Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

"Why do I still love you?" Enara whispered into her pillow, the words lost to the soft fabric and the wider, indifferent universe. It was late, moonlight slanting silver through the glass, throwing her scattered thoughts into sharper relief. There was no answer, of course. Not from the ceiling, not from her bruised heart, not even from the wind sighing beyond the warded stone.

But there was, it seemed, an answer from the mattress.

A suspiciously lumpy, faintly fruity answer.

Something warm and vaguely spiky pressed into her back.

"Liria, if that's you, I swear—" she grumbled, only to find her hand sinking into a pile of cool leaves, not midnight hair.

A shape wriggled under the covers, giggling in a way that could only be described as criminally mischievous. Before Enara could shout, a small, dignified pineapple emerged from beneath her pillow, blinking its dewy eyes and smiling the tragic, timeworn smile of fruit who had seen the world and found it lacking.

"Ananara!" she yelped, jerking back so hard she almost fell off the bed. "What how why are you in my bed?"

"It was cold," the pineapple answered, as if this explained everything. "And lonely. And you have the softest blankets in the palace. Besides, I missed you. My therapist says I should be more honest about my needs."

"Your therapist?"

"Dr. Saffron, the sage bush outside the kitchens. She's very wise, though a bit too focused on deep-root hydration."

Enara pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Out. Now. Or I swear I'll toss you out the window and let the nightbirds fight over your soul."

Ananara sighed, melodramatic to the core. "Is that any way to treat an old friend? Or the only being here who's actually rooting for your love life?"

"I'm not discussing my love life with a sentient fruit." She gathered her pillow, preparing for violence.

He, apparently, was expecting it. With the resigned bravery of someone who has been punted across a room before, Ananara chirped, "Just don't aim for the chandelier this time."

Too late.

Her foot found its mark, and Ananara sailed in a perfect arc, bounced off the wardrobe with a thud, and rolled almost elegantly into the cushioned window seat.

For a moment, silence. Then a muffled, "Ouch. Ten points for style, minus several for bedside manner."

Enara glared, her patience wearing thinner than the palace repair budget. "If you ever sneak into my bed again, I'll chop you up for garnish and serve you with basil. Do you understand me?"

"Crystal," he squeaked, brushing imaginary dust from his crown. "But you'll regret it. No one likes pineapple with basil."

She took a deep breath, trying to summon the intimidating composure her mothers wielded so effortlessly. "State your business. Quickly. And if it involves Liria, make it brief."

Ananara settled himself, looking entirely too comfortable for a talking fruit recently used as projectile weaponry. "First, allow me to say: you handled that whole 'tragic heartbreak' scene like a true royal. Even your slap technique is improved."

"Get to the point."

He bobbed in place, leaves quivering. "Play hard to get, Enara. It's classic. Everyone wants what they can't have, especially idiots who run off for two years, join the enemy, and then stumble home covered in existential regret. If you run to her now, she'll think you're easy. Or desperate. Or both."

Enara frowned. "I'm not playing anything. I just don't want her thinking I forgave her after one apology."

"Exactly!" Ananara declared. "That's the spirit. Make her work for it. Let her stew. Let her suffer. But not too much, or she'll spiral, and then we'll all be mopping up dramatic declarations and possibly another magical coup."

"I'm not here for relationship games. We're at war. Our people are rebuilding. I can't afford—"

"Oh, spare me the speeches." Ananara rolled his eyes, which was impressive, since they didn't technically roll. "You can save the world and be a little mysterious. Consider it multitasking."

Enara threw up her hands. "You're a fruit. Why do you even care?"

He gave her the look usually reserved for idiots who put tomatoes in fruit salads. "Because someone needs to make sure this story doesn't end in tragedy. Also, Liria owes me five silver for a card game she lost in the old days, and I prefer my debts paid."

She couldn't help it: she laughed. A low, exhausted laugh, but real. "You're the worst advisor I've ever had."

"I prefer 'most honest.'" Ananara straightened, serious now. "And watch out for Kael."

Enara's mirth vanished. "What?"

"I've seen the way he looks at Liria. Like he's about to recite poetry or try to slay a dragon in her honor. Humans are unpredictable, especially when they're in love. He might not understand her like you do, but he's got that annoying hero glow. Sometimes, that's enough to tip the scales."

Enara looked away, chewing her lip. "He's not the problem. Liria she's always wanted the impossible. Maybe this time, she'll choose it again."

Ananara rolled closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "If you love her, let her see you can live without her. Heroes hate that. Idiots too, sometimes."

Enara stared at her hands, knuckles white. "Easy for you to say. You can't feel what I feel."

The pineapple went uncharacteristically quiet, his leaves drooping. "I may not have a heart," he said softly, "but I know what it's like to be left behind. Don't let pride keep you both miserable."

She swallowed, the old ache pulsing in her chest. "You think she still wants me?"

"I think she'd crawl through fire for another chance to explain herself." His voice, for once, was gentle. "But she's terrified she's lost you. And sometimes, terror makes fools of everyone."

There was a long silence, broken only by the wind rattling the shutters.

Enara shivered. "What do I do?"

He tilted his crown. "You keep your crown straight, your spine tall, and your heart… a little bit open. Not too open. Just enough that if she knocks, you'll hear it."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Is this what you tell all your tragic friends?"

He grinned. "Only the worthy ones. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to avoid being made into a tart."

With that, he rolled himself out the door, humming a tune suspiciously like a romantic ballad.

Enara curled back under her covers, the room suddenly very large and very quiet. The ache was still there, but so was something else a strange, stubborn hope. Maybe it was idiotic. Maybe it would end in heartbreak. But as she drifted toward sleep, she let herself imagine a future where apologies could be believed, trust rebuilt, and love however battered might just survive.

And if not? Well, at least she'd have the satisfaction of knowing she could always kick a pineapple straight across a room. Some skills, after all, were worth keeping.