Reborn as the Fated Villain

"ᚷᛟᛞᛞᛖᛋᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛗᛟᛟᚾ Goddess of the moon ᚺᛖᚨᚱ ᛗᚤ ᛈᚱᚨᚤᛖᚱ hear my prayer ᛋᚺᚱᛟᚢᛞ ᛗᛖ ᛁᚾ ᚤᛟᚢᚱ ᛚᛁᚷᚺᛏ shroud me in your light ᚨᚾᛞ ᛟᛒᛋᚲᚢᚱᛖ ᛗᛖ ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᛗᛟᚱᛏᚨᛚ'ᛋ ᛋᛁᚷᚺᛏ and obscure me from mortal's sight."

Celestial mana radiating from the hidden moon wrapped around the elven woman's form as she vaulted over the side of a bridge. The smooth stone of the Kassinki capital vanished under her as she free-fell onto the street below. Her silky silver hair fluttered freely in the howling wind.

She landed in a tumble; a second cloaked figure dropped behind her in a more measured stance. "Princess," the cloaked figure hissed as silver hair fell from her hood. "Are you all right, Princess?" she asked in a panic as she reached to help her up.

"I'm. Fine. Imryll." Emilia pushed herself off the floor with a grunt. "Stop calling me Princess. Emi is fine. Ow, ow." Emilia clutched her knee, attempting to reduce the numbness from the fall.

Imryll stood over the princess and quickly surveyed the surroundings. Merchants unloaded goods from carts and paid little attention to them; Imryll eventually found the decrepit alley she was looking for. It lay between two unassuming stores. "Beldroth is right around the corner. Shall I carry you…Emi?" she whispered to the still-kneeling woman.

Emilia staggered to her feet and stumbled toward the alley on the right. "Just follow me," she replied through clenched teeth. "I can rest during the journey."

The two cloaked figures pushed through the busy underpass, keeping cloak hoods up and eyes on the ground.

The moonlight illusion kept pesky eyes away from the two as they advanced; Emi avoided the scurrying residents while Imryll blinked in and out of existence beside her with a district hum.

They moved fast. They had to.

There were too many eyes to avoid forever, and word would soon spread. The princess had run. And she wasn't turning back.

The titanic northern gate of the capital came into full view as the pair rounded the corner; before its majesty was a convoy of carriages surrounded by elves. The majority of the carts were loaded high with fruit and preserved meats, while a few others had precious materials such as magisteel or gold.

The elves stood guard, watching the loading procedure with eagle-like caution. On their capes, a silver moon crest glistened in the morning light, giving away their status as knights of House Silvermoon. Princess Emilia's family. Their heavily enchanted armor gleamed in the dawn, and the other merchants gave the group a wide breadth.

Beldroth stood small in all his glory, chest puffed out and a silver flask in hand containing vile alcohol. Despite his arrogance, dark bags hung below his eyes. It had been rough for them all. Hence, they had to leave.

"Beldroth," Emilia said as she appeared beside him, her moonlight veil vanishing into the winter wind.

To his credit, the hardened military man hardly reacted and instead silently gestured toward one of the simpler carriages. "Hide in there; we leave within the hour."

***

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The farmer's carriage was beyond crude. Wooden benches lacking any form of padding vibrated and jumped as the carriage sped across the endless plains of the northern wastelands. The sun dipped across the eastern horizon, bringing a newfound chill within the wooden walls.

The convoy did not stop, even for breaks throughout the day. There was no time. Jannalor had notified all those still drawing mortal breath within the noble ranks to flee. Prince August's clutches spread far too deep, and civil war was inevitable. Previously, escape seemed impossible with nowhere to go, yet unknown to those undead residing in the capital, there was somewhere to go. Somewhere safe. A place controlled by an unlikely suspect.

Emilia blew on her hands to keep them warm; she felt the silence eat away at her active mind, so she began questioning the elf opposite her. "I wonder what Blackthorn will be like."

