Deviating from the original plot

Chapter eleven

Her father gave a satisfied nod. "Very well, Victoria."

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The next morning, as expected, Damien arrived right on time. The butler led him into the sitting room, where Victoria was already seated and waiting.

"Good morning, my Lady," Damien greeted, placing a leather-bound folder on the table. "You look prepared."

"Just Victoria is fine," she replied, prompting a small smile from him.

"Then you can call me Damien, as well," he said, and she nodded.

"First name basis already? We must be the best of friends," he teased.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." 

She nodded toward the folder. "What's in there?"

"Some sample account drafts I put together for today," Damien said as he took a seat across from her. "Nothing real, of course—I wouldn't have access to your family's records even if I wanted to." He offered a casual smile. "So I made these myself."

Victoria leaned forward with interest. "I assume this has something to do with estate management?"

"Exactly," Damien said, flipping open the folder to reveal neatly organized sheets. "We'll start with the basics—income from lands, household expenditures, seasonal costs. Once you're comfortable with that, we'll move to budgeting and overseeing trade accounts."

"Sounds thrilling," she said dryly, though her eyes scanned the papers curiously.

"You'd be surprised how many noble households run into trouble because they leave these things to others without understanding them," he said. "But a Marchioness who understands her accounts? People respect that."

Victoria raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, she reached for one of the sheets and began reading. Damien watched her for a moment, noting the slight furrow in her brow as she concentrated.

After a moment, she nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense."

"You're doing fine so far," he added with a lighter tone. "You're actually reading the numbers, and you haven't even yawned yet."

"It's only been like two minutes," she said raising her brow.

"And yet, I'm still impressed."

Victoria shot him a flat look.

"What? I was being honest," Damien said with a grin.

She shook her head but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at her lips.

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By the end of their first session, Victoria had gone through two sets of mock accounts with Damien.

"Well," he said, gathering the papers into a neat stack, "you're definitely getting the hang of it."

"Thanks. It was actually more interesting than I expected," Victoria replied.

"I hope that same enthusiasm shows up in our next sessions too," he teased lightly.

Victoria replied. "No promises."

He stood. "We'll continue tomorrow. Same time?"

She nodded. "Yes, that works."

He offered her a small bow. "Until next time, then."

Once he was gone, Victoria paused, looking back at the folder on the table. She hadn't expected to enjoy the lesson. With a small smile, she returned to her seat and began flipping through the notes again.

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Later that evening, cloaked and moving swiftly, Celeste slipped out of her mansion and made her way toward a small, weather-worn shed nestled at the far edge of her estate. Two guards stood at attention by the door, stepping aside wordlessly as she approached.

"You found him?" she asked curtly.

The guards nodded.

Celeste entered the shed. The door creaked shut behind her, sealing the dim, musty space in silence. In the center sat a man tied to a chair, a cloth gag across his mouth. He flinched when their eyes met, his muffled sounds turning frantic. Celeste stared at him without a hint of emotion.

She gave a small nod to one of the guards. "Take it off."

The cloth was yanked away. The man coughed, then looked up at her, fear in his eyes. "P-please, I have a family. A wife—children. Please, I beg you, spare me."

Celeste folded her arms. "You should've thought of that before writing that article. That's a death wish."

He blinked in confusion. "A-article?"

"Yes," she snapped. "The one about the prince."

Realization dawned on his face. "Miss, that was gossip! I didn't mean any harm. I was just doing my job—"

"You call that gossip?" Celeste's voice rose sharply. "You twisted the truth, made it sound like he was involved with someone else. You insulted the royal family and disrespected the woman he's betrothed to."

"I-I didn't know! I was just doing my job!" he cried, visibly trembling.

Celeste leaned in slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Well, your job has consequences."

"I am sorry, Miss. Please have mercy!" He cried

Celeste stood upright again, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves.

"You're lucky," she said after a moment. "I'm not here to kill you."

He let out a shaky breath.

"But you will retract that article. Publicly. Loudly. And you will write a correction that makes the truth unmistakable."

"I—I can do that," he nodded eagerly. "Yes, absolutely, I will."

She left without another word. The guards shut the door behind her with a quiet thud.

As Celeste stepped back into the cool night air, one of the guards spoke. "What should we do with him, my lady?"

"Leave him there for the night," she said calmly. "Tomorrow at the first light, escort him back to the city—and make sure he goes straight to his editor. I want a retraction in print by morning."

"Yes, my lady," the guard replied with a respectful nod before stepping back.

Celeste continued toward the mansion, the sharp click of her heels echoing softly along the stone path.

She let out a soft sigh then murmured, "No one is going to ruin this for me."

A faint rustle in the distance made her pause. Her eyes narrowed, but it was only a stray cat slipping through the hedges.

She resumed walking. Inside the mansion, the staff moved silently around her, heads bowed, careful not to meet her eyes.

Once in her room, Celeste let the cloak slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor. A servant stepped in without a word and helped her out of the rest of her garments. Soon, she was dressed in a simple night robe. With a quiet bow, the servant disappeared.

Celeste walked to the mirror and stared at her reflection.

No matter what, she was going to be Queen.

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