Misclick! Now I'm an Villainess.. (WORKING ON)

Invitation To Trouble..

Knock, knock.

I freeze, the sound slicing through the ridiculous silence of my new, palace-sized bedroom.

My pulse quickens as I glare at the door. I don't know who's out there, but knowing my luck, it's probably someone with terrible news, a dramatic accusation, or—just to spice things up—a sword with my name on it.Who could it be? A maid? The heroine, coming for a showdown? Or, worst of all... the crown prince?

Another knock, sharper this time, like they're practically daring me to ignore them.

"Miss Mallory?"

A voice calls, calm but annoyingly firm.

"Crown prince Iris has requested your presence."

I jinxed it, And The CROWN prince?! My stomach twists. This is the guy the actual Villainess was obsessed with. The one she practically harassed for existing. If he's calling for me, it could only mean one of two things: he's either here to scold me for something I don't even remember doing... or he's here to personally hand me a one-way ticket to the dungeon.

I take a deep breath and call back, trying not to sound like I'm about to vomit,

"R-right. I'll be there shortly."

As I turn back into my room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and can't help rolling my eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

I'm standing here in what could probably be called a "gown" (if you define gown as "three pounds of velvet and lace shaped like a tent"), preparing to meet the crown prince—who probably already hates my guts. Oh yeah, Mallory, totally just another regular Wednesday for you. But I'm here now, for better or worse. This is my life... or maybe, more accurately, my punishment.

On the Way to the Garden..

I open the door to find a maid waiting for me, looking way too calm for someone who's escorting me to possible doom.

"Prince Iris is in the gardens,"

she says, and her eyes flicker over me like she's sizing me up.

"Shall I escort you?"

"Yes... please,"

I say, injecting as much confidence as I can muster, which isn't much. My voice sounds steady, but my insides are on a high-speed roller coaster.

As we walk down an endless corridor, lined with more portraits of disapproving nobles than I care to count,
I wonder if I'm the only one around here who finds all this ridiculous. It's like I'm in some fever dream of royal clichés: chandeliers everywhere, marble floors polished enough to blind you, and servants who sneak side-eyes at me like they're expecting me to explode.

Maybe they're right..

We reach the doors to the garden, and my eyes are momentarily dazzled by sunlight streaming through the glass,

highlighting a picture-perfect scene: roses, neatly trimmed hedges,

and the prince standing there like he's the main character of his own personal fairy tale.