Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

It is a universal truth, seldom acknowledged in heroic ballads, that redemption is less about dramatic confessions and more about being wrenched from sleep at an hour so ungodly it makes demons repent. I learned this the hard way specifically, at the hands (and horns) of Daena.

My dreams had just reached that rare state of bliss: a sprawling library, Enara laughing, Ananara performing interpretive dance atop a pile of law books. And then doom. A bellow that could peel paint.

"Liria. Up. Now."

I shot upright so violently I nearly headbutted Daena. She caught me by the scruff of my nightshirt, eyes flashing with the satisfaction of a woman who'd waited two years to drag her adoptive granddaughter out of bed. The sun, traitorous wretch that it is, hadn't even bothered to rise yet.

"Time to atone for your sins," Daena said, with an energy I could only describe as "apocalyptic PE teacher." "Today you work. The old-fashioned way."

I blinked, bleary, trying to remember the last time I'd been awake this early voluntarily. Maybe never. "Is this… about last night's sparring match? Because I think Enara actually won on points."

Daena ignored me, tossing a bundle of rough clothes at my face. "Put these on. Meet me in the east wing. No magic, no excuses. If I catch you slacking, I'll find a use for you in the latrines."

I tried a weak joke. "Will there be breakfast?"

"You can have as much dust as you like."

Five minutes later, I was in work trousers and an old shirt, my hair tied back in something approaching a ponytail, trudging down corridors littered with scaffolding and broken dreams. The castle, in daylight, revealed every wound: cracked pillars, shattered stained glass, scorch marks tracing the story of every battle I'd helped cause.

The work gang, already assembled, regarded me with the mix of suspicion and glee reserved for traitors sentenced to manual labor. Daena handed me a bucket and a brush the size of a broadsword.

"Start with the floors. If you finish, you move on to hauling stone."

"Any chance of a union break?" I asked.

"Only if you break your arms."

The magical bracelet on my wrist still shimmered, sealing off all but the most basic of abilities. But physical strength was another matter: demon blood, stubbornness, and the world's worst sleep schedule had their perks.

I threw myself into the work, half out of pride, half out of defiance. Every brushstroke was a silent argument with the past. I cleaned soot from mosaics, swept shards of crystal from corners, hauled planks across courtyards while Daena supervised with the satisfaction of someone watching a soap opera.

It turns out guilt is a terrific motivator. So is being glared at by a hundred-year-old demon queen.

After what felt like several lifetimes, Kael appeared in a gust of enthusiasm and dust. His shirt was rolled up, exposing forearms engineered in a lab for heroic deeds and, I suspect, to make exiled villainesses feel inadequate.

"Need a hand?" he asked, picking up a beam twice his size.

I eyed him. "Are you here to rescue me or recruit me for a team-building exercise?"

He grinned, all sunshine and dimples. "I thought maybe we could talk. Get to know each other. Build some trust. Or, at least, not drop this thing on my foot."

He hefted a stone block with what he clearly hoped was effortless grace. It wobbled, nearly toppling onto his toes. I grabbed the other end, steadying it.

"Careful, hero. If you break your foot, you'll lose your dramatic entrance privileges."

Kael laughed, undeterred. "So. What was it like being gone so long?"

I almost dropped my end of the stone. "Exhilarating. Lonely. Full of existential dread and bad soup. You?"

He considered this, brow furrowed. "Mostly… routine. Training. Waiting. Wishing things would go back to normal. I didn't think you'd come back, honestly."

"Well, I've never been one for sensible decisions," I said, deadpan.

We dropped the stone (gently, this time) onto the growing wall, stepping back to admire—or mourn—the work.

Kael's eyes were soft, hopeful. "People can change, you know. You're proof of that. I just… I want you to know, if you ever need a friend—"

From behind a nearby pillar, Ananara's voice rang out, high with derision and delight: "Kael, unless you're about to propose marriage or ask her to help move your furniture, maybe try less sap and more sense."

Kael flushed so red I wondered if his skin might combust. "Sorry, I uh just trying to help."

I felt, for a brief, uncharitable moment, a wicked pleasure in watching someone else flounder. "Your heart's in the right place, Kael. But maybe pace yourself. Try a friendly rivalry before the heartfelt declarations."

He perked up at that. "I could challenge you to a race? Or arm wrestling?"

"With you or with Ananara?" I asked.

Ananara rolled into view atop a wheelbarrow, his leaves splayed in mocking applause. "At this rate, I'll be carrying both of you."

Kael looked at the pineapple, clearly unsure how to address a talking fruit. "Can you really lift—"

Ananara interrupted with a scandalized gasp. "Never question my gains, mortal."

Despite myself, I laughed a full, helpless laugh that bounced around the ruined hall and made several workers glance over in confusion.

Kael grinned. "See, you're already fitting in."

"Or I'm losing my mind," I replied, smiling despite the ache in my arms.

We spent the next hour in the strange ballet of forced community service. Daena assigned me to stack bricks with a troll who spoke only in grunts and occasionally sang opera. Kael tried to keep pace, asking me questions about travel, hobbies, and my "favorite way to relax after committing light treason."

Ananara spent most of the morning offering running commentary:

— "Nice form, Liria. You almost look like you know what you're doing."

— "Kael, you missed a spot. About three kingdoms' worth."

— "If I had hands, I'd help. But alas, fate cursed me with only wisdom and wit."

At some point, Kael managed to pin his hand under a board. I rescued him with one arm, which made him beam at me as if I'd performed a miracle. Daena watched from a distance, arms crossed, mouth twitching between a scowl and reluctant amusement.

Around midday, as I scrubbed ancient scorch marks from a tapestry that had survived three sieges and one regrettable feast, Kael sidled closer.

"So," he said, tone grave, "if you could have any wish, what would it be?"

I paused, staring at the dark swirl of history under my brush. "Forgiveness, I think. And a better mattress."

Kael nodded solemnly. "You'll get there. The forgiveness, I mean. The mattress might take some work."

Ananara cackled from the top of a pile of stone. "With lines like that, Kael, it's no wonder you're still single."

Kael managed to look both wounded and hopeful. "Well, there's always time."

He shot me a look so earnest I nearly tripped over my own bucket.

After several more hours of labor hauling, stacking, cleaning, and learning that the only thing worse than physical exhaustion is emotional small talk I finally collapsed on the steps, arms jelly, hair escaping in every direction.

Daena approached, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Not bad. Maybe we'll make a demon out of you yet."

I smirked. "Do I get a certificate?"

"No. You get the afternoon shift."

Kael groaned. "You're relentless."

Daena arched an eyebrow. "Thank you. I try."

Ananara snorted. "She'll outlive us all, you know."