan of. They''re going to get him to model their product at the show and everything.¡± R¨¦mi clicked his tongue. ¡°Surely you talked them down, right? You wouldn''t want anyone to have an unfair advantage?¡± ¡°Oh, of course not, Fontaine,¡± she said sweetly. ¡°I hate unfairness.¡± R¨¦mi brought up the fashion show again, seeing if Antoinette and ¨¦tienne were into the idea (pointedly not bringing up his idea about piercings now that ¨¦tienne was around). I listened through one ear. I kept staring at Antoinette. I kept thinking about it. Under the light of day, it was all so ridiculous. She¡¯d only just started to like me as a person, apparently. Well, she was programmed to fall hard and fast. No, no, don¡¯t even think about that! ¡°Chlo¨¦?¡± she said. I lurched, blinking. ¡°Hm? What?¡± She tilted her head at me. Her red hair tumbled off her shoulder¨Cinto R¨¦mi¡¯s face, who batted it away¨Cand her blue eyes were keen on mine. ¡°I know what you¡¯ve been wondering about,¡± she said. ¡°Even if you haven¡¯t said anything.¡± ¡°O-oh?¡± You¡¯re not gonna say anything now, are you?! I thought of her total lack of discretion when it came to the guys and their secrets¡­ And then her total willingness to pretend nothing ever happened with the poisoning. I said carefully, feeling the guys¡¯ eyes bounce between us, ¡°What about it¡­?¡± She licked her lips. The tiniest moment of hesitation¨CI was getting good at recognising them and their rarity. Finally, she said, ¡°Let me think over it, alright? You¡¯ve always been good at giving me time to think, even when you¡¯re being stubborn with me. Can you do that for me?¡± My mouth went dry. I could only say, ¡°Yeah. Absolutely.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± She hopped off the desk lithely, then tapped her finger on one of Louis¡¯ designs. ¡°This one¡¯s the most appealing.¡± Sylvain said, ¡°It¡¯s a little mismatched.¡± ¡°So is your group. Keep working. I¡¯ll see you later,¡± she said, then headed off to the next group. 27: ALTOLIA ¡°Chlo¨¦¡­Chlo¨¦!¡± I blinked awake to see Antoinette leaning over my bed, her red waves curtaining around me, scant light limning her face in the dark room. This seemed too fanfickian to be true. ¡°What?¡± I shot up, rubbing my eyes. ¡°Am I late for class?¡± ¡°No.¡± She dropped a towel and hairbrush on my lap. ¡°Get ready quickly, alright?¡± I looked at our window. No light peeked behind the curtains. The only light was coming from a low lamp. Her tone was neutral besides her usual twinge of impatience, so I guessed the dorms weren¡¯t on fire, at least. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going on a trip today.¡± ¡°I¡­what? Class field trip?¡± ¡°No, we are going on a trip.¡± She smirked. I had nothing to say to that besides ???. I took her towel and instructions and went off to our room lavatory, still a little unsteady in my exhaustion, to get ready. I obediently showered (hooray for information gaps in the game being filled by modern-ish technology¨Creality was an aesthetic mess), trying to remember if we¡¯d planned something and I¡¯d forgotten. It was Wednesday. Nothing would be going on. Was she spiriting me away? Were we going to do some cliche girly adventure in town? When I was all washed up, I found that Antoinette had set clothing for me on the counter: a folded-up dress with a cropped, thick woolen vest and warm stockings. She¡¯d added a matching beret-like hat that I¡¯d definitely not bought myself. I emerged from the lavatory, all washed and brushed and clothed, and learned exactly why Antoinette had done that: R¨¦mi was sitting on her bed, clearly ready for our field trip in his warm jacket and boots. I looked between them, alarmed. ¡°Where the hell are we going?¡± ~*~ ¡°Here you are, ladies,¡± R¨¦mi announced, coming up behind us. ¡°Two of the finest breakfast croissants in all of Altolia.¡± R¨¦mi handed me and Antoinette our woefully-late breakfasts. I was pretty damn sure that breakfast croissants were not period-accurate, but I was so starving after our three-hour carriage ride that R¨¦mi could have given me a Happy Meal bag and I wouldn¡¯t have questioned it. We took to the streets of Altolia. I¡¯d been braced for a barrage of narrated memories to hit me as soon as we got out of the carriage, but all I got was a faceful of bright sunlight and wobbly legs from the rickety ride. Yep, this was all Antoinette¡¯s idea. According to her, R¨¦mi had mentioned that he wanted to head to Altolia to make moves on his character arc¨Cby that I mean make reparations with someone he wronged as a teen¨Cand Antoinette had innocently suggested that us girls keep him company. ¡°I suggested it for you,¡± she¡¯d whispered to me when we had a second of privacy for her to explain, ¡°so you could look for more clues or whatnot. R¨¦mi doesn¡¯t need to know.¡± Ace Attorney investigation field trip, hooray! We¡¯d only needed a Fontaine carriage to take us, since none of the school or hamlet ones would dare go this far, even if our reasoning was as compelling as, ¡°We just wanna go!¡± Now, R¨¦mi snatched a newspaper out of a streetside basket (he¡¯d inhaled his breakfast before I even got a taste of mine). NO NEW LEADS IN GAGNON CASE; FORMER EMPLOYEES WEIGH IN. Instead of pointing that headline out, though, R¨¦mi was much more interested in something else mentioned on the front page, and went riffling through the paper to find the rest of the story. He opened it to Antoinette and me. There it was! That famous picture of ¨¦tienne as a young teenager, smoking with a couple faceless other boys. The background of a horse track was sketched in. It drew the eye much more than the bland headline about how he¡¯d done the speech at the newest orphanage opening last night. Classy. R¨¦mi scoffed. ¡°What¡¯d I tell you? They use any chance they can to throw this thing in the papers.¡± Antoinette sighed. ¡°How lucky he is that the Chapelles didn¡¯t inform the papers about our little escapade.¡± I took the paper from R¨¦mi to get a better look. ¡°This was like ten years ago! How do people still care?¡± I shouldn¡¯t be that surprised. Magazines used images of Britney Spears shaving her head for years and years, even when my world had the benefit of a metric ton more celebrities to gossip about and more crazy images to trade around at light speed. R¨¦mi held out a hand to get the paper back. I pretended to be engrossed in the article. Our trio kept walking down the street as I flipped through it, flagging behind a little bit. In the Love Blooming timeline, we were right after the first route-specific events. If my memories weren¡¯t fooling me, then the papers should have, by now, caught on to the symbol used by that gang of goons who burned the Gagnon estate. They wouldn¡¯t know who it was attached to¨Cin fact, they¡¯d know so little that they¡¯d be pretty unabashed in publishing it everywhere, demanding anyone with answers come forward¨Cbut since it was found in the estate wreckage, they knew it was connected to the arson. And the murders. Did they know yet that it was a double murder? R¨¦mi was explaining who he was looking for to Antoinette, stretching his arms above his head. I half-listened to their jibes¨Cshe was teasing him about being a hellion once upon a time¨Cand got to the end of the paper with no mention of the symbol. I flipped through backwards. Where was it? This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. If I was late, there was no way the paper would simply drop the topic entirely; what news would they have to replace it? Stories about ¨¦tienne kissing puppies?? Another rehash of the case, begging for information? In the game, you found out about the symbol once it crawled its way to the La Belle Lavande student papers, and there was no freakin¡¯ way they¡¯d get the scoop before Altolia itself. I finished the paper once more, left staring at a hand-drawn ad for a barber shop and their newfangled style of shears. ~*~ Antoinette used her high charisma roll to get R¨¦mi and his target to think they really ought to speak in private for a couple hours. That left us girls time to look for clues. Antoinette hailed a cab. She¡¯d hidden most of her bright red hair under a paisley handkerchief to not immediately out herself as the Delphine heiress. Maybe that¡¯s why the driver hit us with glares of suspicion and immediate dislike when she announced we wanted to see the Gagnon estate. ¡°The ruins? Now what business d¡¯you got there?¡± I opened my mouth to make some excuse or beg or something, but Antoinette touched my wrist, speaking primly instead. ¡°You won¡¯t drive us there?¡± ¡°Not a chance.¡± ¡°Then we¡¯d like to be dropped off, let¡¯s say, a fifteen-minute walk from the Gagnon estate? Perhaps at a shop or garden if that makes you feel better? Your choice.¡± He grumbled a bit¡­but accepted Antoinette¡¯s cash and got the horses moving. He let us off at a small roadside park, full of kids and finely-dressed ladies chatting under the trees. He made a big show of checking his horses¡¯ equipment, huffing and coughing, drawing eyes from the park-goers. Antoinette strode up to him¨Cand before she could speak, he jerked a thumb at the park and a small offshoot from its main pathway that wound uninvitingly into the trees. She took my arm and off we went in that direction. I asked once we were out of earshot, ¡°What the heck was that about?¡± ¡°He must think we¡¯re nothing better than gossipmongers or thieves. He didn¡¯t want to have to lie to the guard about driving us there if we got caught.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Now he can tell them he dropped off two anonymous young ladies at the park, and he saw nothing and suspected nothing and so is guilty of nothing, and that is all.¡± ¡°And you guessed all that from him asking us one question?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a Delphine. I¡¯m used to dealing with people trying to protect themselves from me.¡± The walk was more like twenty-five minutes, but he hadn¡¯t lied to us entirely: on the other side of the woods was a long stretch of iron fence, keeping in rolling green grounds that led to a distant, strange pile of black. The fence was overgrown with white-flower ivy that shuddered and grew into strange shapes as I walked by, reacting to my nerves. ¡°Do you recognise it?¡± Antoinette asked, pointing out the little greenhouse, cherry trees, and gazebos that peppered the grounds like fairy houses. I shook my head. We reached the gate. It was locked at the end of the driveway, perfectly presented¡­in stark opposition to the ruins beyond. We stepped through and approached the mass of matchsticks. No narration hit me. My head seemed empty, echoing with the lack of context, the lack of emotion. I¡¯d been in Marie¡¯s shoes over and over again¨Cfic after fic, daydream after daydream, meta after meta¨Cand now all that felt so sanitized and hollow. ¡°What about now?¡± ¡°Nothing. Is that bad?¡± ¡°Why would it be?¡± Because not being reminded meant¡­what? That I couldn¡¯t take over for Marie totally? That the history of the body and this world was too far for me to reach? That without the narration nattering in my ear, maybe I¡¯d never figure this out in time? What did in time even mean for me? ¡°Well, we made it this far. Here.¡± Antoinette lifted herself over the fence, careful to gather her wool skirt in a handful so it didn¡¯t catch on the metal. She offered a hand to me. Her palm was warm and soft, her grip sure, as she helped my shorter self over the fence. I couldn¡¯t help checking over my shoulders as she strode confidently through the yard. Ash and flecks of burned who-knows-what fluttered between our delicate shoes. The grass was crisped, the trees bent over in ghastly mourning, guarding the imprint of the mansion-that-once-was. A long, winding driveway, lined with thick trees and rolling fronds, lead up to the mass of burned remains and a carriage garage with generally unharmed horse stalls. I¡¯d written stories about Marie¡¯s society parties, her childhood, her first kisses and lesbian awakenings and first words in this house, this house that was now gone. In a way, all that was left of it in this world was my memory. Not Marie¡¯s, not even really Chlo¨¦¡¯s, but Hanna¡¯s. There was no such thing as police tape in this random time in French pseudo-history, so nothing stopped us from entering the ruin that was the Gagnon house. Antoinette held my wrist tightly as we walked the tightropes of safe pathways through the wreckage¨Cbeams, ash, broken dishes, cracked marble and hardwood that burst with the heat, scraps of curtain. Antoinette stopped us. She gave me a pointed look, eyebrow cocked. ¡°Still nothing!¡± I admitted. ¡°But, well¡­if I don¡¯t remember, did it really happen to me at all?¡± Antoinette averted her bright blue eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s say you are the Gagnon girl. Even if you don¡¯t remember, even if you don¡¯t understand it, it did change you, obviously. It did make you.¡± I watched her, this strange girl who I¡¯d seen a dozen versions of. The different Antoinettes that appeared in Love Blooming depending on your choices, the Antoinette who lurked in the background of Sylvain fanfics and tried to sink every other ship, the delicately prim Antoinette who stacistar wrote, the determined, fiercely sexy Antoinette I wrote, and all the women in between. How many were still missing? Who was left on the cutting room floor, and who still spun around the minds of the writers? What did they mean for her, now that I was trying, like I did over and over behind my keyboard, to make her something different? ¡°I want to look around,¡± I said. Antoinette stepped aside so I could start fumbling through the wreckage. I kept an eye out for that symbol. In the game, it was found on a necklace, like a dog tag, symbolizing the gang connections. It was broken off. The implication hit me, now that I could smell the ash and feel the wood splintering under my shoes: did one of the Gagnons grab the necklace to fight them off? Was it the mother, the father, or¡­was it Marie? I could find nothing. Nothing but a whole destroyed world¨Ca world that was supposedly mine, but that I didn¡¯t recognise at all. The game skated over Marie¡¯s grief of losing her family and every single trapping of her life before the attacks, except, of course, the numbers in her bank account. I didn¡¯t care before¨Cit was a classic story element I¡¯d seen a kajillion times before. Love heals all. I didn¡¯t expect much depth out of Love Blooming¡¯s backstory except for some stray tears for your boy of choice to kiss off Marie¡¯s cheeks. Here, now, walking through the dregs of her life? It felt like a tasteless true crime podcast, narrowing her past life into tropes and shocks and cheesy musical stings and off-colour jokes whose apologies couldn¡¯t totally get rid of the stench of disrespect. She wasn¡¯t me. But she was real. The hiss and clatter of fallen debris snapped me out of it. I looked up¨Cdid Antoinette fall? Nope, she was a few paces behind me, head up too, alert and glaring. More steps, somewhere in this mountainous crag of a destroyed house. Antoinette reached my side. My heart trilled in my chest. Could it be the arsonists? Was it now that they left their symbol behind? Would it be me who tore it from their necks? A figure ducked into the half-collapsed, black doorway. 27.2: ALTOLIA What emerged from the ash was a teenage girl. She cried out in surprise. I did too. Antoinette gripped my elbow and said a tense, ¡°Well, hello.¡± I felt like I was looking at an Ace Attorney extra. Her hair was so blonde that it shone blue-grey, twisted up into a messy bun with stray curls springing out. She wore circular metal spectacles that made her blue eyes look even more enormous. A slouchy satchel was full to bursting on her shoulder. The girl straightened up, turning her nose in the air. She affected a haughty, mismatched tone as she asked, ¡°Who are you to barge into this scene? You¡¯re not allowed, you know.¡± Antoinette said, ¡°Neither are you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a reporter!¡± Yeah, right. She couldn¡¯t have been older than sixteen. Antoinette shot her one of the heiress¡¯s characteristic withering looks. She popped a hand on her hip. ¡°Okay, well, you lookie-loos better not tell anyone that I was here, either. Deal?¡± ¡°What paper do you work for? If you work for one at all.¡± She cautiously approached us, clearly wary of stepping around on this unstable ground. She held out her hand; I shook it. While Antoinette embodied authority and confidence, this girl was clearly wearing it like an uncomfortable, oversized coat. ¡°I¡¯m Lucille, head reporter for the St-Boniface Gazette.¡± Antoinette didn¡¯t shake her hand. ¡°That¡¯s a high school.¡± ¡°And we have a really good paper!¡± ¡°Do you make a habit of investigating this site, Lucille?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been the head of this story since it broke.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ve never been caught?¡± There was a strange standoffishness to Antoinette, though her words came quickly and confidently. I realised I¡¯d only ever seen her interact with strangers when she was trying to get something from them: information from the secretary at the guard hall, a ride from the cab¡­ Lucille, to her credit, was unperturbed. ¡°Of course I haven¡¯t. There were investigators from all the nearby towns swarming this place, but after the first couple weeks, they all cleared out. Nowadays, I could probably set up a picnic and fireworks and no one would catch me, for all the attention they give this site.¡± Antoinette and I shared a glance. I asked, ¡°Wait, you¡¯re saying you¡¯re the only one still investigating?¡± Lucille¡¯s whole stance became energized, like she was super excited to tell us her scoop. ¡°As far as I can tell. The local papers,¡± her tone dripped with teenage disdain, ¡°haven¡¯t had anything new to say in weeks! No one checks the ruins anymore, and I¡¯ve interviewed most of the people of interest¡ªyep, I know; cool, right?¡ªand if they¡¯re to be believed, no one¡¯s spoken to them in ages either. If you ask me, someone¡¯s persuaded the local authorities that they shouldn¡¯t be sniffing around.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I said, ¡°Maybe all their work is happening away from the scene of the crime, that¡¯s all. Forensics and stuff.¡± Blank looks. ¡°Or going over old documents?¡± Antoinette asked, ¡°Lucille. Do you have a hunch about what¡¯s going on?¡± She lit up like a Christmas tree. ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure. And it¡¯d be against the journalist code of ethics to publish who I think is involved. But the Gagnons were really well-connected people. You know, a lot of elites cite Mme Gagnon and her team as being the people they¡¯d trust to publish and distribute their biographies or their discoveries.