Imryll struggled to hide a blush. "I'm sure it's lovely." She then quickly added, "Certainly better than a city ruled by the undead with a psychopathic tyrant as its future leader."

Emilia nodded, her silver hair falling freely over her shoulders. "With my brother's A-grade necromancy, he's as strong as Jannalor and maybe even Amaleteia Magigrace. Not even Father can stand up to his wrath anymore." Emilia fought back a tear. "Mother will escape, right?"

Imryll agreed without hesitation. "So long as House Silvermoon draws breath, Queen Kaylessa will be fine. Princess, you have nothing to worry about, especially with Sir Damien on our side."

Emilia squinted her eyes at the elf. "You never told me what occurred in that vampire's mansion, and you have an unusual longing in your voice whenever his name comes up." Then, tapping her finger on the bench to the rhythm of the wheel in contemplation, she continued, "In fact, you were the one who was most onboard with abandoning the capital. Say, Imryll. What happened?"

Imryll seemed genuinely confused, trying to remember a distant memory. "I think I infiltrated his mansion, and he caught me red-handed. So I tried to escape…" Her brows scrunched up, ruining her elven features. "I don't remember what happened. I just have an overwhelming feeling of acting normal." Then, with a shrug, she added, "I went there, passed out, and woke up in a bed. Damien entered, completely naked, and claimed I missed a step and fell hard on the ground, knocking my head."

"And you believed him?!" Emilia couldn't contain her confusion. "Why was he naked? How could a Spatial mage hit their head and it conveniently causes memory loss? Also, you never told me he caught you."

Imryll frowned. "He was very sincere about it, Princess. I felt no ill will toward him or from him. It really must have been an accident!"

Emilia clenched her teeth, her silvery hair falling across her face. "You are like them. Aren't you?"

Imryll tilted her head. "Princess?"

Emilia stood, rose to her full height, and pointed an accusing finger at her elven spy. "Tell me with a straight face that could kill Damien right now. He's controlling you, isn't he? Vampires are great with blood magic; even with our limited knowledge, we know they excel in controlling humans!"

Imryll looked at her hands in distress. "Princess?" She shook in fear. "I'm not controlled! Aren't I talking to you right now?"

Emilia let out a long sigh. "You honestly believe a vampire prince of all nobles would allow a spy to escape unscathed? Foolish." She cursed under her breath. "We shall see how a puppet greets its master."

***

The iron bells of Blackthorn rang, signifying an incoming convoy once more. Overseers scuttled onto Blackthorn's refurbished walls with morbid curiosity. A hundred-strong convoy appeared on the horizon, flanked by the Royal Guard of House Silvermoon.

They shined like a beacon upon the wasteland in the evening light; their advance was swift and without obstacle.

Damien waited under Blackthorn's gate while Fay stood idly to his side. The marquess was also in attendance, and his knights proudly lined up in a show of might.

Eventually, the convoy passed the various buildings constructed around Blackthorn and stopped before the gates. Elves in enchanted armor donning the Silvermoon crest were a sight to behold as they gave way to their captain.

Damien held back a laugh as the tiny, pompous man marched toward him. "Duke Nightshade, it's been far too long." The man held out his hand, and Damien hesitantly shook it.

"Beldroth. It appears my delivery is here."

Beldroth smiled. "Well, that and a little extra baggage. I hope you won't mind…"

Damien raised a brow. "Oh?"

The door of a nearby farmer's carriage, similar to the one Damien used on his first day in this world, opened, and a cloaked figure stepped out.

The cloak was a classic brown and obscured her features, but Damien felt a connection.

Without hesitation, the cloaked figure charged at him, dagger raised.

Damien smirked. "This scene feels familiar."

Her green eyes went red. Dagger held just above Damien's chest, her body was unable to move another step.

"Insolent."

The backhand was swift and brutal; bone audibly cracked as Imryll flew through the air, screaming, eventually landing in a heap at the feet of someone Damien knew all too well.

Princess Emilia.

And she was furious.