The disastrous stable incident had, at least, gotten me out of actually riding Midnight Fury. Lucian, with a curt nod that probably conveyed a novel's worth of disapproval, declared the morning's "excursion" over. Aria, ever the saint, expressed her sympathies for my "near miss" and hoped I'd feel better soon. Riven Thorne had simply bowed, his gaze lingering on me a moment longer than strictly necessary before he excused himself, muttering something about patrol duties.
I, meanwhile, was escorted back to my chambers by a silent Beatrice, my cheeks still burning with a delightful cocktail of embarrassment and a strange, unfamiliar flutter caused by Riven's unexpected gallantry. And the damn FlagVision pop-up. Curious Spark Ignited? What did that even mean in otome game terms? Was I accidentally unlocking his route by being a clumsy oaf? This was not how it worked in the game! Veronica was supposed to scorn him, not fall into his arms like a damsel in distress!
"My Lady," Beatrice said, breaking the silence as she helped me out of the offending day dress, "perhaps some… formal etiquette review would be beneficial?"
Her tone was carefully neutral, but I could hear the unspoken subtext: "You're a walking disaster, and if you don't get your act together, you're going to start a diplomatic incident with a teacup."
"You think?" I said, sighing as the corset was finally unlaced. Sweet, breathable freedom! "Beatrice, I think 'beneficial' is the understatement of the century. I need a crash course in 'How Not to Look Like a Barbarian in a Ballgown 101.'"
A tiny smile touched Beatrice's lips. "I would be happy to assist, My Lady. We can start with basic deportment, curtsies, and perhaps… appropriate conversational gambits for noble gatherings."
"You mean, teach me how not to talk about the existential nature of canopies or the joys of straddling large beasts?"
Beatrice's smile widened. "Precisely."
Okay, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Beatrice seemed to have a good head on her shoulders and a surprisingly dry wit hidden beneath that professional demeanor. If anyone could whip me into vaguely ladylike shape, it was her.
The next few hours were a blur of posture corrections ("Shoulders back, My Lady, imagine a string pulling you up from the crown of your head"), curtsy practice (my knees were screaming), and lessons on how to gracefully handle a teacup without looking like I was trying to arm-wrestle it. Beatrice was patient, firm, and occasionally had to stifle a chuckle when I, for example, tried to curtsy and nearly launched myself backwards over a chaise lounge.
"You are… a surprisingly fast learner in some areas, My Lady," she conceded, after I finally managed a semi-respectable bow without toppling over. "Though your… innate tendencies are somewhat… unconventional."
"You mean my tendency to trip over air and say whatever pops into my head? Yeah, working on that."
During a brief respite, while Beatrice fetched some lemon water (because apparently, noble ladies didn't just chug tap water like us plebeians), I stared at my reflection. Veronica's face. It was still jarring. But the more I looked, the more… familiar it was becoming. Less like a stranger, more like a very, very convincing cosplay I couldn't take off.
The FlagVision hadn't reappeared since the stables, but the memory of it was vivid. It was a game-changer, literally. If I could learn to reliably trigger it, or at least understand its patterns, I might actually stand a chance.
A knock on the door interrupted my musings. Not Beatrice. This knock was lighter, more… playful.
"Enter?" I called out, trying to sound like I hadn't just been practicing not falling on my face.
The door opened, and in sauntered a young man with a shock of artfully messy auburn hair, eyes the color of warm honey that sparkled with mischief, and a charming, almost roguish grin. He was dressed impeccably in a velvet frock coat, but he wore it with a casual air that suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable with formality.
Elric Vale. Son of the Minister of Intelligence. Veronica's childhood friend. And, according to the game, the "flirtatious trickster" capture target. The one who, in most routes, hid a deeper affection for Veronica behind a barrage of teasing and pranks, only revealing his true feelings when it was often too late.
He waltzed into the room, a single perfect rose held delicately between his fingers.
"My dearest Veronica," he crooned, his voice smooth and playful. "I heard you had a rather… eventful morning at the stables. Did Midnight Fury finally decide your company was too stimulating for his delicate equine nerves?"
Above his head, a new FlagVision popped into existence:
[Elric Vale: Teasing Affection Level +3. Curiosity about "New" Veronica +5. STATUS: Playful Probing.]
Oh, for crying out loud, another one? Is this my life now? Accidental Harem Protagonist, Dude Edition?
"Elric," I said, trying for a tone of mild exasperation, which was probably what the original Veronica would have used. "To what do I owe this… intrusion?"