¡± She pointedly leaned on that sentence. ¡°Someone like that must be holding lots of information that others don¡¯t want exposed at inopportune times.¡± I thought of the cultural make-up of La Belle Lavande. All those students very well could have had connections to the Gagnon family. How did no one recognise me? How did Antoinette not know me, when we¡¯d learned by now that even our families were involved together? For that to make any sense, Mme Gagnon and M Delphine¡¯s meetings had to be less about chatting jovially over dinners with the whole household, and more about secret discussions in parlours with the doors locked. I asked, ¡°Who were some of the people she was going to publish with?¡± Lucille smirked. She shrugged her packed bag off her shoulder and riffled through it, eventually producing a copy of a newspaper. The printing-press writing was slightly smeared and the graphic design left a lot to be desired, but she presented it to us with a flourish. ¡°Read and see. Page two.¡± I flipped it open and found a massive spread about the case, including a boxed-in list of names. ¡°You mentioned talking to some people who were related to the case, right? What have those interviews told you?¡± ¡°I rarely get more than a quote or two, and I haven¡¯t gotten anything from people that are way higher up. I got that list from an anonymous worker at the Gagnon publishing house.¡± She pointed at the list of names. ¡°Everyone says the same thing. No, they haven¡¯t been spoken to by the authorities since close to the crime, or they¡¯ve never been spoken to at all, and no, they don¡¯t know anything.¡± Not that much time and a whole world ago, I would have brushed all that off as the writers being lazy about these unnamed, unimportant characters who only served to get Marie hitched. Now, the emptiness echoed in me. This girl was close to the case, and she was talking to me, looking me right in the eyes, without any recognition or even a flicker of suspicion. Marie really must have been a private person. The whole family must have been. I thought of locked doors, private meetings, ivory towers, every suspect wrapped up in a cloak of red tape. Lucky me that I was now friends with Antoinette Delphine. If anyone knew how to get around that stuff, it¡¯d be her. Antoinette asked Lucille a few more questions, totally taking advantage of the girl¡¯s excitement about having a listening ear, but she kept cheekily citing the paper she¡¯d given me and the journalist code of ethics. She griped a little about her teenage editor on the paper who cared more about his buddies than giving her the proper budget and time to do her hard-hitting investigating, and Antoinette spotted her opening. Antoinette offered casually that we were both university students at La Belle Lavande, with much more intelligence, skill, and understanding than a teenage boy, so Lucille was welcome to mail her thoughts to us and we¡¯d provide some true editorial expertise. ¡°Would you really? That¡¯s so nice, I¡¯d love that, miss¡­uh¡­?¡± Antoinette said, ¡°Avril.¡± ¡°Thank you, miss Avril.¡± She smiled at the both of us, her mock professionalism tumbling away as she became a sixteen year old girl again. ¡°It¡¯s great to finally find people who care about this case as much as I do.¡± 28: DANCE THE NIGHT AWAY Considering how long it took us to get to Altolia, Antoinette and I knew it¡¯d be suspicious if we asked to go home right away. So, despite how strange I felt, we went along with Remi¡¯s idea to get snacks and do some shopping and sight-seeing. First stop was a chic cafe where we treated each other to surprise orders of dessert crepes: Remi gave me a banana fudge, Antoinette gave Remi one laden with mandarin oranges, and I gave Antoinette one with almond slivers and strawberry slices piled onto a cloud of strawberry mousse. ¡°Because of my hair?¡± she asked me sarcastically. ¡°Because you¡¯re why the table runs out of strawberry jam at breakfast,¡± I teased. Altolia was pleasantly and deceptively modern, especially once it wasn¡¯t trapped in a single street graphic on a DS screen. Every third store was the sort of place where you could find designer shoes and piles of tangled jewelry amid boxes of old postcards and letters and busted china tableware. Remi noted that these things must have been brought in from all over the kingdom by passing travelers, and his factoids about hats and jade-carved knick knacks tipped me off to how big this world was beyond the data limits of the game. As we traveled, I diverted myself by keeping a close eye on Remi and Antoinette. It had occurred to me on the ride to Altolia that they¡¯d planned this trip without me. As in privately. As in alone. This wasn¡¯t the first indication that Remi and Antoinette were spending time together outside of my machinations. During the Samhain Formal, they¡¯d been betting on what kinds of shenanigans would happen. He¡¯d started bringing her little things from the buffet tables when she sat with us during meals, like guessing what dessert course she¡¯d want or extra sugar for her tea. On the ride, he spoke to her about his NPC friends by using their first names. He was comfortable standing close to her and touching her idly¡ªwell, maybe I should phrase it like she was comfortable with him doing that. We caught a concert in the park by a trio of young flute-playing buskers. I had a great time diverting our trio so I could pet every fancy little dog I saw. The birds sang, the sun shone, the air had that misty edge to it that indicated that winter was coming¡­ ¡­And across town, a mysterious estate had been burned to the ground. ~*~ Late that afternoon, Remi summoned our footman from a nearby coffee shop (I hoped he vanished from existence when he wasn¡¯t ¡®on-screen,¡¯ because I couldn¡¯t imagine a more boring day than waiting for a trio of college kids as they ran around an unfamiliar city). I spared one last look at the city as the horses were gathered from the nearby stables. I thought of Remi¡¯s facts about the dishware and the auction dresses in Etienne¡¯s storage room, their styles clearly inspired by faraway Earth locations. Could I travel that far beyond the borders of the game? Did I want to? I was apparently real inconveniently lost in thought, because I had to be hustled by the footman into the cab. In the hurry, my hair ribbon caught on the doorframe, yanked free, and fell onto the gravel. Tumbling into my seat, I said, ¡°Oh, sorry, could you please¡ª¡° The footman slammed the door on me. Pretty dang hard, too. Okay? Apparently he had been waiting for us all day. The safety locks were all thrown shut, then the carriage rocked the tiniest bit from the footman swinging into the driver¡¯s seat. We started at a brisk pace down the road. Remi closed the smoking vent that would carry our voices to the driver. For a second I worried he was gonna interrogate us on what the heck we were doing when we split up, but he just said, ¡°So, Antoinette I get, but did Etienne promise you some new jewelry or something? You didn¡¯t buy anything for the Gala.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°The Holly Gala¡¯s coming up. Antoinette hasn¡¯t warned you?¡± ¡°Another dance?!¡± Remi and Antoinette traded an amused look. She said, ¡°They¡¯re all socializing schemes for business and internships. Chloe doesn¡¯t care about that. Am I right?¡± Of course I¡¯d remembered the existence of that totally-not-a-Christmas-holiday dance, but the thought of it coming up so fast made me exhausted. ¡°Isn¡¯t everyone at school already well-connected? Why do they need to stress about another party?¡± Remi said, ¡°For a lot of students, the school makes them feel trapped during the year. They don¡¯t get invited to tea with daddy¡¯s business partners or get to play croquet with Etienne¡¯s fifth cousin. All the connections in the world don¡¯t mean anything if the elites you¡¯re connected to don¡¯t know your face or only hear about you secondhand. So La Belle Lavande gives the students a shot¡ªa few nights a year to peacock around and try not to totally slip through the socialite cracks. Personally, I think it makes it feel even more like a competition.¡± Ping! Though we¡¯d gotten here in a roundabout way, this was definitely a conversation Marie had with Remi. Not in a carriage and certainly not in Altolia, but the vague framing was correct: the conversation was triggered after helping Remi make amends with someone from his past for the first time. I reached up for the options, carriage completely still around me. The instant I pressed 2, the carriage jostled me into Antoinette¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Who are you looking to impress?¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. My question came out softer than I¡¯d normally speak, courtesy of sugar!Marie. Antoinette gave me a sidelong, questioning look. Remi leaned back, folding his hands behind his head as we rattled along. ¡°I¡¯m not too worried about that stuff anymore.¡± ¡°Right, I guess you¡¯re sure to inherit the fashion business.¡± ¡°Sure am. Only kid in the Fontaine family. My parents are doing great, though, so it¡¯ll be a long time before I have to do more than be a pretty face and throw around a couple half-assed ideas in board meetings.¡± Antoinette grabbed the seat to stop herself from jostling around so much. ¡°Do you want to inherit the business?¡± ¡°You know as well as I do that I don¡¯t have much of a choice in that. What about you?¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be much trouble. I¡¯m good with the numbers.¡± ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯d have your father¡¯s position at the very top. More than numbers to deal with up there. Aconitum¡¯s as big to some people as the monarchy.¡± The carriage¡¯s pace was picking up. I glanced out the window. We were out of town, trees clipping past us. Blurring past us, actually. A few gravel stones spat out the front wheels and pinged against the tiny window. I said, ¡°Is it just me, or are we¡ª?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going too fast. Hey!¡± Antoinette smacked the roof of the carriage. We didn¡¯t slow. Remi smacked the roof even harder, yelling, ¡°Ease up!¡± We were definitely, definitely going faster. I held onto my seat to keep my balance. The carriage leapt over rocks and divots, my stomach jumping into my chest every time. The wheels rattled and the two horses¡¯ hooves pounded the road, so loudly that the noise seemed to fill the cabin, rattling the window, the seats, the walls. I was about to be sick. Antoinette, thrown around by the unbalanced carriage, was forced halfway onto Remi¡¯s lap when she reached for the smoking vent. She flicked it open. After practically pressing her face to it, she turned back to us, a little pale. ¡°There¡¯s no driver.¡± What the hell? Remi hissed a baffled curse and I lunged for the cabin¡¯s door. Even after I flipped the safety latch on our side, it was stuck. ¡°It¡¯s blocked!¡± Remi gave the door a hard kick. It didn¡¯t give. ¡°The horses will stop, right? They¡¯ve got to stop.¡± ¡°Not with how fast we¡¯re going. They¡¯re trying to outrun the carriage.¡± Antoinette pressed herself closer to the vent and said, voice pitching, ¡°We¡¯re heading for the river.¡± Remi kept trying to kick open the door. Antoinette cursed over and over under her breath, looking all over the cab, like the answer would reveal itself. I couldn¡¯t move. The entire cab was rattling so badly, I felt like my brain would fall out of my ears. I couldn¡¯t even think. We were trapped in a box hurtling towards the water. We needed everything to¡ª To stop. I tried to speak, but my words came out as a squeak. I tried again after taking a huge breath. ¡°Remi! Ask me what my plans are for the Holly Gala!¡± ¡°I¡¯m kinda busy!¡± ¡°Ask me! Please, I can¡¯t explain, just ask me!¡± TWANG¡ªthe top of the door buckled open as Remi kicked out a hinge, but whatever was blocking the door held on tight. I¡¯d barely be able to fit an arm through that gap. The wheels wobbled wildly beneath us. The nose of the carriage tipped violently downwards¡ªthrough the gap, I spotted the flash of roan horses as they whipped around the sides of the carriage, finally free¡­ ¡­and we kept rolling, as fast as ever. ¡°Ask me!¡± I yelled. And then we were airborne. All of us lifted from our seats. My hair floated up into my face. We were all blinded by the amount of skirt going rogue. Antoinette screamed at the top of her lungs, ¡°What are your plans for the Gala?!¡± Everything froze. In the silence and stillness, I swallowed air back into my lungs. With the shaking all stopped, I could finally feel the hammering of my heart in my ribs. Hovering above my head were the three stupid, cliche little gifts from sour, sweet, and spicy Marie, my three guardian angels. I ducked under the UI, being extra careful to not touch it. My feet didn¡¯t touch the ground; it was like I was underwater, gravity pushing at me in all the wrong directions. I nudged Remi¡¯s leg aside to inspect the door. I plucked a pin out of Antoinette¡¯s hair and finagled out the screws in the hinges. My hands were sweating like crazy, and I kept glancing back at the dialogue choices, afraid I¡¯d see a timer. But the game was patient with me. Thank you, Love Blooming!! I popped the hinges and smacked the door, trying to find whatever was locking us in. Turned out it was a huge iron padlock over the handle¡¯s lock, so I just opened the door from the now-hingeless side and it swung open¡ªgiving me a clear view of the mid-air we were suspended in. My heart lurched to my throat. We were flying into a river, the back wheels spitting up a frozen spray of stones and dirt. Now, this ridiculous situation, I could say with certainty, had no place in Love Blooming. Taking my first step out of the carriage, I grit my teeth while holding tightly to the doorway. I couldn¡¯t look down to double check that my feet were placed perfectly on the steps¡ªI felt about ready to puke just knowing that solid ground was completely out of reach¡ªso I tried to trust my balance as I grabbed Remi¡¯s arm and pulled him to the door. It took some serious work to tug him out of the invisible jelly that was this ¡®pause¡¯ mode, but bit by bit, I managed it. After a few minutes, I¡¯d brought both Antoinette and Remi out of the carriage. They floated here, too, thank Christ. The dialogue options hung in the middle of the carriage, over where my head once was, just out of reach. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped inside when the carriage hit the water. Okay, I¡¯ve got some scraps of strength in me somewhere, I know it. Thinking of swimming, I used all my core to twist around, feet in the carriage. I anchored myself with a fist in the back of Antoinette¡¯s jacket. Her eyes were crushed shut, paralyzed with her final plea to me. She was the one who asked my stupid question. For some reason, she trusted me. Thankfully, the game understood that when I kicked the UI, I was making my choice. My ears filled with the rush of wind and the end of Antoinette¡¯s screaming, all so loud and chaotic that I couldn¡¯t hear my own mouth say whatever stupid, inane dialogue choice I¡¯d made. Antoinette¡¯s fall lurched me the whole way out of the carriage, and we all catapulted two storeys towards the water. The river sucked me under with a force even more demanding than the gravity that¡¯d thrown me into it in the first place. I flailed for the surface; pure instinct took over, making me kick until I couldn¡¯t tell which way was up. Suddenly the cold air smacked me in the face. All three of us grabbed at each other until we were catching our breaths, locked arm in arm in arm. I wiped the water off my eyelashes. We looked miserable, all shivering like wet dogs. ¡°Everyone okay?¡± Remi asked. Behind Remi¡¯s shoulder, I watched the carriage wheels vanish under the water. ¡°It was a padlock,¡± I said. ¡°Whoever it was barred us in with a padlock, but Remi, you¡ªyou must¡¯ve kicked through it.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t remember a thing. I guess instinct took over,¡± he confessed. ¡°Can you two swim?¡± Antoinette said, ¡°We can¡¯t. Our dresses; they¡¯re too heavy.¡± I felt like I had lead weights strapped to my hips. But before we could get into some real romance novel, bodice-ripping shenanigans, a voice called Remi¡¯s name from the shore. It was his footman, flanked by the agitated horses. My hackles sprang up until I noticed that he was covered in dirt and scuffs. Did someone throw him from the driver¡¯s seat? I remembered the door slamming on me¡ªmaybe he¡¯d been replaced mere moments before. Replaced by who? He threw us the reins and with his and a few townspeople¡¯s help, we got to shore. That help was definitely needed; I¡¯d been reduced to a lightheaded, shuddery mess. Altolia citizens threw blankets over our shoulders. Remi and Antoinette recited all they could remember of the incident while I gratefully shrunk into the background and let my wet hair fall into my face so no one could recognise me. Though it seemed like it was way too late for that. 29: LOOSE ENDS Unfortunately for Antoinette, she had little choice but to answer the guards¡¯ questions about this incident. Unfortunately for the guard, she wasn¡¯t going to make it easy. ¡°If I¡¯m not reporting any crime,¡± Antoinette said to the mustachioed guard who was practically begging her to give information, ¡°then I don¡¯t need to say anything.¡± She managed to look pretty intimidating, even if she was drenched to the skin and wrapped in a tattered blanket from some random do-gooder¡¯s house, mascara smeared on her cheeks. Her scowl was in full force. R¨¦mi started, ¡°You¡¯re not, but¨C¡± Antoinette lifted a hand to quiet him. She hadn¡¯t thrown me any warning expressions. Maybe she knew that if she didn¡¯t want to talk about it, then I wouldn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t as if getting widespread attention on this would help me. If anything, it might encourage our mystery attackers more. Honestly, I wanted to leave the whole situation in the dust and get on with Antoinette¡¯s storyline. It¡¯d just gotten a whole lot more scary. Of course, if I really wanted that¡­then I wouldn¡¯t be here in Altolia, would I? R¨¦mi stepped between her and the guardsman. ¡°This isn¡¯t going to disappear if you don¡¯t say anything. And you don¡¯t actually think it should disappear, do you?¡± ¡°I do, as a matter of fact!¡± ¡°Yeah, right. The Delphine self-preservation instinct is stronger than that.¡± R¨¦mi ran a hand through his drying hair. ¡°We¡¯re way beyond you being able to pretend this was just some student getting their revenge on you. You¡¯ll have to¨C¡± ¡°You have to stop telling me what I believe and what I should say, Fontaine. Or else I may start talking about something else.