Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

I rolled my eyes, but my heart felt lighter. Let it try. I didn't know if I should laugh, cry, or take up a third, less exhausting hobby, like pottery. Or sword-swallowing. It was a rare thing, for hope and dread to nest side by side in my chest, gnawing away like polite rats who'd agreed to share the spoils. But tonight, there it was: something between grief and a ridiculous, stubborn happiness.

Sleep felt like a dare, and yet the exhaustion physical, emotional, and existential caught up with me as I changed into an old shirt that smelled faintly of rosemary and ink. I dropped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks and wondering which one would fall on me first. Every pillow felt too soft, every blanket too heavy, every breath too loud. I couldn't remember if I was supposed to rejoice or mourn.

A villain, or a lover, or some new thing I hadn't quite named. All I knew was that I missed her, hated her, wanted her forgiveness, and, most of all, that I was not entirely sure which part of me was more dangerous.

Just sleep, I ordered myself, half-expecting the system to offer a snarky lullaby. But for once, even it was silent. A truce. A small miracle.

Across the castle, in a chamber lined with banners older than regret and stained with candle smoke and old victories, a council was underway. Or, as it was more commonly known, a late-night parental huddle of disaster prevention.

Queen Verida, resplendent in a dressing gown that could have doubled as war armor, paced before the hearth, her golden eyes narrowed. Queen Nyssara, graceful even when exhausted, sat with her legs crossed, fingers drumming a silent march on the arm of her chair. Daena, the demon grandmother whose glare could melt steel, lurked in the shadows, a cup of something suspiciously non-tea cradled in her hands.

"She's too unpredictable," Daena was saying, for the third time in as many hours. "You saw her face. That is the face of someone plotting if not regicide, then at least an extremely inconvenient love affair."

Nyssara sighed, her eyes reflecting the candlelight like two patient moons. "If every girl with feelings for my daughter was plotting treason, we'd have to double the guards every solstice. It's her own fault for being so dramatic."

Verida stopped pacing. "Liria is a risk. We can't ignore that. Even if she was controlled, even if she claims to regret it, there's no proof she won't switch again. All it takes is the right whisper. Or the wrong heartbreak."

Daena grunted. "I could lock her up. Not the dungeons, obviously. Something tasteful. Velvet chains. A window with a view."

"That's called a hotel," Nyssara said, so dryly Daena nearly smiled. "We cannot lock up every ghost from our past. Not if we want to live in the present."

Verida folded her arms. "She did save Enara in the end."

"She also led an army against us the week before," Daena reminded. "Excuse me for not being moved by her selfless timing."

A brief silence, as each of them weighed the balance between forgiveness and safety. Somewhere in the hall, a night breeze rattled the stained-glass panes, sending slashes of colored light over old stone and new scars.

Nyssara spoke first, soft but firm. "Enara will decide what to do with her heart. It's not our place."

"Of course it's our place," Verida snapped, whirling. "We're her mothers. Our job is to prevent disaster. Or at least offer strongly-worded advice."

Daena shifted, her tail flicking with annoyance. "Enara is not a child. She's more dangerous than either of us at her age. She'll choose. She'll love, she'll fight, she'll break her heart a hundred times before the world ends. All we can do is make sure she survives the lesson."

Nyssara poured more tea a nervous, ceremonial gesture. "Perhaps Liria deserves a chance. Redemption, if you prefer. Or at least a supervised trial. If she truly wishes to atone, let her prove it with deeds, not speeches."

Verida huffed. "If she betrays us again"

"We'll be ready," Daena said, with a glint in her eye that promised exactly as much mercy as a blade in the dark.

Nyssara's gaze softened, her fingers resting on Verida's arm. "Let them be children, if only for a night. We'll play our part, but we cannot live their story for them."

Verida relented, slumping into a chair with the resigned grace of a monarch who knows fate will have its way, no matter how many precautions are taken. "Fine. But if I see that girl sneaking into Enara's room after curfew, I'm doubling the patrols."

Daena's mouth twitched, a rare near-smile. "You always say that, and yet…"

They sat in silence for a moment, three guardians caught between power and powerlessness, watching shadows flicker across the ceiling.

Meanwhile, sleep found me at last, winding in on slow, wary feet. My dreams were strange and muddled shifting corridors, laughter that sounded almost like forgiveness, hands reaching out and never quite touching.

Sometime before dawn, I woke briefly to the sound of footsteps in the hall. For a moment, heart racing, I thought it might be Enara. But the steps faded, and the silence returned, gentler now.

I curled up, pulling the heavy blanket to my chin, and let myself drift, wondering if tomorrow would be the day she spoke to me, or the day she broke my heart all over again.

Either way, I promised myself, I won't run.

Not from her. Not from myself. Not even from the awkward possibility that, in this bruised and mending world, I might still be worth loving even if it meant being the punchline to the castle's latest joke.

The last thought I heard before sleep truly claimed me was the system, smirking somewhere in the deep:

[Try not to drool on the pillow. Nothing ruins redemption like a wet patch.]

And for the first time in ages, I laughed myself to sleep.