Kill the Villainess [Novel] - Chapter 6

I soothed the maid who nearly fainted upon seeing my face, applying an ice compress to reduce the swelling. By evening, for some reason, I found myself dining side by side with the Marquis.

Honestly feeling awkward, I shoveled food into my mouth, eager to finish quickly and retreat when the Marquis spoke up. I feared he’d ask about the Imperial Palace, but thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

“Do you truly not intend to appoint a knight?”

“I believe the family knights are sufficient.”

“If you have no particular objection, attend the knighting ceremony.”

The Marquis paused briefly before continuing in his usual detached tone.

“…Every year, minor noble houses or commoners seek knighthood for advancement, yet their origins often hinder their selection. When choosing knights, powerful families prefer their own to strengthen alliances between houses.”

So it’s all about connections. Some things never change, whether in modern society or a fantasy world.

“Noble-born knights prioritize themselves and can’t keep secrets due to loose tongues. The hierarchy blurs until masters end up serving their knights—a perversion of a knight’s true duty.”

The Marquis ran his finger along his knife’s edge before adding sharply,

“Find someone who can go where you cannot, perform tasks you can’t speak of, and die in your place if discovered.”

Given Eris’s scheming nature, perhaps she’d need such a knight. But strangely, his words felt directed at me—not Eris, but me.

Of course. I didn’t know Eris. Though mimicking noble manners, I was merely playing “aristocratic lady,” not being her. Every habit, preference, and taste had changed.

Those who’d watched Eris her entire life couldn’t have missed this. My fork hand trembled violently.

Should I apologize? Say “Sorry for stealing your daughter’s body”? And then what? Would they expel me? Interrogate me?

This terrified me more than Hybris’s discovery. Because… because I owed them a debt of guilt. The unspoken shame of stealing their beloved family member.

The Marquis sighed upon seeing my hand. Certain I’d failed completely, I squeezed my eyes shut.

Then he took my hand. Startled, I looked up—but he walked past without a word. That gruff kindness brought tears to my eyes.

I missed my dad. What happened to “me”? Had I died? Survived? If missing, were my parents searching for me?

I imagined them distributing flyers for their lost daughter.

Could my immature younger brother comfort them properly this time? Could I ever return home?

I was scared.

So scared.

I wanted to go home.

* * *

Emma had served in this mansion since the young lady’s birth. Her mother worked for the Marquis too, and any daughter Emma might bear would serve here as well.

She remembered the day the young lady was born—that porcelain skin and rosy cheeks so lovely she assumed all babies were that beautiful.

When she timidly touched that fragile cheek, tiny fingers grasped hers with surprising warmth, bringing unexpected tears. That’s when Emma fell in love.

The young lady grew more beautiful daily. Though society claimed Helena, the palace maid, was fairest, Emma knew only those ignorant of her lady would say such things.

That raven hair like night sky fabric, skin glowing like snow, emerald eyes resembling summer forests, and rose-red lips—Emma would’ve given her heart if asked.

As sole daughter of a top noble house, her bearing was extraordinary. She demanded perfection in herself and those around her, rejecting or scolding anything subpar.

Though gossips called her arrogant, Emma despised them more.

Why resent the nation’s most precious lady receiving her due?

Her fiancé was the Crown Prince; she’d someday be Empress. Always destined for heights, yet people envied and sought to drag her down.

The harder they tried, the more she strove. She refined herself relentlessly—studying when mocked as dull, perfecting her appearance at any hint of fading beauty.

For harsh words, she repaid tenfold; for touched belongings, twentyfold.

She showed no kindness to detractors, behaving worse than rumors suggested. When Emma tearfully asked why such beauty faced hatred, the young lady answered serenely:

“If I act vile, my subordinates won’t be slighted.”

“But we’re lowborn unlike you.”

“How naive. The highborn enjoy tormenting inferiors by association—’like master, like servant.’ I can’t bear it—so you’ll walk proudly.”

Once officially betrothed, the palace sent instructors for brutal etiquette and imperial duties training.

During that period, she barely slept. Though illness followed exhaustion, she never missed palace visits, returning dazzlingly dressed yet deathly pale.

Rumors spread secretly of the Crown Prince’s hatred, but she never showed weakness.

Emma didn’t comfort her—that would wound her pride. Yet Emma worried desperately as her lady slowly melted away.

One sunny day after winter’s end, as servants bustled organizing wardrobes, Emma struggled carrying quilts when she spotted the young lady in a distant corner.

The young lady never cried—not one public tear despite being called vicious.

That day was no exception. She simply sat there—not crying, just staring blankly at the woods.

Emma felt sudden dread.

“Young lady…”

Eris didn’t respond.

“Young lady, the floor’s still cold…”

Eris didn’t rise.

“Young lady… please say something…”

Eris didn’t weep. Emma rushed over, wrapping her in quilts like protective armor. Finally hidden from everything, Eris asked:

“Is love that important?”

“What?”

“But… but that position can’t be earned through love alone. It shouldn’t be. The Empress… supports the Emperor—that’s what I learned… what I worked for…”

No one recognized her efforts. Her diligence earned no affection; her determination was called stubbornness; her ambition labeled arrogance.

Because she wasn’t kind or gentle—because wicked women deserve scorn.

“They needn’t love me… just acknowledge me. That girl only knows how to smile… yet everyone loves her…”

At last, the quilts grew damp. Oh, how Emma wished she were a witch—to summon rain hiding Eris’s tears.

But Emma was just an ordinary maid whose only power was prayer—for all Eris’s wishes to come true.

Yet Eris wished only to disappear that day.

Miracles arrive in cruelest forms.

Emma had served since the young lady’s birth—longer even than Eris’s parents. Thus she knew with certainty: her lady had changed.

No more tapping her fourth finger when thoughtful. Gone were pre-sleep water sips and nail-biting when nervous.

Instead came crossed legs and newfound spice cravings.

Though believing she knew Eris best, everything now felt alien—speech patterns, gait, habits…

Sometimes Emma longed to shake her screaming:

Who are you?

Though risking madness accusations, she yearned to demand: Who wears my lady’s skin? Where is she?

This wasn’t mere amnesia—minor habits changed while crucial memories remained intact.

What drove Emma madder was how hard the young lady pretended normalcy.

If some wicked witch stole her body…

Seeking help would get Eris executed as a witch. Powerless Emma couldn’t save her.

Yet one night, Emma buried those burning questions forever.

Waking thirsty, she instinctively peeked into the adjacent bedroom—a habit formed to readjust kicked-off blankets.

But instead of her sleeping lady, she found only crumpled bedding greeting her like a lost puppy. Her heart lurched.

Lately, accidents plagued the young lady—stabbed by an assailant, nearly falling from rooftops saved only by a stablehand.

What if these weren’t accidents? What if someone plotted against Eris? No—no! Grabbing a candle barefoot, Emma ran silently.

She couldn’t scream Eris’s name—risk alerting kidnappers who might harm her. She ran heedless of cut feet praying: Please don’t be far.