¡± As far as I knew, this was the first time Antoinette had threatened any of the guys with the secrets they handed over to her. Cue a weird, twisting feeling in my chest. R¨¦mi frowned at her. I wondered how bad that secret was. It seemed typical of R¨¦mi to hand over something far too earnest, maybe thinking she wouldn¡¯t actually use it. He was definitely not the cynic of the group. R¨¦mi lifted his chin at me. ¡°Okay, then, what about you? We can say Antoinette¡¯s some anonymous third party.¡± ¡°...Well¡­¡± ¡°Sheesh, why are both of you so secretive?¡± Before I could retort, Antoinette made her escape. She spun on a heel and marched off into the woods that surrounded the path we were all stuck on. I turned to follow her, but all I got was my shoulder crashing into R¨¦mi¡¯s. He¡¯d been trying the exact same thing as me. He stepped back and tilted his head towards Antoinette, letting me go after her. Although my river-drenched skirts tried to trip me up by clinging to every single bramble and bush on the way, I caught up to Antoinette¡¯s long stride in seconds. She spun to me. ¡°What?¡± I pointed past her, further into the greenery. ¡°They can still hear us from here. Let¡¯s go a little further.¡± We did, until the sound of the guardsmen and townsfolk doing their investigating was nothing but a low murmur. Though the incident was over half an hour in the past by now, I was still a little shaken. I¡¯d never been in so much as a car crash before. I was grateful when we finally stopped in a little glen, its edges roughly cut back and with a small rusty bench in the center, like it was a spot for picnics overlooking the river. Antoinette faced me. ¡°I know what you¡¯re going to say.¡± ¡°Do you?¡± ¡°You clearly won¡¯t speak to the guard about my involvement. So, you¡¯ll tell me this, ensuring you have my trust. Then you¡¯ll want something in exchange, even if you won¡¯t admit it.¡± ¡°...Will I?¡± ¡°You want to know why I don¡¯t want us to speak. Because you seem to always need to know why.¡± At least she didn¡¯t seem mad about it. She was observing me, head slightly tilted, a frustrated sort of intrigue on her face, like I¡¯d presented her with an annoying riddle. Why, it occurred to me all of a sudden, was not an answer many people got about her. Maybe not anyone. What had I done to earn this? ¡°You¡¯ve got my number,¡± I said. ¡°So, why?¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. She was the one who pretty much proposed spilling the truth, and yet she was hesitating. I mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key. She set into a hip, looking past me. ¡°I wish this time it didn¡¯t happen to you two, as well.¡± A sigh. ¡°I do wish this could be solved. I want to know what it¡¯s actually about¨Cme, or you? Something else? Are they trying to get to someone else through us? If I¡­¡± It was like the thoughts were stirring up all kinds of storms inside her: she sighed for the second time, third time. It was cute, lifting a lock of damp hair off her forehead. She continued, ¡°People targeting the Delphines is not uncommon. There¡¯s so much about Aconitum that you don¡¯t know¡­ Ugh, that even I don¡¯t know. So much so, that strangers think they¡¯ve learned the worst of it when they¡¯ve only scratched the surface, or they put all the wrong clues together and end up with pure fabrications. It¡¯s a mess. ¡°Once people learned about me through my singing on stage, I would get the strangest letters. Accusations would land right in the lap of a young girl, telling her all sorts of things that had happened to total strangers, begging her to cajole her father into helping them learn more or take revenge.¡± She perched on the arm rest of the bench. From the few times I¡¯d seen Antoinette vulnerable, she tended to fold after her big, puffed-up show of emotion. I saw now that when she¡¯d told me about her mother all those weeks ago, she was still firmly behind her wall, anger wrapping up her story. I sat beside her. ¡°Every time, it was apparently me causing the trouble. I was the one at fault for reading the letter, or listening to the protester who caught me on the road, or becoming friends with the damn¡­heir to whatever competitor who was coached to trick me. How stupid!¡± She met my eye, intending to share her annoyance with me; I nodded emphatically. ¡°It was always my fault! Obviously, it was easier to be angry at me than the people he couldn¡¯t discipline, or else our name would earn more negative attention.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s a serious crime this time. Why not report it?¡± ¡°Oh, because!¡± she said with all the tongue-tied irritation of the night of the Samhain Formal. ¡°Because it¡¯ll be my fault for allowing someone to get close enough to poison me! And if I let any authorities in to investigate? I may as well be throwing open the doors to the estate and handing over our files, obviously!¡± Oh, so Aconitum had secret-secrets. I wondered how deep they truly ran, how complicated they were, how messy they were, when we could lay out all the details instead of skim over them in a cutscene. ¡°And how,¡± she continued, in a full-force rant now, ¡°could I run the company if I let myself get screwed over so seriously¨Cif I have to run for help! It¡¯s so stupid, but I don¡¯t want to tell him. I simply don¡¯t. Maybe that makes me a child, but I don¡¯t, I don¡¯t!¡± She dropped her forehead onto her fists and groaned between her teeth. ¡°Damn it all.¡± I chewed the inside of my lip. I was not the friend to go to for help with escaping complicated emotional cesspits. I mean, so far, Antoinette had actually taken the reins of that, like when she encouraged Etienne and Louis. I preferred to sit at a keyboard and edit my genuinity. I worried my unhelpfulness would sound like I didn¡¯t care. ¡°You''re right. This is a mess,¡± I said weakly. Yeah, not my best. ¡°You''re not being childish. I can''t imagine all that pressure, and I think you''re best at deciding what your own limits are. That said¡­if you don''t want to deal with this officially, then what will you do?¡± ¡°I don''t know,¡± she said into her hands. ¡°I suppose we can try to solve it ourselves.¡± ¡°What, both of us?¡± She looked up, surprisingly earnest. ¡°Well, of course us, Chlo¨¦.¡± I blushed. Before I could say anything else, R¨¦mi came into the glen. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, sounding like he was in a rush. ¡°I managed to convince them to let us go for now. They¡¯re insisting on taking evidence from the scene, but they¡¯ll write to us later for statements. At school.¡± He scratched the back of his head, clearly noticing he interrupted something. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Let¡¯s get out of here before they change their minds.¡± Antoinette hopped to her feet right away. She used a balled up edge of her soaking sleeve to wipe away her smeared makeup. She said, ¡°Thank you, Chlo¨¦,¡± right before I could say the exact same. Then she added, ¡°You owe me an explanation too, you know,¡± before falling into step with R¨¦mi. I knew exactly what about. We were hustled back into town where the new carriage, hosted by the city blacksmiths, would pick up the three of us and R¨¦mi¡¯s footman (¡°They''re going to try to finagle a brand deal out of us,¡± R¨¦mi and Antoinette agreed). We drew stares from every corner¨Cit seemed like half of the town had followed us out to the river, and the rest of them were waiting to ogle from their own windows. I may as well have fallen right flat on my face and been tarred and feathered for how embarrassed I felt and how fixated they were on me. It was a blessing when we could finally duck behind the open doors of a big, brash carriage. R¨¦mi was helped in first, politeness be damned, and then the footman helped up Antoinette. I was feeling deceptively protected in that corner, when¨C ¡°Marie? Marie Gagnon?¡± I never really believed the figurative language about blood going cold¨Cand still didn¡¯t, because I felt my blood go caustic and hot in my veins. It was the footman, probably R¨¦mi¡¯s age, who¡¯d helped Antoinette board and was now frozen in his observation of me. He was just¡­just a guy. Short black hair in an anachronistically shaggy style, so dark that it glinted purple in this light, yellow¡­eyes¡­ I frantically tore through my memories of the game, every NPC and every CG art and every scrap art from the art book and¨C I knew where I recognised him from. The freaking mirror. He had Marie''s¨Cnow my¨Chair, and eyes, and that hard-to-describe face-iness where you just know¡­ There was no way he wasn''t a Gagnon. But who?! ¡°Sorry¨Csorry, no,¡± I stammered. ¡°I don''t know who you mean.¡± ¡°Are you kidding me? Marie, you didn''t¨C¡± I hopped into the carriage. ¡°That isn''t my name.¡± ¡°I know you,¡± he said, so very sure. Maybe it was whatever dregs of Marie were still inside my head. Maybe it was the weird empty feeling of that estate. Maybe it was how I wasn''t sure how to proceed with my initial plan, considering all that happened. But I hesitated. Until Antoinette reached across me and pulled the door shut, snapping, ¡°What an awful pick-up line!¡± We sat in silence. He didn¡¯t knock on the door. Didn¡¯t call out that name again. My head hurt. R¨¦mi said, alarmed, ¡°What the hell was that about?¡± It was my turn to drop my face into my hands. 30: Remi - FROZEN OUT ¡°Winter had to finally hit at the worst possible time, didn¡¯t it?¡± R¨¦mi¡¯s mother groaned, wringing her hands in the snowy entry hall. ¡°What a mess, an absolute mess¡­¡± Any other day, any other show for the Fontaine fashion company, R¨¦mi would¡¯ve agreed with her. Not this time. Every time the double doors opened, they ushered in a new high society guest with their meticulous hairdos turned into birds¡¯ nests by the wind and their delicate silks spotted from the snow. While R¨¦mi and Mme Fontaine had planned to greet a constant stream of guests as they arrived, shake some hands, kiss some cheeks, they were now overlooking a bottleneck of frustrated, flushed, and frazzled folks. R¨¦mi was thankful for it. The tangle let him scan more faces. He spotted a lone older man who was shaking the snow off the brim of his top hat. He was totally unfamiliar¨CR¨¦mi would for sure recognise that obviously-dyed black hair and waxed mustache if he¡¯d ever seen it before. His own eyes jumped on and off R¨¦mi¡¯s with a squirrelly concern. But R¨¦mi wasn¡¯t being suspicious, right? It was normal enough for the son of the host to greet the guests? So why was he shying away like that, behind the next incoming group of windswept elites? R¨¦mi patted his mother¡¯s arm. He said, ¡°You got this, don¡¯t stress yourself to death, okay?¡± as she headed away, mumbling about pushing the show back an hour. He neatly greeted a couple people as he approached the man. R¨¦mi had helped out at these events since he was a kid. Sure, back then he liked them because they gave him the chance to play pranks with a captive audience, but either way, he¡¯d learned to recognise the many, many faces of the Fontaine social circle. He knew his father¡¯s croquet buddies, his mother¡¯s favourite tea party guests, the company¡¯s highest donors, who could be counted on to buy one of everything from a new collection, who Mme Fontaine secretly wanted to boot off the VIP list, ASAP¡­ ¡°Welcome to the Amaryllis auditorium. Here, let me help you with that.¡± The man looked up¨Ctook in R¨¦mi¡¯s appearance and the proffered hand, then handed over his hat with a wary suspicion. Still keeping a beady eye on R¨¦mi, he got to unbuttoning his snow-spattered coat. The flakes were huge and bristling, definitely a far cry from Eavredor¡¯s usual sparkly dusting. ¡°Thank you, thank you. What a kind young man you are.¡± He shucked the jacket and made a swipe for the hat. R¨¦mi absently moved it to his other hand. ¡°I really must drop these things off and head in¨C¡± ¡°What¡¯s the rush?¡± His face went steely. ¡°No rush, except to get out of this cold.¡± ¡°I have to say, I¡¯m a regular at these events, and I¡¯ve never seen¨C¡± ¡°Monsieur Levesque!¡± Louis spoke in his best impression of pleased surprise (it needed work. He sounded like the old man had jumped out at him in a dark alleyway). ¡°Camille will be playing after the show. She¡¯ll be really happy to see you.¡± The man¡¯s burgeoning annoyance at being accosted instantly melted away. They shook hands warmly. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s looking forward to performing without my instruction, that¡¯s all.¡± With a polite open hand, Louis gestured past him and R¨¦mi, over to Sylvain. Sylvain was manning the final checkpoint before the lounge, checking the tickets that Mme Fontaine had hand-written and signed. ¡°After presenting your ticket, you can proceed to the right for the coat room.¡± The man moved on, fixing his mustache¨Cthe snow appeared to have wilted the wax. Louis explained, ¡°He¡¯s Camille¡¯s music tutor. He used to be really famous. Maybe he thought you were gonna ask him for an autograph?¡± R¨¦mi smoothed down his hackles. After they got back from Altolia and Chlo¨¦ told the other guys what happened, a ribbon of paranoia had begun constricting each of them, bit by bit. However, Chlo¨¦ didn¡¯t confess to ¨¦tienne, Louis, or Sylvain what she explained to R¨¦mi in the carriage: that she suspected she was the lost Gagnon girl from that crazy arson case. R¨¦mi felt like he had when he first met Chlo¨¦, when she greeted him by hoisting him upside down in a tree. He¡¯d never met the Gagnons, so it kinda made sense that he didn¡¯t recognise Chlo¨¦¨CMarie¨Cwhoever. What R¨¦mi didn¡¯t get was that Chlo¨¦ attended La Belle Lavande, a school stuffed to the brim with socialites, and no one had even pointed and whispered about how familiar she looked. He was friends with so many students that surely one of them would¡¯ve brought it up to him. Still, the timing of her arriving in Eavredor was perfect, and there was that guy in Altolia who swore he knew her¡­it was too weird. What was he supposed to do with info like that? Louis checked his watch. ¡°I gotta take over for ¨¦tienne soon¡­but he¡¯ll be in your way up here, won¡¯t he?¡± They¡¯d expected all the guests to have arrived by now. The streets must be a total nightmare. ¡°Yeah. He makes people linger and act all weird.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll let him stay, then.¡± ¡°I think he¡¯d prefer it that way. Sure seems like he likes how Antoinette¡¯s got the stones to tell anyone loitering to screw off. He insisted on helping backstage during the show anyways, so you can take over for him then.¡± R¨¦mi, Sylvain, Louis, and ¨¦tienne had all secretly agreed that they¡¯d trade off spending time with the girls all night. Neither Chlo¨¦ nor Antoinette would be alone for a second¡­in case someone unsavory was waiting to make their move. Even Camille was on stand-by, ready to run after them if they went to the powder rooms. (She didn¡¯t get what the point in all this was, but she agreed when R¨¦mi promised to give her a set of hair pins from the brand new Winter collection if she helped.) Finally, there was a lull in the guests stumbling in. Sylvain stepped up beside them. He flashed his leather book full of writing at them, like they could memorize it as quickly as he could. He said, ¡°No one that wasn¡¯t on the guest list yet. Other than a few mangy little dogs¡­ That can¡¯t be allowed.¡± R¨¦mi took the book and thumbed through it. It was packed with names, occupations, ticket-holder level, time they arrived, everything. ¡°Man, my mom will love you. She can never find someone who spells all the names right.¡± ¡°It¡¯s truly not hard.¡± ¡°Are you good with holding the exit doors all night?¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t want to watch the show.¡± ¡°Antoinette¡¯s gonna be there.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°Put the claws away, man. I just mean, it seemed like last year you spent a lot of time together, so maybe you¡¯d want to¨C¡± ¡°I said it¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll make sure no one tries to sneak in late.¡± R¨¦mi¡¯s retort was stopped by someone tapping his shoulder. ¨¦tienne. He looked a little apologetic. ¡°Antoinette sent me away,¡± he said. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°And you let her?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t make a habit of fighting with Delphines. You do. So go on,¡± ¨¦tienne said. With the smallest tilt of a tease in his voice. And with a little push between R¨¦mi¡¯s shoulder blades. R¨¦mi and ¨¦tienne went into the lounge. The building was armed with a spacious coat room, a small kitchen for catering and drinks, plenty of smoking parlours, and, most importantly of all, an enormous auditorium space with a runway stage set a couple feet above the floor. When the Fontaines bought the Amaryllis, they stripped out the uncomfortable theater seating and replaced it with comfy chairs in tiered semi-circles, close enough to see every detailed stitch on the models. They knocked out tons of walls that separated the eating from the viewing areas. Now, the open concept of the building set R¨¦mi¡¯s mind at ease¨Cwith all six of them aware of potential danger, no one was gonna manage to pull the wool over their eyes in here. ¨¦tienne whispered a goodbye as he ducked into one of the backstage halls. R¨¦mi secretly hoped that ¨¦tienne would run into Mme Fontaine. R¨¦mi luckily needn¡¯t have worried that she¡¯d give ¨¦tienne the usual dishonest, awkward, subservient treatment that he hated so much. When they met, she¡¯d acted like ¨¦tienne was her long-lost nephew who she was thrilled to catch up with. R¨¦mi spotted Antoinette¡¯s blazing red hair and Chlo¨¦¡¯s eye-bleedingly teal dress in the crowd. He didn¡¯t make it far before a familiar name floated up to his ears from the thrum of idle conversation. ¡°Did you hear about what Antoinette Delphine did at the Samhain Formal?¡± R¨¦mi sighed. His own stories filtered out of the gossip mills a long time ago, thanks to laying low for so many years, but he knew how many times a story could be spun before it totally fell apart into conspiracy. ¡°Yes! She lost it at that new girl, didn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°What on earth for?¡± a third voice whispers. ¡°What else? She had something Antoinette didn¡¯t¡­¡± The instigator paused for dramatic effect. ¡°A kiss with the prince!¡± ¡°No way.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think she¡¯s interested in ¨¦tienne now?¡± ¡°As if he¡¯s her type.¡± A fourth conspiratorial voice joined in. ¡°Maybe she¡¯s trying to get into the palace¡­?¡± ¡°Why now, though? They¡¯ve been classmates forever, and I don¡¯t remember her ever even glancing at him. You don¡¯t think¨C¡± ¡°Is there more trouble between the Delphines and the monarchy? She could be trying to dismantle it from the inside¡­¡± ¡°Good luck. Maybe she would¡¯ve had a shot if she didn¡¯t get black-out drunk at the Formal. Didn¡¯t you hear?