He placed a hand over his heart, feigning a mortal wound. "Intrusion? My lady, your words cut me deeper than any saber! I merely came to offer my commiserations. And perhaps… a small token of my undying, if occasionally exasperating, friendship." He presented the rose with a flourish.
I took it, trying not to fumble. It was a deep crimson, velvety soft. "Exasperating is right."
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He perched on the edge of the chaise lounge – the very one I'd nearly vaulted over earlier – with an easy grace that I envied.
"So, tell me, what truly happened? Did the Prince's glacial aura finally give you frostbite? Or did you simply decide that gravity was a social construct you no longer wished to adhere to?"
His teasing was relentless, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Genuine curiosity. He was sharp, this one. The son of the Minister of Intelligence wouldn't be easily fooled.
"I just… lost my footing," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It happens."
"To others, perhaps," Elric said, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping a notch. "But to Lady Veronica Everhart, the epitome of noble grace? The young woman who once rode that fire-breathing stallion bareback on a dare just to prove she could? Highly uncharacteristic, wouldn't you say?"
He remembered that? Crap. The original Veronica was apparently some kind of equestrian daredevil. My "lost my footing" excuse was looking flimsier by the second.
"People change, Elric," I said, meeting his gaze.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the playful glint momentarily replaced by a keen, analytical look. "Indeed, they do. And you, my dear Veronica, seem to have changed quite… dramatically. It's rather… fascinating."
The FlagVision above his head flickered: [Elric Vale: Suspicion Level +2. Fascination with Anomaly +7.]
This was a dangerous game. He was too perceptive.
"Fascinatingly clumsy, you mean," I retorted, trying to deflect.
He grinned, the playful light returning to his eyes. "Oh, the clumsiness adds a certain… je ne sais quoi. A delightful unpredictability. Before, you were all sharp edges and perfectly calculated barbs. Now… now there's a hint of delightful chaos. It's quite refreshing."
He leaned even closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Almost makes me wonder if someone swapped you out for a charmingly awkward country bumpkin in a fancy dress."
My heart hammered. He was joking. He had to be joking. But his eyes held a glint that suggested he was testing the waters, throwing out a wild theory to see how I'd react.
"Don't be ridiculous, Elric," I scoffed, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. "I'm still me. Just… having an off day. Or an off… lifetime, apparently." The last part slipped out before I could stop it.
His eyebrow arched. "An off lifetime? My, my, Veronica, feeling philosophical, are we? Or perhaps just overtired from your… tumbles?"
He was like a cat playing with a mouse. A very charming, very intelligent, very dangerous cat.
Beatrice returned then, carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemon water and two delicate glasses. Her expression was perfectly composed, but I could see the slight tightening around her eyes as she took in Elric's presence, sprawled comfortably on Veronica's chaise lounge.
"Lord Elric," she said, her voice cool. "An unexpected visit."
"Beatrice, my darling!" Elric exclaimed, beaming at her. "Always a pleasure. I was just keeping Lady Veronica company. Cheering her up after her… equestrian adventures."
Beatrice poured two glasses of water, her movements precise. She handed one to me, then offered one to Elric.
He took it with a wink. "Ah, lemon water. How very… Veronica." He took a sip, then his eyes twinkled. "Though, I confess, I sometimes pictured you more as a… fiery spiced wine kind of girl, especially after you set Lord Ashworth's prize-winning poodle on fire with that 'accidental' magic surge at the Spring Ball."
My jaw dropped. She did WHAT?
Beatrice coughed discreetly.
Elric grinned, clearly enjoying my shock. "Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten that little incident? It was the talk of the season! The poodle was fine, eventually. A bit singed, perhaps, and permanently terrified of anyone in a purple gown, but fine."
The original Veronica was a menace! A poodle-singeing, chaos-loving menace! And I was supposed to be her?
I looked from Elric's amused face to Beatrice's carefully blank one.
"I… uh… have no recollection of such a poodle-related pyrotechnic event," I said weakly.
Elric's grin widened. "No? Truly? Oh, this is even more delightful than I imagined. It seems our dear Veronica is not only clumsy but also… forgetful. What other charming quirks have you developed, I wonder?"
He was enjoying this way too much. And I had a sinking feeling that navigating Elric Vale was going to be just as perilous as dealing with Prince Lucian's icy disdain or Riven's unexpected sparks. Each capture target was a unique flavor of potential disaster.
My new life was less "New Game+" and more "Survival Horror: Etiquette Edition." And the game was just getting started.