¡± Look, R¨¦mi wouldn¡¯t consider himself all that more mature than his peers. But when it came to gossip, he had them all beat. Wasn¡¯t it boring to make crap up? He thought better of listening and kept moving¡­ ¡­Only to run into another conversation. ¡°...not that kind of person, do you think?¡± ¡°I mean, god, who knows. I haven¡¯t spoken to her since the Formal. She nearly gets killed in Altolia and still can¡¯t bother to tell me that she¡¯s okay. I bet she was out joyriding.¡± ¡°Shh! She¡¯s right over there; she¡¯ll overhear.¡± ¡°So? That¡¯s probably the only way to get her to listen to me.¡± ¡°She leaves us for all those boys, okay, but why? Who knows what her angle is.¡± ¡°Hah, her angle?! Please, we¡¯ve known her for long enough. Do we really have to pretend to guess?¡± Antoinette¡¯s voice, clear as a bell: ¡°Excuse me?¡± Well. R¨¦mi still wasn¡¯t close enough to intercept, but Antoinette herself was up close and personal with the group of gossipers. They were a quartet of girls that R¨¦mi didn¡¯t know by name, though he did recognise them now that they were in a matching set with Antoinette. Her friend group¨Cold friend group, by the sound of it. Antoinette said, ¡°I¡¯m listening now. Why don¡¯t you clarify?¡± The girls all looked at each other. Then they pushed a brunette forward to take the hit. To her credit, she didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°We¡¯re just confused. You¡¯re only hanging out with them. And her.¡± She pointed at Chlo¨¦. Chlo¨¦ was tucked behind Antoinette¡¯s shoulder, golden eyes wide. ¡°Why is your jealousy my concern?¡± ¡°Because,¡± she at least had the courtesy to drop her voice, ¡°it¡¯s not like you get involved with people for no reason.¡± ¡°What are you implying?¡± ¡°Oh my God, Antoinette, I¡¯m implying what literally everyone is thinking already! You¡¯re trying to get something out of each of them!¡± That¡¯s rich. ¡°Ah, so everyone thinks my every move is in service of my family. That would make sense as to why I dropped all of you. You¡¯re entirely useless to me and always have been.¡± Now she¡¯d done it. The brunette puffed up. ¡°What makes no sense is your obsession with her.¡± Chlo¨¦, as always, looked like she forgot she was a player in this scene, too. ¡°You couldn¡¯t stop saying awful things about her only a couple months ago. And now you let her follow you everywhere. Is she just easier to push around than us? Or,¡± her voice dropped again, this time in a hiss, ¡°are you obsessed with her for that other reason?¡± Antoinette went violently pink, almost as bright as her hair. ¡°Okay, ladies, we¡¯re done here,¡± R¨¦mi said, shouldering in. He watched their expressions war for a minute¨Che was one of the guys who set off all their friendship angst, but he was also part of the hosting family. ¡°Before you start talking about us, remember I¡¯m the one with the ear of the guestlist organizer. Chlo¨¦?¡± Chlo¨¦ took Antoinette¡¯s arm. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s go.¡± Antoinette rolled her eyes. She fell in step with R¨¦mi and Chlo¨¦, but R¨¦mi saw her physically tense up as one of the women called, ¡°Sure, let yourself be swept away! What¡¯s up with this damsel in distress show, Antoinette? I know you¡¯re planning something! You¡¯re always planning something! You two better watch out for her!¡± The instant they were backstage, among only a few scattered, busy make-up artists, Antoinette huffed, ¡°They know about what happened in Altolia. Everyone does. How did it get out?¡± ¡°It always does, somehow,¡± ¨¦tienne said as he joined them. ¡°Did someone ask you about it again?¡± ¡°No. This particular group was dreaming up some scenario where I¡¯m sleeping with all of you.¡± Chlo¨¦ went pink. She recovered by saying, ¡°And me. I mean, they¡¯re weirded out by me, being around you. I don¡¯t get why. Even Sylvain had problems with me.¡± R¨¦mi offered, ¡°You¡¯re the piece that doesn¡¯t fit, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Sure, because I¡¯m new and because of this stupid magic. But I feel like I¡¯ve done literally nothing all that important since I showed up, and yet I keep causing problems for the rest of you. It¡¯s like everyone pays way too much attention to me and¨C...¡± She cringed. R¨¦mi might¡¯ve been the only one close enough to hear her whisper, ¡°Oh my god. I really am the main character.¡± Side-stepping that, R¨¦mi asked Antoinette, ¡°What did they mean by ¡®other reason,¡¯ anyways?¡± Antoinette shook her head, waving it off. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Judging by how she¡¯d initially reacted, Remi was willing to bet it was something she¡¯d write in a little note for someone to blackmail her with, that¡¯s what it was. She continued, ¡°Thank you for the heroic rescue, anyways. How is the show coming together?¡± ¡°I overheard that some models haven¡¯t arrived,¡± ¨¦tienne said. ¡°They must have gotten stuck in the storm.¡± ¡°Really?¡± R¨¦mi folded his arms. ¡°They were all La Belle Lavande students this year; I talked with the school to drive them out here pretty early.¡± ¡°No,¡± Antoinette said. ¡°They never left the school.¡± ¡°How do you know?¡± Antoinette shrugged. ¡°I took the tickets that your mother wrote them.¡± Chlo¨¦ groaned. ¡°Antoinette, what?¡± ¡°It was a while ago now,¡± she said, a little defensive, like that explained anything. ¡°And I only took the tickets from the women I knew would be too humiliated to ask for a replacement. They were too excited about helping him, and I¨COh, it doesn¡¯t matter. Just let Chlo¨¦ and I help out, and it¡¯ll all be solved.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to!¡± ¡°Why not? It¡¯ll be fun.¡± ¡°Do you want us to get more attention or not, Antoinette?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a Delphine, and you¡¯re closely associated with me, now. You¡¯re all doomed to attract attention.¡± She furrowed her brow, as if something had just occurred to her. ¡°All you can do is control what attention you attract.¡± He hadn¡¯t known Antoinette long, but R¨¦mi knew that look plus her emotional high from earlier was a very bad sign. Worse was how she turned to ¨¦tienne, and ordered him, ¡°Tell whoever¡¯s managing the models that we have two volunteers. They can¡¯t say no to you, anyways, and let them see Chlo¨¦; they¡¯ll approve of her. Go on.¡± ¨¦tienne and Chlo¨¦ shared a look. Clearly knowing there was no fighting her, they headed off. Antoinette turned to R¨¦mi. Oh, so he was involved too, then. ¡°Do you remember how we were betting during Samhain Formal?¡± ¡°What, you want a rematch? I¡¯ll warn you, I know these guests pretty¨C¡± ¡°No. I want another deal. Another¡­game.¡± She set a hand on her hip, staring him down in a way that made him feel like she was about to whip out a contract. ¡°After the show, I¡¯m going to ask if we could start courting, and you¡¯re going to agree. And you¡¯ll follow my lead from there.¡± INTERMISSION I Once upon a time, a young woman in a game found the scrap heap of her potential existence. Of course, she didn¡¯t know she was in a game. Not at the time¨Cand she still doesn¡¯t, now that you mention it. (Her suspicions are currently pointed squarely at herself, wondering if her family was right all along. Has her unladylike temper actually given way to a severe case of ¡®losing all her marbles¡¯?) Her mother passed away barely a week earlier. The young woman (Antoinette Delphine, but you guessed that already) stops her father¡¯s enlisted gang of house-servants from clearing the room out and tidying it of all evidence of her mother¡¯s shameful sickness (and, as a consequence, of her life). ¡°Let me go through everything first,¡± Antoinette Delphine says, already stepping through the doorway. ¡°Go ahead and tell him what I take; I don¡¯t care.¡± Now, before we go on¡­something important to remember is that no story of any kind is flat. They¡¯re never what you see on the page, the screen, or the stage. Through ideation, creating, revising, chopping, sawing, and screwing, they make vast armoires where all sorts of things can be tucked in: things proudly on display, things you have to riffle around for, and things that fall between the slats into the dark corners. While searching in her mother¡¯s room, Antoinette Delphine finds one of those fallen-away things. She has no idea that¡¯s what she¡¯s found. Fallen-away things haven¡¯t even existed until recently, because the world is only just now waking up and yawning to accept another young woman who would bring more fallen-away things to light. (Antoinette Delphine will find more of these things later on. For example, when she flicks through auction clothes in the palace and finds fashions from worlds she¡¯s never heard of. Or when she slides into plots that have no place for her, and so everyone else who counts on her to prop up their scripts run around and around and around in little circles of motive and expression.) What Antoinette Delphine finds is a scrapbook of sorts. Nothing is tacked in, so, really, it¡¯s more like a jumbled-up collection, all out of order, of article clippings, political chapbook pages, and bits of anonymous letters. Antoinette Delphine sits on the old chair where she once oversaw her sick mother, and begins to read. One paper, neatly typed and copied with an immaculate printing press: The heiress has no outlet other than jealousy. She skipped her season¨Cdon¡¯t worry about the accuracy there¨Cprobably because of her notoriously bad attitude. Maybe everyone turned her away. She¡¯s been a problem since birth. That keeps it simple. Any kind of arc wastes our time. Another, the page falling apart in her hand, like someone had tried to discard it like old trash: There¡¯s something following her that keeps her paranoid and erratic. Scandal? Rumour? Haven¡¯t we seen that so many times? It¡¯s predictable, but in a way that feels right. Those elite always have something slimy in their shadows¡­ Another, a jote-noted half-though that never made it to print: Prediction: the heiress ropes one of the men into becoming engaged to her, but something cuts her reign short at the eleventh hour. A long, two-person note in the margins, slant-handed: What about her father? Would be easy to communicate. We¡¯ve proven he can keep various other families quiet on how he¡¯s screwed them over, so he¡¯d find it easy to keep his daughter quiet, too. No time and no budget. It¡¯s not about her. It might complicate things to add too much to her. We¡¯re running out of script space when it comes to the important stuff, anyways. The Chapelle script is still eight pages too short, and once we fix that, we have to be pretty economical with Late Spring. Fine¡­even if they don¡¯t make it to print, though, I like keeping these things in mind. It helps frame a person. Especially since we have a new girl on deck who will be getting these scripts once my contract is up. Like, would that control make her hungry for attention? Would she only believe in using underhanded methods to get what she wants? Volatility is what we¡¯ve been leaning on¡­it feels convenient to me? Antoinette Delphine was raised in a family who has no love for the public, not really. Her grandfather chortled over his ability to spin any burbling, bubbling social upheaval to his advantage. He didn¡¯t believe that people had true morals, just fads and fashions that he could twist to sell more product, gain more trust, and it always worked. Her father sees people as chess pieces to move this way and that. He was born into the game and he plays it well. And her mother was exhausted at the prospect of appearing all the time, of being seen every moment of her life. She wanted to get ahead of the papers and the stocks and the other businesses and the science, too, when they turned their scrutinizing eyes on magic. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. So yes, it makes sense, Antoinette Delphine supposes, that her mother would keep clippings like this. How she got ahold of them, who knows, but creating a map of how they were planning on framing her daughter in their papers and their whispers¡­it makes sense. She feels confused too. Antoinette Delphine has led a life of extremely bad behaviour. And why? she wonders. Volatility, they say? I don¡¯t know. She reads on, baffled and heartbroken and frustrated: Don¡¯t think too hard about it; I know you like her, but readers are familiar with the trope. Her goals don¡¯t need to be unpredictable (it¡¯s fine, she isn¡¯t very smart or interesting), but what she does needs to be, how she expresses them. She¡¯s single-minded: boys. Winning. That¡¯s it. But, okay, I found some really old notes about her past that you could use. Keys: ¡®she has no choices.¡¯ ¡®Always lashing out.¡¯ ¡®Digging her own grave.¡¯ If she let go of everything, maybe she wouldn¡¯t be in so much trouble all the time. Right, okay, but why? The new girl¡¯s expressed some confusion. I think she wants Antoinette Delphine to be more than she is: a bitch. Who knows? Maybe she¡¯s got some repressed feelings of her own. Haha. Romantic rival doesn¡¯t just have to focus on the boys. Antoinette tosses these into the fire, pissed. She moves on to the rest of the room. But she will think of them later on. Many times, in fact. When discussing journalists with Etienne, who in some ways, is trapped by the vice of public opinion like she is. When her temper boils over. When she hears yet another circular argument about her behaviour and the way she can¡¯t do anything right. When a strange new girl tells her that she isn¡¯t very nice, in a way like she¡¯s intrigued by it. She will think of them as she looks Remi in the face, readying another immature plan. She will think, digging her own grave, and volatile, and bitch, and repressed. ~*~ A town away, Sylvain Laflamme is discovering his own fallen-away pieces of his story. Actually, Sylvain Laflamme is the first to notice something¡¯s a little¡­off. He¡¯s been scripted to notice things, after all, remember? Whether he expresses them clearly is another story. While Antoinette Delphine thinks she¡¯s going a little bonkers, Sylvain Laflamme sees his new perspective as a good thing. His world seems¡­wider. His acquaintances, more complicated. His emotions, richer. His life is so much more full of texture. His secret that he¡¯ll bite down on like a cyanide pill is that he thinks that he¡¯s waking up from the depressive doze his father¡¯s arrest put him in. On the same day that Antoinette Delphine discovers the notes from the ¡°journalists,¡± he meets with a private investigator that he doesn¡¯t remember hiring. They meet in the man¡¯s office a couple towns over. Sylvain Laflamme has never heard of this town. He doesn¡¯t see how he could have missed it; the investigator comes with his own unique set of regional idioms and interesting clothes, after all, so it must be a place with a rich history. ¡°Let¡¯s go over this from the start, alright?¡± the investigator says. He opens a folder of information about M. Laflamme, all the way to the beginning, to the beginning that Sylvain Laflamme sort of forgot was there¡­a beginning that suddenly comes into perfect clarity. ¡°It¡¯s a lot less complex than it seemed before,¡± he says (brief moments of honest vulnerability, like these, are a new part of his life, too). ¡°I feel like I can tease it apart.¡± More precisely, he feels like there are threads to tease apart at all, instead of a miasma of half-written facts. He feels clear now, but the introduction of the new young woman will make him feel just as crazy as Antoinette Delphine. ~*~ The other love interests feel the difference less starkly, but they certainly feel something. Remi Fontaine barely notices. He simply feels so incredibly lucky these days¨Clucky he has so many friends, lucky he has parents who he adores and who understand him, lucky he¡¯s smart enough to coast in school, lucky he¡¯s had so many experiences that made him laugh. Remi Fontaine doesn¡¯t concern himself with the fallen-away pieces (and just between us, there aren¡¯t really any for him. He was the last love interest invented and had the least allotted script space). He has more to admire than ever before. Etienne Alarie feels as if his world has shrunk. Very, very suddenly, and very, very painfully. It¡¯s all too clear, too loud, too close. The castle feels small, with everyone able to see him from the moment he wakes up to the moment his dreams pack up for the night. The school classrooms feel cramped, like his presence is too large for any space; he only wants to melt into the crowd. Has it always been such hell to say word after word after word after word in a speech, acting in front of the crowd, their eagle eyes waiting for him to mess up? Etienne Alarie wants to do better; he wants his space again. When did he feel like he had space, again¡­? Louis Chapelle, like usual, is somewhere in the middle. His relationship with his sisters takes on new facets, and he credits that with all of them growing up a little. He recalls the chafe of childhood in all of their interactions, and wonders if he¡¯s the only one who does so, because he seems to be the only one who knows what it felt like to be a united front against their parents. Louis Chapelle¡¯s art changes¨Che wakes up with a new certainty that inspiration is out there. More is out there. He thinks he¡¯s deep in the usual push and pull of inspiration to create, the strange challenge of wrenching sense, aesthetic, and passion out of the mess of daily life. Louis Chapelle knows more than he knows. He thinks he was struck with weird inspiration on the day he made up a story about the layers of realms and times and realities. The idea is fun. He will keep messing around with it, none the wiser. ~*~ So, alright then. Where is Hanna? When does Marie become Hanna become Chloe? It¡¯s not quite right to say the world was always there waiting for her to arrive, because the world as she came to know it (and as its inhabitants came to know it) wasn¡¯t the same. It¡¯s more accurate to say that the world made space for her. And to do that, it had to tear its own seams a little bit. Or a lot a bit. It was always waiting for her. She spent a lot of time in it, after all, by engaging and studying and making¨Cmostly making. Her mind built more armoires, more corners, found new nooks and questions that weren¡¯t there before. It¡¯s Hanna¡¯s world, but only very, very slightly. It has its own things it wants to accomplish, too. 31: CROSS-OVER So¡­missing models, huh? We were both in the dressing room, swarmed by stylists trying to see what would fit us. I wanted to ask Antoinette what on planet earth that was about. Okay, what¡¯s the point in asking? You know why she sabotaged the other models or whatever. Game programming. They got too close to Remi. Duh. Sure, a second voice in my head shot back, but what you really want to know is what that decision felt like to her. Arms folded, I peeked at her in the mirror the stylists had parked me in front of. As always, Antoinette exuded confidence, like she was meant to be working here after all. How had I not just grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded, ¡°What is going on with you when you behave like a crazy woman!! Do you see floaty dialogue boxes too?!¡± And how had she not grabbed me to shake out an answer to¡­to, well, everything weird that happened around me? I said, totally casual, as two stylists muttered to each other about which way to style my hair, ¡°Okay, so, was your plan to get those girls out, or to get the both of us in?¡± The difference was subtle, but I knew it would matter to her. Antoinette met my eye in her own mirror. Though she shrugged as if she didn¡¯t care about the answer to my question, there was a tiny smile creeping onto her face. ¡°Hmm, not the second option. At least, not until the moment before I offered it.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why did I push Louis into that silly contest with his sisters?¡± She points at her own stylist, who¡¯s debating between two pairs of shoes. ¡°The ones with silver accents, obviously.¡± I furrowed my brow. It occurred to me that the main character had a character arc too. Antoinette added, ¡°Besides. It¡¯s just perfect for the boys. They can all keep their eyes on us easily this way.¡± ¡°Ha-ha.¡± The stylist was gesturing impatiently at me. I fumbled a little, unsure what she wanted, but at least she was very efficient in shunting me into a confusing mass of black fabric. I blew some tulle out of my face and asked, ¡°Wait, do you mean that like, flirtatiously, or¡­?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve appointed themselves to be our personal guard tonight, haven¡¯t you noticed? They won¡¯t leave us alone.¡± ¡°What? Why? Is it because of¨C¡± I wisely shut myself up. ¡°...Gotcha.¡± I guess I was so used to spending my every day with someone at my side that I hadn¡¯t noticed. In my real life, I¡¯d been a pretty solitary person, going weeks sometimes without seeing a friend in person, especially if classes were out. But here? I pretty much never made a point of being alone besides the obvious and when I was messing with the auto-filling journal. The love interests and Antoinette were my guides and my missions at first, but now they were my friends. ~*~ Sure enough, Antoinette wasn¡¯t wrong: Etienne leapt back into the backstage dressing rooms the second he got the OK from the staff. (The OK that we weren¡¯t naked, at least; I¡¯m sure that was the only reason they¡¯d deny a prince from going anywhere.) Louis tagged along. ¡°You match,¡± Louis said, taking us in. Kind of a simple assessment coming from the artist, but he seemed sort of shocked for some reason. We were in shimmery black floor-length gowns, the only options in the warehouse that could bridge the complimentary-colour gap between my purple-black hair and Antoinette¡¯s flaming red. ¡°Oh, wow.¡± ¡°I wanted us to walk together. I thought it¡¯d be fun,¡± Antoinette said. News to me! Louis lifted an eyebrow at her. ¡°What, do you think I can¡¯t ask to do something for fun?¡± The Fontaines made their money on beautiful, high-quality, but safely-designed shoes, accessories, and gowns. They made their name on flashy, elaborate oddities. And on this, I was glad for the anachronisms. We¡¯d ended up in dresses that were somewhat Gothic, all layers of black lace and frothy inky tulle, whalebone corsets that were more deranged than anything I¡¯d been exposed to in our comfy posture-pleasing daywear¡­ Like this, with my hair pulled up high in a bun pinned with quartz sticks and danging crystal shards (and gelled to my scalp with a substance I did not want to consider the time-accuracy of), I felt like I was out for the day in cosplay. Performing. Etienne said, ¡°Remi will be very pleased. He was almost unconvinced they¡¯d let you walk, considering the mix-up.¡± ¡°How fortunate, then, that we have a prince on our side,¡± Antoinette said. Etienne opened his mouth but hesitated too long¨Cthe manager or whoever I was now beholden to called from the dark warren of backstage, ¡°All models, line up in order of presentation, please! We¡¯re about to start.¡± I shooed Louis and Etienne. ¡°Get a good seat, okay! Somewhere you can catch me if I fall off the stage.¡± As if startled, Etienne managed, ¡°You both look beautiful,¡± and then he and Louis were ducking out the door. Antoinette and I were stared at¨Crightfully¨Cby the other models as we found our spots. I felt like a little girl in dance class, ready to trot out on stage for a routine¡­except for the fact that we were being singled out as the women who were complimented by the prince. Once we were all in order, the manager waved us through the dark backstage, her eyes on our clothes and hair as sharp as a hawk¡¯s. She occasionally fixed a shrugging sleeve or a stray curl on a passing model, faster than they could register. Antoinette and I were last, maybe because of that model ¡°mix-up.¡± Model after model got their moment on stage. I peeked through the heavy velvet curtains. It wasn¡¯t so different from a real world runway show! Up and down the catwalk they strutted, towering above the sea of spectators. Instead of neat little folding-chair rows like I¡¯d seen online, the guests were in semi-circles of comfy armchairs, surrounding little gold tables with their drinks and complimentary gifts. I found our gang. Minus Sylvain (typical). Remi was leaning over to whisper something in Etienne¡¯s ear and caught my eye. He mouthed, ¡°Don¡¯t trip,¡± and I gave him a scowl back. I dropped the curtain. It got suddenly real dark backstage. I chided myself, laughing internally: The guys felt the need to look out for you two, and here you are, where they can¡¯t even see you in the dark! Where you can¡¯t see yourself! I thought again of that Gagnon person in Altolia who knew who I was. He could have recognised our carriage and knew where we were returning to¨Cand that didn¡¯t matter at all if he was the one who sabotaged us in the first place. The line shifted. We were next! Antoinette took hold of my upper arm. ¡°Wait one moment.¡± I obediently did. She leaned in very close and rubbed the corner of my bottom lip with her thumb. I felt the slight pinch of her long manicure and blushed. ¡°Your lipstick smudged. It¡¯s black, so it¡¯ll really show. You can bite your lip all you like afterwards, alright?¡± She said it lightly. And didn¡¯t straighten back up. My world became very soft around the edges, teasing me with the prospect of her glossy hair, her soft skin. Like I needed more to think about right now. But I sure thought anyways. And so I blurted, ¡°Have you¡ªhave you thought more, like you said? About what happened?¡± ¡°I have.¡± She straightened. ¡°I made a decision tonight, actually.¡± ¡°You did?¡± The manager was waving us over. She was stressed enough to be a little sharp with Antoinette Delphine of all people¡ªmaybe after the show, she¡¯d realize her mistake. Either way, I blinked, followed orders, and then, we were on stage. What the hell are you doing again, Chloe? More importantly, what did Antoinette mean, she made a decision about our kiss?! Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Who knows, just walk! Thank god there were no stage lights to blind me, simply a glittering chandelier¡ªunfortunately, that meant I could see everyone around me, and I took in all the staring faces before I realized that I¡¯d never seen a model look at anything besides a fixed point on the wall, like they were completely uncaring that they had an audience. Either way, I was going, I was walking, unconsciously in step with Antoinette, the two of us moving in a sea of black. And she, obviously, pulled all the energy in the room to herself. As she deserved! To be the best villainess, to be the best love rival, Antoinette Delphine could never stumble when she was putting on her act. What would it be like, I¡¯d wondered many times while writing stories about her, to be someone who found it so easy to pretend to be sure? She had people in the crowd to prove wrong if they¡¯d hoped to shake her, to chip her armour, after all. Somehow, it was all the times that she¡¯d exposed her genuine frustrations and weaknesses to me that made her seem all the more confident. While I was constructing metaphors in my mind, though, I¡¯d started to fall behind. High heels and strutting were not in my usual vocab. Neither was this: Antoinette swept a hand behind her without looking back, I grabbed it, and she fell in step with me instead. I¡¯d never seen a model smile, but I couldn¡¯t help it. At the end of the stage, she swept into a dramatic curtsey, layers of elegant black and spidery flowers swirling around her in a tempest. I did the same. For once, we were perfectly in sync. Until I tried to turn back. Antoinette subtly caught me by the hip, so we were both facing the audience when she spoke. ¡°Thank you for attending the Fontaine show. I wonder if my presence comes as a surprise to any of you. To him, certainly,¡± she said, pointing out a man who was standing aside, clearly a part of the press with his notebook ready. ¡°I hope you¡¯ll make note of how easy I¡¯m making this for you. Look, there are already people writing. Go on, don¡¯t stop on my account. I have something to say. And you¡¯ll be the first to announce it to the rest of the kingdom.¡± ~*~ What. The. Fffff¡­ I was staring openly at Remi and Antoinette in their post-show press tour. Her hand on his arm. Their sides locked together. Their coy smiles matching, their answers neat as they accepted people¡¯s personal congratulations. Me, Etienne, Louis, and Sylvain were all sitting in those comfy armchairs together. I fished around for something to say to break our awkward silence and my simmering emotions. I tried, chin on my hands, elbows on my knees, ¡°Okay, I don¡¯t know if I was just overestimating our friendship, but I feel like we should¡¯ve been told first. Right?¡± Louis said, ¡°Technically their parents should¡¯ve known first. But I saw Mme Fontaine¡¯s reaction. She had no clue.¡± ¡°Was her reaction good or bad?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s just say I think she¡¯s already starting to design the wedding dress.¡± ¡°Did they go on any dates? Did you guys notice? I didn¡¯t. Weird, right? Or is that not a thing here? And who said wedding, huh? Aren¡¯t we skipping a step?¡± Sylvain said, ¡°He¡¯s too irresponsible for her. As if he could inherit that company¡­he¡¯s hardly prepared to handle his own family¡¯s.¡± ¡°See, totally¡ª!¡± Etienne sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s not cast judgment.¡± I was pouting. I stopped myself. You¡¯re being stupid. She¡¯d said she decided what to do about our kiss. And this was her decision. To pick Remi. Okay. Sure. Fine. Like, that made sense, what did I think I was in? A yuri? ¡°Chloe.¡± Etienne dropped his voice, casting his gaze around for his usual crowd of hanger-ons and people waiting to talk to him. ¡°Ideally, she¡¯s supposed to have both parents¡¯ permission because of all the implications of joining powerful families like them.¡± ¡°I guess Antoinette¡¯s never been one to obey the rules¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure she never meant to tell you before tonight?¡± ¡®I made a decision tonight, actually.¡¯ ¡°I¡¯m sure!¡± Etienne hummed softly. ¡°I think she chose tonight strategically.¡± Louis leaned in. ¡°Oh! She¡¯s cut off any discussion about the accident in Altolia!¡± Sylvain nodded. ¡°Or at least buried it deeper beneath the headlines¡­¡± I brightened. ¡°So it¡¯s all a PR thing? Like, for the newspapers?¡± We all watched Remi and Antoinette move on to the next fawning Fontaine family member eager to give their blessings. ¡°One thing bothers me with this,¡± Sylvain said, tucking a strand of black hair behind his ear. ¡°Antoinette may scheme to get attention at these sorts of events, but it¡¯s mainly through chaos. A courtship announcement? It¡¯s a far cry from pushing a duke¡¯s daughters into a lake.¡± He gave Louis a pointed look. ¡°Maybe she truly means it.¡± Louis said, ¡°They do spend time together without us. Who knows what happened. Not like either of them wear their heart on their sleeves.¡± I sighed. Out of the four, Remi made the most sense for Antoinette right now. Etienne obviously frustrated her. She treated Louis like a little brother so far. And Sylvain was useless to me, plus he seemed eager enough to push Antoinette away all on his own. Remi was definitely closest to her, though they seemed to express all their affection through competition. Etienne¡¯s theory about the papers made total sense. She was obviously so terrified about the news of the poisoning and Altolia getting any further than it had. I didn¡¯t want to believe in a true courtship, and Etienne was giving me a perfect out. But I would have to believe it, I would have to support it with all my heart, everything I had. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here. From day one, you were here to protect her, and you¡¯re actually on the way to succeeding! Why are you being so selfish? You didn¡¯t actually think that she¡¯d choose you¡­? Remi whispered something in her ear as they were left alone. He was practically kissing her cheek as he did so. I narrowed my eyes. I would have to ship it. ~*~ The snowstorm thankfully chilled out by the time we were all ready to go home. Maybe inspired by the last time we were at a party, Louis convinced me to abscond with a bottle of the good champagne, and we all piled into a carriage together. We were shivering and disheveled, but thankfully our hair wasn¡¯t frozen to our scalps like on the way in to the show. I couldn¡¯t tell if Remi and Antoinette had turned down the act now that we were alone¡ªwe were all crammed together, so she was practically in his lap anyways. There¡¯d been some drama late in the night between some donor and someone else¡¯s famous cousin or something I couldn¡¯t parse, so the guys were having fun laughing about it, monopolizing the conversation. Typical dudes, they didn¡¯t even bring up the whole courting thing! After about three thousand years, we got to the Academy. We all tumbled from the carriage. I fell behind; my feet were killing me after the high heels and my sulking was weighing me down. Antoinette looked back at me. Then everything froze. What do you have to say now, Marie?! Instead of dialogue, I was faced with a message I¡¯d never seen before. The words blurred. Checkpoints? Save? Error? It hit me¡ªI¡¯d been confused at the date Remi gave me for the show. I¡¯d sworn it had already passed when Antoinette, Louis, Etienne, and I were at the Chapelles¡¯. After all, I didn¡¯t have this game memorized for nothing. These events were exclusive¡ªyou got one pick, and that was it. I hadn¡¯t needed to wait for dialogue prompts or icons on a mini-map to try to double-dip on events. I just walked right into it. Here were the consequences. I raced through my memories of those nights. Did I have to choose which was more valuable, like I was trying to pick which sweater to toss from my overstuffed closet? Those nights¡­ So much had happened, especially that night at the Chapelles. So much had happened between those nights. But I could only think of two things, clashing in my head like symbols: Antoinette and I kissed. Antoinette announced she and Remi were courting. If I proceeded, I was on the sure path to succeed at my goal. My whole reason for being here, for staying somehow sane in this new world. It was totally by accident, but I¡¯d done it, right? It would be easy from here on out to keep them together until the end of the potion competition and the climax! ¡­But that kiss. If I jumped back to the Chapelles, I could get ahead of her dumb plan tonight. I could ask her to do something with me that would distract her ex-friends and the public and the papers. I would beg her to do anything to fix her fears of her father learning about what happened. I knew now what she was scared of. I knew now what lengths she¡¯d go to in order to protect herself. So I could keep our kiss, and stop her from¡ª Our kiss. It was silly and thoughtless and¡­ It was nothing. I knew that. I crushed my eyes shut and let the counter run down. Time shuddered back into proper order. I was staring at my friend¡¯s backs, floating on the snowy garden path, as they walked off, talking and laughing. Antoinette was still looking at me. She stuttered out of the time-freeze, and seemed to just barely catch her step. ¡°Chloe,¡± she called. ¡°Keep up with us, alright?¡± 32: BACK TO BUSINESS ¡°You know,¡± Sylvain said, ¡°for two people who solved Antoinette and Remi¡¯s scheme, you both seem fairly put out about the truth.¡± Sylvain pointedly pushed the ladle I was holding with the handle of his own, so I¡¯d remember to mix the potion we were brewing. Etienne snapped out of his thoughts with all the grace of being shaken awake. We were in the greenhouse, all bundled in sweaters from the freezing cold outside, being kept after class to work like kids in detention. Now that it was finally winter, Sylvain was excited to get on to our next steps with the Intelligence potion, which involved more cold-weather plants. Etienne subtly angled his cutting board to himself when Sylvain tried to take it away. ¡°I¡¯m only thinking.¡± ¡°About it.¡± ¡°Well, admittedly, yes¨C¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t our monarchy have better things to worry about than a lab partner¡¯s dating life? It¡¯s been three days. I don¡¯t understand why you care.¡± Etienne wasn¡¯t doing anything close to bitching and moaning about it, so I had a sense that the last comment was targeted at me. To my credit, I hadn¡¯t been spacey for just that reason. I¡¯d recently opened a time rift of something, Sylvain, so I¡¯d earned the freedom to worry about it a little bit! Nothing seemed¡­broken. So far. I did not walk in on anyone T-posing. The journal had no trace of that night at Louis¡¯ mansion at all. I¡¯d broached the topic of Lou¡¯s studio, and he didn¡¯t burst into a cloud of glitchy static (he still had it, which I guess was a silver lining of me erasing that night). The stain of paint on my ear was finally gone and so I didn¡¯t have to worry anymore about lead paint poisoning. Etienne didn¡¯t seem as relaxed with me anymore, like the film between us that had been punctured with our painting shenanigans was back up (earlier in our work here, he¡¯d knocked elbows with me and apologized like he¡¯d set my hair on fire). I¡¯d also learned that everything between returning from Lou¡¯s estate and going to Remi¡¯s show had remained intact. Altolia and all. I really wouldn¡¯t have minded if those freaky incidents disappeared. Thanks a lot, Marie. Sylvain checked Etienne¡¯s notes, peered over them into the cauldron, and held up a hand to stop Etienne from adding his ingredients. ¡°Concentrate. For another hour, at least. For my sake.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never done anything for your sake,¡± I pouted. ¡°You¡¯re right. I was a fool to ask.¡± ¡°If you say please, I¡¯ll try!¡± Etienne stepped in with, ¡°Remi told me M. Delphine has arranged to meet him.¡± I gasped. ¡°M. Delphine is coming here?¡± ¡°Of course not. He never does,¡± Sylvain said. ¡°He¡¯d attract about as much unwanted attention as the prince, but with much more begging for internships and for Antoinette¡¯s hand. They¡¯ll meet at the Delphine estate. Keep stirring.¡± I did so. ¡°I asked Antoinette if she told him about asking Remi out. And she said no! So I wonder if he¡¯s mad at Antoinette for going behind his back.¡± I hoped Remi and Antoinette¡¯s dad got along okay. If they did, then that was one obstacle out of my way in my mission to keep them together until the final arc of the game. Remi was friendly¨CI¡¯d seen for myself at the Samhain Formal how cordial he was to important people. But maybe his tendency to act like they were already friends would put Georges off? I had to make sure he behaved¡­ Sylvain put down his hand; Etienne brushed the greenery off his cutting board into the cauldron. Streaks of bright violet appeared in the path of my ladle. Etienne said, ¡°That¡¯s been on my mind as well. As much as I hate to say it like this, Antoinette is more than just herself¨Cshe comes parceled with the family reputation, the business, and an exorbitant amount of money. M. Delphine is bound to be protective of her.¡± I¡¯d never heard him talk this much at once; he really had been thinking about it. ¡°There¡¯s never been any public tension between the Delphines and the Fontaines, but the families joining would mean a lot of assets and responsibilities joining, as well.¡± ¡°Why do you make it sound like all of Aconitum is gonna fall on Antoinette?¡± ¡°It is. A good few years before you, uhm, came here, some members of the extended Delphine family published a book about how they were removed systematically from the business and Gabrielle made everyone sign contracts regarding Antoinette inheriting everything. I believe it was the Gagnons who got the book out there, actually¡­¡± I thought of how Antoinette and I had learned that Georges and Marie¡¯s mom had done some business together. Now that sounded like Georges trying to fix what his relatives broke. Also, could that family stop burning bridges? Seemed like Antoinette inherited her tendency to blow up friendships. Etienne continued, ¡°So the company will stay in the immediate family. Gabrielle has passed, however, and Antoinette is an only child.¡± Sylvain added, ¡°And a woman.¡± ¡°What does that matter?¡± I asked. ¡°Can¡¯t you talk and stir at the same time?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± I passed the ladle to Sylvain and scooted next to Etienne at the table. ¡°So?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not at all common for women to take on as much power as Antoinette is about to. And if she marries into the Fontaines, she¡¯ll be expected to hand over the bulk of it to Remi or his father.¡± ¡°Oh, you guys are doing the ¡®woman and all her assets belong to her husband¡¯s family when they¡¯re married¡¯ kind of thing? Still?¡± Stolen novel; please report. ¡°...That¡¯s one way to phrase it. You see the trouble there, though?¡± I put my chin on my hands. ¡°Georges is gonna be looking at Remi like his successor.¡± ¡°While Remi has his own company to inherit.¡± ¡°Remi can¡¯t handle all that! I love him, but really!¡± I shook my head. Anyways, in the few conversations I¡¯d had with people about Marie¡¯s mother¡¯s publishing business, they didn¡¯t seem too pissed off that a woman owned it. That was a good sign. I said, ¡°Okay, it¡¯s odd for a woman to run a company that big, but it¡¯s not impossible.¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s the marriage to a man that makes it precarious.¡± When it came to Antoinette¡¯s future, I¡¯d sort of been relying on the game¡¯s politics and legal system being as wishy-washy now as it was through the DS screen. I had a sinking feeling that I might not be so lucky. I opened my mouth to ask another question, then paused. It had been bugging me since the night of the kiss, but I didn¡¯t really know how to broach it. ¡°Okay, yeah, a man and a woman makes inheritance all weird. What about two women?¡± Etienne said, ¡°Antoinette doesn¡¯t have a sister.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mean a sister.¡± I stared at him. The amount of time it took for him to understand what the heck I meant was actually an answer on its own. Sylvain helped: ¡°She means two women marrying.¡± Etienne turned a tiny bit pink. ¡°Oh. Well, that doesn¡¯t happen.¡± I squinted. ¡°Like, it doesn¡¯t happen for you fancy people, or it doesn¡¯t happen ever?¡± Sylvain snorted. ¡°It doesn¡¯t happen for those people, and so they insist that it doesn¡¯t happen for anyone. They¡¯ll tie themselves in knots to keep their gold flowing in the right direction. It¡¯s not possible.¡± Okay, you backwards people, I thought, before correcting myself¨Cback on planet Earth, gay marriage only became legal in all the ¡®progressive¡¯ and ¡®forward-thinking¡¯ countries in my lifetime. I was currently sitting on petticoats that I¡¯d tied on backwards before Antoinette corrected me, and the prince in front of me had actual power, and I¡¯d spent a ton of time in literal carriages. I shouldn¡¯t be so surprised. I said, ¡°Imagine I told you I wanted to marry a woman. Then what?¡± ¡°You couldn¡¯t legally.¡± Etienne seemed completely confused. ¡°Forget legally.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand the relevance of the question, then.¡± ¡°Really? Okay, imagine I told you I wrote a whole romantic poetry book about girls.¡± ¡°Then what would your question be¡­?¡± Sylvain asked, showing Etienne his notes, ¡°What on earth were you trying to spell here?¡± ¡°I¨C¡± I yanked the notebook away from them. ¡°You guys! If I told you I liked girls, would you think I was weird? Or that I was kidding? Would you think it didn¡¯t matter, like kid stuff or something? Would you take me seriously at all? I¡¯m just trying to understand!¡± For a second, the only sound was the faint simmering of the cauldron and the wail of the wind against the greenhouse walls. And my heart in my ears. I¡¯d seen worse reactions to the topic of gay people on freakin¡¯ Degrassi¨CI wasn¡¯t at all worried that they¡¯d be cruel to me. But all I could think of was Antoinette kissing me and treating it with less legitimacy than everything else in her life. All that time thinking about it, and for what? Was she taking it seriously at all? Sylvain was the one to answer. ¡°It¡¯s a ridiculous thing to lie about, so of course I¡¯d believe you. But not everyone would. I¡¯d tell you to be careful who you told, so you don¡¯t get your heart broken.¡± I said softly, ¡°Would it get me in trouble?¡± ¡°No. But if you fell for someone too close to the politics of inheritance that these people made,¡± a gesture at Etienne, ¡°you wouldn¡¯t get the warm reception given to even a horrible match like Remi and Antoinette.¡± Sylvain took the notebook back with a sigh. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on our work, alright? And I mean focus.¡± ~*~ Etienne walked me back to my dorm once we had the potion brewed and bottled. Sylvain supposed that we¡¯d be able to test it next week, once all of us (including Antoinette) had a free day. Well, I suggested waiting until we had a free day. Sylvain sounded like he was gonna cut all of our prior plans out of our calendars with scissors so we could get to work ASAP. Etienne said once we got in the dorm building, unwrapping ourselves from our scarves, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for our misunderstanding earlier.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay. I was being weird.¡± ¡°You confused me. Only because you wouldn¡¯t say it outright.¡± ¡°Say what?¡± Honestly, I was being evasive partially because I didn¡¯t even know if they knew the word ¡®lesbian,¡¯ and ¡®homosexual¡¯ made me feel like I was narrating on Discovery. Partially. Etienne folded up his scarf, holding it close to himself, and finally spat out, ¡°That your situation wasn¡¯t a hypothetical.¡± I blinked. I guess I¡­okay, I was being obvious. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right.¡± I¡¯d never come out. I¡¯d never wanted to¨Cat first out of insecurity, then a lack of convenient times, then out of protest (why did I have to make a big show when straight people didn¡¯t?). I¡¯d never outright looked someone in the face and said, firm to avoid any misunderstandings, ¡°Yeah, I like women, and only women,¡± and frankly, not once in my fangirl life did I ever think that when I finally did, it¡¯d be to an otome game prince. He smiled gently at me, that real Etienne smile, not the showy princely one. ¡°I don¡¯t have a script for something like this,¡± he laughed. ¡°But no matter what, I care about you. I¡¯m not sure what to say.¡± I held my hand out. He took it and I gave his hand a squeeze. ¡°Just this is enough.¡± Oh, Etienne, don¡¯t be so awkward. If only you knew how many ways from Sunday people shipped you with the other guys. ¡°Chloe!¡± I turned to see Cecile in the doorway of the dorm office. She held out a creamy envelope to me. ¡°Oh, thanks,¡± I said as I took it. ¡°I¡¯ll pass it on to Antoinette right away.¡± ¡°I sure hope you won¡¯t. It¡¯s for you.¡± ¡°Me?¡± I didn¡¯t know anyone outside of the dorms. Was the queen sending me letters to bully me into leaving Etienne alone or something? Or did Lucille, the girl from Altolia, have an update for us? When Cecile vanished back inside the office, I tore open the envelope. It was only when Etienne asked who it was from that I realized I didn¡¯t even read the address on the front¨Cback in my world, the only physical letters I got were bank statements and junk, so I was used to ripping them open and tossing them right after. I got my answer when I opened the thrice-folded letter. It was addressed to Marie Gagnon. From ¡®my¡¯ cousin. It was that guy who¡¯d barely seen me in Altolia. I had a bad feeling regarding what he wanted. 33: THE LETTER Antoinette and Etienne sat on either side of me on my bed, as I stared down at the folded-up letter. In the hall, Etienne had glimpsed the name at the top of the letter and asked aloud if the office had been mistaken, so I let go of my last few ridiculous secrets and let him come along. I hadn¡¯t even read the thing and I already couldn¡¯t get over something: Chloe was on the envelope, but Marie was written inside. The school must have been easy enough to track down (he¡¯d seen me with the ultra-recogniseable Antoinette and Remi, after all), but who did the writer ask to get my fake name? Did he let my ¡®identity¡¯ slip to anyone in his search? ¡°Go on, read it,¡± Antoinette said. ¡°It¡¯s weirding me out too much!¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be afraid of.¡± She held out a hand. I passed the letter over. Antoinette gave it a quick skim, screwed up her eyebrows, and then read aloud. Marie, What a relief it was to see you safe. That¡¯s the most important part of this letter, so I hope you make it at least this far before tossing it away¨C! After all that¡¯s happened, you¡¯d be within your rights to do exactly that. Hear me out for a moment. I see you¡¯ve run away as usual and you haven¡¯t been subtle. Your classmates know you and are quick to talk about you, Chloe¨Cthey¡¯re happy to give away your name to anyone who asks. ¡°He was here?¡± I shuddered. ¡°That¡¯s not the part I¡¯d be worried about,¡± Antoinette said. ¡°He clearly knows more about you than even you do.¡± So forgive me for worrying¨C! You always loved your books more than socializing with your family¡¯s connections. You¡¯re not prepared for this. While I¡¯m sorry the situation got so terribly out of hand, and I¡¯m sorry you had to deal with it, running off isn¡¯t the best solution. Not like you¡¯ll listen to me. Be careful that you don¡¯t make such a mess as ¡®Chloe¡¯ that you can¡¯t sweep it up as ¡®Marie.¡¯ I would say that you can reach out to me for help at any time, but I don¡¯t want your new friends having any way to find my address or usual spots. You decided to associate with a Delphine, so I think you¡¯re on your own. You saw how that went before. Don¡¯t try to finish your mother¡¯s work¨Cthe damage to the publishing factory set her back more than those scorned Delphine memoirs could ever recoup. You¡¯re definitely not tough enough to get back at Georges for anything. By the way, as I asked around for you, I learned the Laflamme kid goes to that school. Be careful not to tip him off to who you are¨Cor else you¡¯ll have no hope of escaping La Belle Lavande without a serious mess. It¡¯s that family¡¯s fault we¡¯re in this situation in the first place. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Once again, glad to see you safe. Your cousin We all sat in silence for a moment, Antoinette¡¯s recitation hanging in the room like a fog. I finally broke it by saying: ¡°Okay, what the hell.¡± Etienne smoothed the thighs of his trousers. ¡°You¡¯re¡­you¡¯re certain this is about you?¡± ¡°Totally positive. And so is he.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re certain you don¡¯t remember anything¡­?¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem to think so! He apparently thinks I remember his damn name! ¡®Your cousin.¡¯ Please.¡± Antoinette gave me a keen look, scanning my eyes for any sign of flashbacks and flower-exploding breakdowns. I shrugged at her. Marie was not answering my calls. Satisfied, Antoinette moved back to rereading the letter, murmuring key phrases¨Ckey names¨Cunder her breath. As she did so, I told Etienne a scattershot collection of what memories I did have and what Antoinette and I had learned throughout the months. When I¡¯d finished, I patted his shoulder. ¡°Antoinette¡¯s secret seems like small potatoes now, doesn¡¯t it,¡± I said. Antoinette said, clearly not listening to us, ¡°So much of this bothers me, but most of all¨Cwhy does he sound so casual? He¡¯s ¡®glad to see you safe¡¯? He last heard of you possibly being burned to death and he¡¯s giving you advice like some overbearing parent.¡± Unless he never expected me to actually be killed. I agreed with her; the tone was totally off. ¡°He seems to think I ran away to continue something my family started. We got more clues, and no conclusions.¡± Etienne asked, ¡°May I?¡± and got his turn with the letter. Antoinette stood up to get her notebook and a pencil. She read over Etienne¡¯s shoulder as the three of us pointed out phrases whose reasoning we didn¡¯t understand¨Cwhich was most of it. ¡°Laflamme.¡± Etienne shook his head. ¡°There could be about a thousand reasons why he¡¯s concerned about the Delphines¨Cno offense¨C¡± ¡°None taken.¡± ¡°But Sylvain? What on earth could that be about?¡± ¡°His father¡¯s arrest,¡± I said, because this was a pre-written story, after all, even if it was starting to burst free of its seams in a way I really didn¡¯t like. There was one big thing that connected Sylvain to the core of the plot, so everything had to lead back to that. ¡°Do you know if the Gagnons and the Laflammes worked together or anything?¡± ¡°I know next to nothing about him at all. I only learned recently from Remi about Sylvain¡¯s father,¡± Etienne said with a guilty tone. I groaned. It was clear that I needed to talk to Sylvain about this, against my ¡®cousin¡¯s¡¯ advice, but I¡¯d been neglecting the guy since I got here. Simply put, I didn¡¯t have nearly enough friendship points with him to make any conversation about his family productive. Antoinette said with a frown, more like an offer than a declaration, ¡°I¡¯ll speak to him.¡± ¡°Will you?¡± ¡°I still have some scraps of favour with him. And if I have to lose it all because forced this topic for your sake, well, it will be worth it.¡± Antoinette wrote one last line on the notebook. She was about to close it but I stuck my hand in the pages, catching sight of what she wrote. ¡®the damage to the publishing factory set her back more than those scorned Delphine memoirs could ever recoup.¡¯ Just earlier, the guys had told me about the memoirs from non-immediate Delphine family members about how they were cut out of the inheritance and the business. I¡¯d wondered what the fallout of that could be, and I guess it was that? ¡°The Gagnons messed with the Delphines, didn¡¯t they? Or the other way around? Who knows how far back that goes.¡± Antoinette shrugged. ¡°Looks like my first impression of you as a saboteur was right, after all. You just didn¡¯t know it.¡± There was no venom there, just a dry smirk¨CI expect when you¡¯re a Delphine, you get used to things like this. ¡°I¡¯ll pretend I¡¯m interested in Sylvain¡¯s father for my own reasons. You keep the letter. I¡¯ll speak to the Chapelle girls so neither of them give that cousin of yours the way to your room, in case he decides a letter isn¡¯t enough.¡± I was warmed by her immediately taking action. ¡°Should I write him back?¡± ¡°Not so fast. If you want to write him back, I expect to help. Remember how we agreed to handle this whole situation?¡± I nodded. ¡°Together.¡± ¡°Together, Chloe.¡± She handed the letter back to me, our fingers brushing. ¡°Stay put. I¡¯ll come back soon.¡± 34: Sylvain - BACKSTORIES Antoinette was trying to play coy, but Sylvain still had the acute sense that he was in trouble. She had that way about her when she came into a discussion knowing exactly what she wanted out of it, and you had no choice except to follow her lead. His sense of troublemaking was unhelped by how she¡¯d practically accosted him on his walk home, catching him when he¡¯d barely crossed the gates of La Belle Lavande. Antoinette said, ¡°I need to know why you gave me that information about your father.¡± Ah. The ¡®secret¡¯ he wrote for her silly attempt at blackmail. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°It¡¯s driving me up the wall.¡± ¡°It seems to be far from the only thing lately.¡± She scowled. She was wearing her ankle-length wool coat; the wind picked up her hair to reveal already-pink-tipped ears, and she¡¯d folded her arms to tuck away her bare hands. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have waited until tomorrow?¡± he asked. ¡°Would you have run around looking for me if I¡¯d already made it home?¡± ¡°I knew you wouldn¡¯t be gone yet.¡± Antoinette stopped in the middle of the snowy path, knowing he would stop too. ¡°Why not speak to me? What¡¯s your rush?¡± ¡°What¡¯s your rush?¡± ¡°Sylvain, your one use to me is that I can more or less act unbound around you,¡± she said with a teasing edge. ¡°So don¡¯t force me to think of a way to justify this. Won¡¯t you answer my question?¡± ¡°How much of it do you want to know?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t do things halfway.¡± Sylvain could never trust that a Delphine was asking for things unselfishly. Ulterior motives ran through her veins. He didn¡¯t know what to do with her; he never did. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside,¡± he said. She quickly took the lead. Soon they were in the Language Arts building, quiet and subdued so long after instructing hours. Antoinette took a seat on a wooden bench between two bronze statues of the school¡¯s founders, shaking the snow off the end of her uniform skirt, and he carefully sat beside her. ¡°Go on,¡± she said. ¡°Not yet. Why are you asking me this? Why are you suddenly interested in me?¡± ¡°Blackmail isn¡¯t very useful if I don¡¯t have the whole story,¡± she said. ¡°Say you double-cross me. What on earth am I supposed to do with ¡®Georges Delphine lied to put my father in jail¡¯? Doesn¡¯t that put all the power in my hands?¡± ¡°Only if you think that story makes your family look powerful.¡± Antoinette narrowed her eyes. ¡°Then tell it to me.¡± ¡°Answer my question.¡± She opened her mouth, then shut it, seeming annoyed that she had to think up an answer. An Antoinette without a sure response was rare, but an Antoinette who stumbled on the way to find one was even rarer. Finally, she said, ¡°Remi suggested I ask you.¡± ¡°Remi knows about the blackmail?¡± ¡°No. Of course not. But just because you don¡¯t say anything doesn¡¯t mean you aren¡¯t practically shouting the fact that you have issues all the time. We know there¡¯s something you¡¯re carrying around and refusing to let go. And Remi¡¯s very concerned about that sort of thing¨Cthe letting go, the understanding.¡± Maybe there was something in Sylvain¡¯s manner, as well, that made her feel like she was in trouble. Because after a moment of staring, Antoinette said, ¡°And the understanding matters to Chloe too.¡± Then he believed her. What a weird girl. She so thoroughly got on both his and Antoinette¡¯s nerves, and yet also completely won over the hotheaded Antoinette. She tucked back a piece of snow-damp hair. ¡°I won¡¯t tell any of them a word of this, obviously. It¡¯s for us alone.¡± Sylvain sat back on the bench, realizing he had been rigid as a board during that exchange. He idly took in the empty hall¨Cits vaulted ceilings, its gold-and-crystal chandeliers he once overheard a smarmy student calling ¡®modest,¡¯ the enormous glass windows with their snow-spattered windowpanes peeking between their heavy velvet curtains. He was definitely not someone who belonged here. The shameless elegance of this hall called attention to it¡­and his story proved it. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Sometimes he hated Antoinette. Oftentimes he didn¡¯t trust her. But who else would sit next to him and ask, especially in a way so earnest that she felt she had to lie about her reason? And who else would the story shame? ¡°I suppose a decent place to start is when my father was working for Aconitum.¡± Antoinette folded her hands on her lap and faced him. ¡°Back then I didn¡¯t quite understand what his position was, and I¡¯m still not sure I do, because he made a habit of doing more than he was asked. Especially socially. He would speak in these flattering ways about the company and especially about Georges, assuring Amelie and I that when we grew up, we¡¯d have an even better spot in the company than my father did, since he was doing all this work to endear himself to the Delphines.¡± Even when he was a teenager, Sylvain didn¡¯t entirely believe his idealistic, naive father¡¯s words. Dreaming of guaranteed jobs was obviously folly, but he thought that his father¡¯s stories of being in the room where it happened, so to speak, were exaggerations too. His cynicism was called out when Antoinette knew enough about him to ask him for help with school. ¡°My father learned a lot, that close to the top. Eventually, he learned things about the company¡¯s workings that he couldn¡¯t stomach supporting. I don¡¯t need to list them to you, do I?¡± Antoinette shook her head, stern. ¡°However, he couldn¡¯t keep his mouth shut, and of course he started pointing out these issues to your father, as if it would all be a surprise to him. And when he learned it wasn¡¯t a surprise, he doubled down and began to criticize Georges instead.¡± The private investigator received quotations from anonymous employees who all asserted that M. Laflamme was intensely vocal about his disagreements with the company. He squandered the goodwill that got him into those board meetings, and Sylvain supposed that if everything ended differently, he would praise his father¡¯s resistance to being walked over. He said, ¡°I don¡¯t understand why they kept him around after that, but¨C¡± ¡°My father wouldn¡¯t simply fire anyone who annoyed him,¡± Antoinette interrupted. ¡°He must have been waiting for a much better opportunity to get back at him.¡± ¡°Just for criticizing him?¡± ¡°Sylvain, I barely got away with teasing him as a little girl.¡± ¡°Regardless, you¡¯re right. Georges kept him around for a while longer. At first, my father saw this as a sign that he was making good progress; he would tell me that things would start to change for the better. Eventually, even an optimist like him lost faith. Things were very tense. One day things fell through¨CI¡¯m not sure why.¡± Though, he supposed that if Antoinette and Georges were anything alike, it was simply because they¡¯d thrown one too many insults. ¡°My father had a lot of investments back home in property that were faring well, so we came into a bit of a windfall, I suppose? Apparently, he became too loud about it in the office and spoke too much about how I was smart enough to make a competitor to Aconitum until it all seemed a bit too real. Georges threatened to sue him. In turn, my father had a hand in those memoirs written by your extended family¨C¡± Antoinette perked up. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®had a hand¡¯?¡± Sylvain thought of what the investigator dug up. ¡°He tracked each person down and suggested it, even collaborating with them. He put a part of his earnings towards the publishing company. Have you ever read them?¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t allowed to.¡± ¡°Well, there are footnotes to add context to anything related to the organization. My father wrote those.¡± ¡°And I assume he wasn¡¯t very flattering.¡± ¡°Less flattering than even the scorned Delphines, honestly.¡± ¡°Hmm. So there¡¯s an unkindness to the Laflammes, as well.¡± ¡°Obviously, Antoinette, after all that stress and who knows how many threats from such a powerful man. It all built up from there. Georges was furious. Eventually they ended up in court.¡± ¡°For defamation?¡± ¡°One would think. No, it was our money that concerned him. I won¡¯t bore you with the judicial details, but of course once they got into court, the case was rigged.¡± ¡°My father has a whole cadre of lawyers that are used to this sort of thing¡­¡± ¡°So it was easy enough for Georges to have my father pinned for financial fraud and breaking various contracts with Aconitum. Petty things sprinkled on top of the real crime he¡¯d staged¨Cfor the fun of it?¡± Sylvain scoffed. Georges was as petty and easily-offended as any La Belle Lavande student. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But that¡¯s about the end of it.¡± Antoinette watched him for a moment more, as if anticipating even more to the tale, and then touched her chin in thought. He hoped she was really listening. He hoped she really understood. Though he felt lighter for having told the story to the person who really needed to hear it, the weight was threatening to crush him again if she dared give him a dismissive answer. He hadn¡¯t directly said all he thought about the situation, but hopefully she understood how he was trying to get her to own up to it. All she did was sigh. ¡°And to think you act so smug, like you¡¯re nothing like the other students.¡± He bristled. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯re exactly like the rest of us. You¡¯ve been saddled with your family¡¯s baggage.¡± She smoothed her skirt. Her tone was quite serious. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry for all of it. But you had nothing to do with what happened.¡± ¡°Do you expect me to throw up my hands and give up because it wasn¡¯t my fault?¡± ¡°Honestly, sort of, now that I know what had you running in circles for so long! You want to be a doctor for your sister, not a lawyer for your father. You can¡¯t do both.¡± His hackles thoroughly raised, Sylvain threatened to stand, but she stood first. Well, if he told her the whole story, the one she didn¡¯t deserve, she would know that Amelie was very much a part of this too. Antoinette said quickly, ¡°Alright, back to my original question. Why was that the secret you told me? I know you; you would never give me the upper hand, you would never give me something you were actually ashamed of. Why, then?¡± ¡°Because the moment I handed over that paper, you knew the most important part of what happened. And if you did nothing to rectify it, absolutely nothing, after all this time, then¡­¡± He hesitated. ¡°If that ever came out, all your new friends wouldn¡¯t be very pleased with you.¡± She narrowed her blue eyes. Then a little smile crept on her face. ¡°Yes, Sylvain, you¡¯re very much like any other La Belle Lavande student, after all.¡± 35: A GIRL THING (+ART!!) ¡°You know what''s the last thing I want to do?¡± I asked, hurrying down the hall. At my side, Antoinette said behind her handheld compact mirror, ¡°Go to class?¡± ¡°Damn straight.¡± We''d stayed up way too late last night discussing the letter and Sylvain''s story, so we woke up with minutes to get out the door. Antoinette was doing her makeup as we walked. I¡¯d thrown my hair into a ponytail and nearly walked out the door with my blouse on inside out before Antoinette stopped me. My mind was still on the weird mess we were in, but I wasn¡¯t sure what I could do about it. Sylvain was Antoinette¡¯s domain. My ¡®cousin¡¯ was mine. ¡°If I were you,¡± Antoinette had said last night, ¡°I¡¯d never change my name back. I¡¯d never go home. Maybe you don¡¯t remember her, but Past You certainly earned the right to be free of this idiocy.¡± Yeah, I agreed with that. It felt like I was getting caught up in some plot that was left on the cutting room floor of the game dev office. We ran along the path that connected the dorm building to the magic & sciences class building, ducking our heads against the falling snow. There hadn¡¯t been a day since the fashion show where the snow fell all gently and sparkly and romantically like in the game graphics. More lies!! Once inside, we joined the flow of students hustling from one class to another in a wave of white collared shirts and green accented uniform skirts. ¡°Thank god, we aren¡¯t late,¡± I sighed. ¡°Why were you so worried?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not really in the right state to handle a teacher telling me off.¡± ¡°Please, ignore them, that¡¯s what I¨C¡± Antoinette snapped her compact shut and stopped walking. Her blue eyes followed a blonde woman¨CCecile¨Cdown the hall. ¡°Antoinette, we¡¯ve got to go,¡± I insisted. ¡°One moment.¡± She turned and followed Lou¡¯s sister. I didn¡¯t have a good feeling about that, and I especially didn¡¯t have a good feeling about how I apparently couldn¡¯t trust her around other women. The villainess thing was a lot less cute in person. Cecile jerked to a halt when Antoinette called her name. Antoinette easily crossed the river of students to get right up in Cecile¡¯s face, and I had just barely skittered to her side when she said, ¡°You handle the mail for our floor, correct?¡± It totally wasn¡¯t an earnest question, but Cecile answered like it was. ¡°Yes, absolutely!¡± ¡°So it was you who took a letter from someone looking for Chloe.¡± Cecile¡¯s white-blonde eyebrows screwed up before realization hit. ¡°Well, yes, but that kind of thing happens more than you¡¯d think. It¡¯s a huge school. People are always trying to¨C¡± ¡°Clarify this for me.¡± I started, ¡°Antoinette¨C¡± ¡°You told an absolute stranger¨Ca man, at that¨CChloe¡¯s name and where to find her? Did it not cross your mind that that could put her in danger?¡± Cecile held her ground. ¡°He seemed nice. And what with whatever happened in Altolia, I figured he must have been a journalist or a witness. I swear, it¡¯s not uncommon.¡± ¡°All I¡¯m hearing is that you¡¯re not denying it.¡± I said, ¡°It was just a mistake.¡± I set a hand on Antoinette¡¯s arm. She looked down at me. ¡°A mistake that¡¯s gotten you¨Ccould have gotten you in serious trouble.¡± Not gonna lie, it was pretty flattering to have her defend me, but Antoinette mercilessly shoved Cecile into a lake once. It was time to go. Cecile asked, ¡°Wait, did something happen?¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°No, it¡¯s okay,¡± I lied. ¡°Though it wasn¡¯t cool of you, Cecile. That guy? He wasn¡¯t nice. Let me know if he comes around again. And please don¡¯t tell him anything else?¡± Cecile said, now seeming thrown off-kilter, ¡°Alright. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Once we¡¯d gone our separate ways, I poked Antoinette in the shoulder. ¡°¡®Clarify this for me.¡¯ You¡¯re so intense, you know that?¡± ¡°It¡¯s an intense situation. And I don¡¯t like it!¡± She announced that with a sudden, almost petulant anger. It reminded me of how she got at the Samhain Formal, like she was struggling to put her own feelings into words and had to settle for the simplest ones. ¡°I don¡¯t like any of it.¡± ¡°Hey, neither do I.¡± ¡°I wish our biggest problems were classes.¡± ¡°Mood.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I mean, I wish that was our biggest problem too. And the year-end project¡­and the dance...¡± ¡°Ugh.¡± She rubbed her temple. ¡°The winter dance. Good grief. I do not want to be in another gossiping crowd for a long while.¡± ¡°Have you talked to your old friends at all?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°...Have you let them talk to you?¡± ¡°Of course not, what do you think I am? A masochist?¡± ¡°You know, you might solve your own problems if you didn¡¯t try to fight everyone all the time¡­¡± Antoinette sniffed. ¡°You won¡¯t be saying that once I get face to face with whoever is stalking us.¡± I enjoyed the mental image of her brandishing a sword to defend poor little damsel-ified me. Then we were interrupted by Remi sweeping in out of nowhere. ¡°Who¡¯s earned Miss Delphine¡¯s wrath this time?¡± he asked. ¡°Only the usual suspects.¡± I was kinda amazed by how easily they fell in step¨Cacknowledgement, proximity, and then somehow she¡¯d taken his arm and he¡¯d kissed her cheek and the entire hallway turned to look at us. People always glanced at Antoinette¨Cduh, she was beautiful and scary, the best combination¨Cand I¡¯d more or less gotten used to eyes stuck to our backs as we walked around campus or the town. This was different. Their attention was charged, new, full of people waiting for something juicy to report on to their friends. Antoinette resolutely kept her gaze ahead of her like nothing was happening. I was nerdily third-wheeling the hottest cheerleader in school and the state-championship-bound quarterback. ¡°Hey,¡± I said to Remi, totally innocently, ¡°apparently you¡¯re gonna meet Georges Delphine, right? When¡¯s that happening? Soon?¡± Antoinette answered, ¡°Next week.¡± Remi nodded. ¡°Sylvain suggested we test-run the intelligence potions this weekend, and I¡¯d rather have days off in case there¡¯s a repeat of what happened to Lou and I last time.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you kinda scared?¡± ¡°Nah. Sylvain¡¯s been a total control freak about it, so there probably won¡¯t be any mistakes.¡± ¡°I mean about meeting her dad! You¡¯ve got to make a really good impression. Seriously, how many guys do you think are knocking on her door? So, what¡¯s your plan to really stand out?¡± Antoinette scoffed. ¡°He stands out because I actually chose him.¡± ¡°He still needs a plan!¡± Remi squinted at me, pretending to be suspicious. ¡°You almost sound excited that heartless old Georges might hate me.¡± ¡°What? Noooo¨C¡± ¡°Nothing about this¡±¨CAntoinette pointed between her and Remi¨C¡°excites her.¡± I opened my mouth. And shut it. Okay, she wasn¡¯t wrong, but I felt weird that she¡¯d noticed. Antoinette fake-lamented, ¡°She hasn¡¯t even congratulated me.¡± Why would I congratulate you on something fake!! I kept that to myself, because it sure felt like everyone we passed was listening in. (I allowed myself just one itty bitty crumb of self-pity: Why would I congratulate you on something that erased our kiss!! Arghhh.) ¡°Don¡¯t bother her,¡± Remi said, casually moving a stray lock of Antoinette¡¯s hair behind her shoulder. ¡°She¡¯s new to planet earth. She doesn¡¯t know the etiquette for congratulating best friends on¨C¡± And that was all I heard. My brain blanked out. Not because of Marie, but because Remi had called us best friends, and that wasn¡¯t even the point of his sentence, so he hadn¡¯t even thought about it before saying it. ¡°Best friends?¡± Antoinette and I exclaimed at the exact same moment. He lifted his hands in a ¡°don¡¯t shoot¡± gesture. ¡°I mean, I figured? Why else would you have been so worried about messing with Chloe¡¯s feelings? Isn¡¯t that a girl thing? Not wanting the friend to feel replaced by a guy?¡± I stared at her. We¡¯d reached the door to my classroom¨Csome irrelevant magic theory class. We all stopped. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t want your feelings to be hurt. I felt sorry. I don¡¯t know why. Clearly you have bigger things to worry about,¡± she grumbled. I didn¡¯t want your feelings to be hurt. Antoinette had technically begun courting Remi before I blew our kiss from the universe. If she¡¯d said that to him, the words would have stayed, even if her reasoning didn¡¯t. ¡°See,¡± Remi said, ruffling her hair, ¡°the Delphines have hearts after all.¡± ¡°Okay, enough! Both of you, go to class!¡± she snapped, and gave me a little harmless push to the classroom door. I floated all the way to my desk. 36: CHECK INGREDIENTS ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to start pulling your weight, Miss Chloe,¡± Remi said. ¡°Or else I¡¯m gonna contest your final grade.¡± All six of us were in Etienne¡¯s ultra-private dorm. Although we¡¯d gathered to test the Intelligence potion, Louis had surprised us with some sketches of bottle designs and paper prototypes of tags and logos. So he was clearly putting lots of work into the visual design, and Remi had become our de facto leader, scheduling us for group meetings when needed, and Sylvain was keeping us from poisoning each other, and¨C I pointed at Etienne. ¡°What about him?!¡± ¡°His job comes last. The prince is gonna smooth talk Georges Delphine into letting us win, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Then I don¡¯t actually need to help, do I? If it¡¯s all a sham anyways.¡± ¡°Enough,¡± Sylvain dead-panned. He had the tone of someone who¡¯d been stuck listening to our banter for months and had decided that ax-murdering us would be too much effort. He opened his alchemy briefcase and took out a duo of plain glass bottles, nowhere near as pretty as the ones Louis had proposed, and set them on Etienne¡¯s desk. Inside them both were a few tablespoons of a bright purple liquid. There it was¨Cour next potion. In the game, the potion mechanic worked as a series of big, bombastic checkpoints as you progressed through the story, all building towards the dramatic finale. But this was my life, and I didn¡¯t have the luxury of fast-forwarding through classes and meals and carriage rides and conversations and, you know, all that mess with Marie¡¯s history. In consequence, the potions felt so small. They weren¡¯t offset with fun sparkly menus and jaunty event-specific music. They just were. Huh. Magic felt small! How weird. ¡°Same logic as with the endurance potion, yeah?¡± Remi said. Lou nodded, seeming thoughtful. He passed off a bottle to Sylvain. Of course, that made sense, he was the Remi in the equation, the smartest one in the room. And then Lou slid a bottle over to me. Same logic as with the¡­endurance¡­ Hey! ¡°Oh my god, you guys think I¡¯m the stupid one?¡± Remi snorted. Etienne started, ¡°Stupid is not the right word¨C¡± and Antoinette interrupted with, ¡°Well, you don¡¯t know things like we know them. You won¡¯t be relying on memory, so it¡¯ll be easier to test you, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°You have a point,¡± I grumbled. They had no idea how deep my knowledge ran¡­but it was more focused on things like their romantic dialogue and gifts you could give them to increase their relationship points. While the endurance potion¡¯s abilities made sense in a quasi-real-life scenario¨Clike, I don¡¯t know, doping at the Olympics¨Cthis one made me hesitate. It wasn¡¯t as if it could open my brain like a purse and dump in knowledge I never had before. Sylvain, of course, predicted this, and so for the next hour, he put us through tests like booooring timed math problems and history (my worst topic) and reading comp and plant biology¨Cwithout potions first. In the meantime, Remi was correcting one of Etienne¡¯s essays for his language class, and Antoinette was helping Louis work through the prototypes according to the Aconitum aesthetics and brand. I may have blown a few math quizzes because I was staring at her, fluffy red braid fallen over her shoulder, confident and decisive as she sketched alongside Louis. Then it was time for the potions. This one gave me a weird fizzy feeling between my ears, like someone had dumped a ton of seltzer in my skull. I made a face; it was weird enough that stoic Sylvain did too, wrinkling his nose. ¡°Anything?¡± Antoinette asked. ¡°Seeing the machinations of the universe yet?¡± I swallowed the rest of the purple liquid. ¡°Erm¡­Maybe I¡¯m too stupid to tell, but¨C¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯re not stupid¨C¡± Sylvain interrupted a rare and beautiful compliment from Antoinette by saying, ¡°Let¡¯s wait a few minutes. It won¡¯t be something we¡¯ll be able to tell just by behaving as we usually do; it¡¯s not a physical change. Only after the tests will we be sure.¡± So we waited. And the tests came out again, Remi with the stopwatch, Etienne with his marked-up essay, joking weakly that maybe one of our tests should be to rewrite it for him. It occurred to me that Sylvain had to have made these many tests all by himself. What a nerd. ¡°And¡­go!¡± I sailed through the pages. I had utmost faith in the potion¨Cit sure felt like my brain was moving faster, smoother, not catching so terribly on all the numbers (I hadn¡¯t done time tables since high school; my iPhone calculator was my math tutor as an adult). I zoomed through the reading and grammar and history, untouchable. Hah, this was nothing¨C ¡°You¡­did worse,¡± Louis said, comparing our finished tests to the answer key. He looked between them over and over and over, baffled. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°That¡¯s not possible,¡± Sylvain argued. He snatched the papers away and studied them himself, scowling. I leaned closer. Both of our pages were riddled with red circles, not even close to the answers on the key¡­or the answers we gave before the potion. Sylvain said, ¡°I was precise with every measurement¡­I checked it over half a dozen times¡­there¡¯s no way¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m not trusting a single thing you say right now,¡± Remi laughed. ¡°You wrote 72 for half the questions on the math portion.¡± I had to laugh too. Antoinette giggled behind her hand. I wasn¡¯t super excited to speak in case the potion eroded my vocab too, but it took Lou and Remi reading out our increasingly ridiculous and nonsensical attempts on the tests to soon have us all giggling like kids. ~*~ I couldn¡¯t sleep that night. My brain was hopped up on the potion and on the weird happenings of the last few days. I pressed my face into my pillow. Tossed. Turned. My thoughts were going a mile a minute, seeking connections that weren¡¯t there. Why did it feel like I had so many fewer choices in the plot when I was living it? Marie, help me out! I had to write my ¡®cousin¡¯ back. I just had to. Something light and small bounced onto my bed. I sprung up, squinting at the shelf above my headboard¨Chad something fallen? I patted around on my blankets until I grasped a thin, glass onject¨CI unscrewed the cap and learned from the scant torchlight outside and the smell that it was a perfume roller. ¡°Lavender,¡± Antoinette said, sounding half asleep. ¡°Put it on your wrists. It always calms me down.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I whispered. She didn¡¯t respond; I only heard the blankets shift. I ran the perfume over the insides of my wrists, avoiding my stress-clammy palms. The metal roller was nice and cool, but the glass was a little warm from Antoinette¡¯s handling of it, and I gave it a squeeze before placing it safely on my nightstand. I laid back down and folded my hands near my head. My mind was filled with the soft smell of lavender, clearing all the nattering thoughts away. ~*~ The next morning, I shared a history class with Sylvain. I nearly keeled over from shock when he actually kinda smiled at me when I walked in and took my seat a few desks away from him. Antoinette must have been real good at not hinting that she was prying into his history for my sake. Or maybe all that laughing last night warmed him up better than any of Marie¡¯s perfect dialogue options ever could. I gave him a little smile back. Until the prof announced something that wiped all the mirth from my face. ¡°Good, full attendance today. You¡¯ll have the whole class period to finish this exam. Absolutely no extensions and no excuses.¡± I¡¯d totally missed this. I guess no matter what world I was in, school just wasn¡¯t that important to me. The prof handed out a pack of test booklets to the lead of each row, and they passed it back. I skimmed the questions. I wasn¡¯t awful at history in real life, but in Love Blooming? Some fic writers knew every detail, hinted or otherwise, about the government and society in which the game was set, but that was not me. Do not come to my blog for elaborate headcanons about Etienne¡¯s great-great-great-grandmother, made using blurry assets of portraits in the backgrounds of his intimate CGs. Do not look to me to remember jack about the history of magic. Eh, well. Whatever. This wouldn¡¯t be the first test I did for this prof. She¡¯d forced me into completing one when I first arrived, trying to assess my placement. (After seeing my score, she must have wished she could put me back in elementary school.) I couldn¡¯t embarrass myself anymore, I thought¡­until I tried to put my pencil to paper. Describe the political leanings of the FJI Coalition and their demands of the monarchy (itemized by date). I stared. I may as well have been reading Japanese. The who? My brain spun like a gacha machine. It spat out FLQ, the Front de Lib¡­liberte¡­library¡­something-something of Quebec. That was bad. That was something from my world, my country, and I was struggling. I skipped the question. And the next. And the next. I was the local amnesiac, damn it! Why was I forced to do this at all! I swallowed a groan. I looked over the class¨Ceveryone else had their heads ducked, their pencils zooming across the page, none the wiser. Well, almost all of them. Sylvain was massaging his temple, eyes shut, and when they flicked open, they found mine right away. He was on the first page of his exam. It was blank. Across the row of desks between us, I cringed. Sylvain: >:( Me: T-T Sylvain: >>>>:::(((( As if this was my fault! We both turned back to our tests. I struggled my way through a few more questions, flipped the page, and got jumpscared by more freaking questions. I felt like I¡¯d be hard-pressed to even write my own name. My brain was full of pudding. I could turn in a blank test; the prof would think it was more of my usual half-assed nonsense and I could plead memory loss and invoke Etienne or something. Sylvain could not. Sylvain snoozed through tests as if they were beneath him and got perfect marks without even trying. Also, Sylvain worried about marks while I couldn¡¯t care less as long as they didn¡¯t kick me out. I tore a square out of the corner of my test. I wrote, Tell her about potions. Say it backfired. Safe urself!! I crumpled it and tossed it at his desk. It bounced off the corner. Sylvain looked up, squinted at me frantically pointing at the paper on the ground¨Cbut it had landed behind the leg of the adjacent desk so Sylvain only gave me another cranky look and turned away. ¡°Time¡¯s up, you two.¡± I blinked back into the room. I swore I was thinking about our predicament for like, thirty seconds, and it took mere moments to write the note. But the room was empty except for someone who¡¯d hung back after finishing the test to work on homework quietly. Oh no. The prof approached us to pick up our tests¨Cand her heel crunched right on the note I¡¯d thrown. She bent, picked it up, and carefully unfolded it. ¡°I saw you acting strangely, Miss Chloe, but I was about to excuse your behaviour on behalf of your¡­circumstances. Don¡¯t you know not to pass notes during class? You aren¡¯t a child.¡± She flipped the note to me. ¡°Is this some code between you two?¡± ¡°What? No, I wasn¡¯t¨C¡± My brain was pudding. The note was completely unintelligible, and it was only the use of letters past D that made it look like it wasn¡¯t me sharing answers to the multiple choice section that I hadn¡¯t even had the faculties to reach. Sylvain then said, ¡°Potions. It was potions.¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°The other night, we were testing potions to¡­¡± He snapped his fingers, searching for the word. ¡°To affect our intelligence, and they haven¡¯t¡­¡± Sylvain searched again. ¡°They haven¡¯t worn off.¡± ¡°So you were attempting to cheat.¡± ¡°No!¡± I cried. ¡°No,¡± he asserted. ¡°Just poor timing.¡± I expected we would have been no more convincing if we¡¯d both been smelling strongly of weed. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± The prof set my failed note on my desk, looking between us, the tiniest bit of humour on her face. ¡°I¡¯m sending you two alchemists to the infirmary, and then we¡¯re discussing just what you were doing with the potions.¡± 37: STIR QUICKLY - End of Vol 1 [+Key authors note] Sylvain and I had back-up: the hard proof of our project proposal, saying that we weren¡¯t experimenting for fun. And yet the staff were stuck on the timing. Sylvain and I were standing in an office before a panel of three upper-level faculty members whose names and faces were all a blur. One woman, two men, tailor-made to be forgettable. Maybe they were the kind of NPCs who had their hair colours swapped out, with all the same face. Who knows. I thought this was all super silly. At least my mind was coming back to me. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate that the potions backfired,¡± one woman said, ¡°but what if they hadn¡¯t?¡± ¡°What need do I have for them?¡± Sylvain argued. ¡°It¡¯s not as if this test was gatekeeping a job or was for a prerequisite class. Of all the tests to risk my scholarship on, I certainly wouldn¡¯t have picked that.¡± Even if I wasn¡¯t involved¨Cand even if I liked Sylvain a little more¨Cthere¡¯d be no denying that his reasoning made perfect sense. I smoothed down my skirt and stood. ¡°Thanks for your time, but¨C¡± ¡°Sit down, Miss Chloe,¡± the Generic Woman said. I dropped back into my chair. ¡°You¡¯re not really¡­ Oh, come on.¡± ¡°La Belle Lavande is strictly against any kind of cheating or attempted cheating. I believe you were both made to swear an oath regarding following our code of conduct when you were admitted. Breach of that code of conduct can result in immediate expulsion.¡± Generic Man 1 said, ¡°And both of you are on tenuous grounds, considering the circumstances of your¡­admissions.¡± ¡°The potions were an accident,¡± I said. ¡°Back-talking one¡¯s superiors is also against the code of La Belle Lavande.¡± ¡°What about,¡± Sylvain said, ¡°students bribing others to purposely drop their own scores? Or offering to pay them to do their work? Threats, even, once, in the case of a student who was very desperate to impress their mentor. Is there anything about that in the code of conduct?¡± ¡°We are specifically speaking of your case¨C¡± ¡°Those are my cases too. I could give you a list of names.¡± Everyone¡¯s faces soured. It hit me then that maybe¡­maybe the faculty didn¡¯t like Sylvain being here. For all intents and purposes, he was a total nobody, and he was outsmarting all the elite kids. It wasn¡¯t like they could just chop him out of the rankings, so every student who desperately wanted to impress their millionaire fathers or prospective business partners was shoved down a rank. Outsmarted. Outclassed. How many students were fighting for valedictorian? Or even to win the very potion competition that outlined the game? And yet were gonna be cut off at the pass by Sylvain? This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. No wonder they were ignoring the obvious mistake we made, framing it as scheming. They wanted any chance they could to kick him out! Damn this guy and his character arc. I didn¡¯t know what came over me. Delusion, probably. A fanfic-writer¡¯s natural instinct to fix any problem put in front of them. ¡°Look, whatever way you look at it, this was all my fault. I shouldn¡¯t have been within ten feet of those potions, and I really shouldn¡¯t have dragged Sylvain into testing them with me.¡± ¡°Are you implying that you did intend to cheat?¡± Generic Man 2 asked. ¡°No. But clearly we¡¯re not getting anywhere with trying to prove intent. Make us take the tests again, and¡­and¡­¡± If Sylvain got kicked out, I¡¯d have to deal with that plot instead of the much more important things like Marie¡¯s psycho cousin. Plus, the psycho cousin problem involved Sylvain. I needed him close. As much as I hated him, Sylvain was staying right here. ¡°Put him under house arrest. Right here in the dorms. So you can drug test him or monitor him or whatever.¡± Sylvain whirled on me. ¡°I can¡¯t leave my sister!¡± ¡°See?¡± I said, pointing at him. ¡°He hates it. He¡¯s gonna fight you on it. Proof that you should do it.¡± ~*~ I couldn¡¯t believe that worked. I had protagonist powers I hadn¡¯t even used yet. Unfortunately, Sylvain once again proved that he was immune. ¡°You can bring Amelie!¡± I cried, chasing a storming Sylvain down the hall. ¡°Etienne won¡¯t take any convincing to move you in, anyways, you know he hates being all alone in that room!¡± ¡°You are such a meddler. Don¡¯t presume what my sister would want. Or what Etienne would want, at that.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t meddle, I helped. Jackass. I didn¡¯t even touch that potion. You screwed up.¡± I jabbed a finger at his chest. ¡°You forgot to mention the test today. You got us into this mess. And if I wasn¡¯t there¡­ They were looking for excuses to kick you out.¡± ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± ¡°No, I know, just¨C¡± He swept past me towards the doors of the faculty building. I trotted after. I wondered how often he and Antoinette just never came to any conclusions when they argued, considering how stubborn they both were. Sylvain said, ¡°Alright, you kept me from disaster this time. But will it really help for me to stay here? Does that not give them more opportunity to spy on me and get me in trouble?¡± ¡°You really think any of us will let that happen?¡± He lifted an eyebrow at me. ¡°I think you would.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t I just prove¨C¡± I cut myself off. We were at the doors, Sylvain reaching out to pull one open, but a figure outside in the snow had caught my eye. Marie¡¯s stupid nameless cousin! He was speaking to a girl in a La Belle Lavande uniform, both of them braced against the wind in their jackets. He seemed friendly, cheerful, but I expected he was good at acting. I thought of Antoinette. She was someone I wanted at my side to confront him. She was someone I needed at my side. I could run and get her. But maybe he¡¯d have disappeared by then. That would be kinda nice, right, if he went away¡­buy you another day or two to deal with all of this¡­ ¡°What?¡± Sylvain asked. ¡°Nothing. Go on. I mean, clearly you don¡¯t wanna hang out with me.¡± ¡°What are you¨C¡± I turned away and sat on a nearby bench by the window, until Sylvain got the hint and just left, taking his stormcloud with him. I practically pressed my face to the window. Though they were pretty far apart, Marie¡¯s cousin noticed Sylvain instantly. Sylvain glanced at him, looked away, with all the disinterest of catching a stranger inspecting your shoes, and soon he had turned the corner and vanished. The woman in the uniform was leaving too. I squirmed. Where was Antoinette! I tried to funnel my protag powers into making her show up at exactly the wrong moment, in the spirit of all dating sim coincidences. I looked around¨Cnothing. I was on my own. I stood up and pushed open the door. He had turned away, and again I had to fight through my instinct to casually walk away and pretend nothing happened. Instead, I called, ¡°Hey!¡± He spun, so fast that I knew he instantly recognised my voice, Marie¡¯s voice. In his face I saw all the relief that he¡¯d penned in the letter, coming back again. ¡°So I guess we need to talk.¡±