Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

Enara watched from the high gallery, arms folded, eyes narrowed, chin resting on the windowsill as if she were a decorative gargoyle installed purely to monitor the progress of redemption and, by extension, the proximity of traitors to annoyingly cheerful human heroes.

The morning was blindingly bright, the kind of optimistic sunshine she resented on principle, and the castle courtyard teemed with life and restoration.

Hammers struck, voices sang, magic flickered except, notably, for the figure at the center of it all, laboring without a scrap of spellwork, sweat darkening her collar, eyes set with that particular flavor of stubbornness only Liria had ever possessed.

And Kael of course was beside her. The man had the unshakable persistence of mildew, always reappearing, uninvited, in places he didn't strictly belong. He was helping Liria lift stones, offering encouragement, smiling as if forgiveness were a matter of polite conversation and mutual back pain.

Enara's jaw ached. She blamed the window frame, but the truth was far less dignified. I do not care. I do not care if he makes her laugh. I do not care if he helps her haul bricks or makes her feel welcome or gives her that stupid, infuriating look of eternal hope.

A lie so thin even the breeze dared not carry it.

From this distance, she could pretend she was impartial a queen in waiting, surveying her realm with clinical interest. But the truth gnawed at her: she watched because she cared. She cared because she'd never learned how not to.

Worse, the echo of last night haunted her: the tangle of limbs in the sand, the raw shock in Liria's eyes, the impossibly soft edge of what almost happened. A moment that had burned so bright, it left a brand in her chest.

Idiot, she thought. What would you have done, if you hadn't pushed her away?

The answer arrived in an unwanted flush that crept up her neck. She would have kissed Liria. She would have said something disastrous. She would have what? Fallen, all over again, and risked the fragile scaffolding she'd built between her pride and her heart.

She glanced back down. Liria was wiping sweat from her brow, laughing laughing! at something Kael had said. The sound drifted upward, light and careless, a sound Enara had missed without admitting it. It set her nerves on fire.

She almost wanted to storm down, declare Kael persona non grata, and drag Liria away to discuss the many creative uses of shovels in exiled villainess management. Instead, she settled for a slow, careful glare—one of her better ones, the kind that could curdle milk and send minor demons scuttling under furniture.

But Liria didn't look up. Kael only beamed wider. And Ananara, perched on a broken balustrade, cackled so hard he nearly toppled into the gravel.

Enara drew herself up, forcing her voice to the surface with a queen's composure. "Mother, can we send Kael to the border on a goodwill mission? Preferably somewhere with no food, water, or audience?"

Nyssara who had materialized beside her with the quiet grace of an assassin did not smile, but her eyes sparkled. "That would be undiplomatic, darling. And suspicious. Besides, your mother's watching. She'd be disappointed if you started another war over personal matters."

Verida, on the other side, snorted. "You could always join them. Show Kael how to lift stones properly. Or show Liria how to ignore heroes. You're quite talented at that, I believe."

Enara rolled her eyes. "I'm not jealous. I just don't trust her. Or him. Or anyone, really. Except Ananara. He's too lazy to plot anything."

From the courtyard, a distant shout: Kael, congratulating Liria for hauling a beam twice his size. Enara watched Liria flex (showoff) and lift it with one hand, just to be perverse.

Nyssara sighed, her tone gentle but unyielding. "You could speak with her, you know. Instead of watching from the shadows."

"I did speak with her," Enara replied. "I tackled her in the sand and nearly—" She cut herself off, feeling her cheeks flame.

Verida's lips twitched. "Nearly?"

Enara tried to sound bored. "Nearly embarrassed myself."

Nyssara patted her shoulder. "Every queen must learn to lose her dignity, once or twice."

Enara shrugged off the hand, refusing to admit the comfort. "She betrayed us. She can sweat for her redemption."

Verida, always more direct, fixed her with a look. "Are you so sure she's the only one with something to atone for?"

The words lodged deep. Enara did not answer.

Down below, the work continued. Kael, emboldened by his earlier near-death experience with a wheelbarrow, tried to start a conversation with Liria. He gestured, gesticulated, then offered her a small wildflower, awkward as a duck in a tiara. Liria accepted it, inspected it as if for traps, and tucked it behind her ear. Ananara promptly rolled over, laughed so hard a passing maid shrieked, and declared Kael "the world's most tragic suitor."

Enara's chest squeezed. There was a time she would have been the one to bring Liria wildflowers often plucked from the queen's garden, usually followed by scoldings, always worth the trouble.

Why did I run? she wondered, bitterness rising. Why do I let her drift so far, then ache when she doesn't turn back?

She could feel her mothers' eyes on her, waiting, patient as the moon. She hated being watched, even more than she hated watching. It made her feel small, unfinished.

A memory rose: Liria's breath on her cheek, that half-second of pure, terrifying possibility. She could still taste the moment, bittersweet and unresolved.

"I should go train," Enara muttered, pushing away from the window. "Someone has to be ready if Liria starts another insurrection."

Nyssara nodded, smile rueful. "We're always watching, darling. For your sake, not just hers."

Verida's voice followed as Enara strode down the hall: "Be careful, Enara. Hearts break more easily than kingdoms."

Enara pretended not to hear. She made her way to the training hall, picked up a sword, and hacked at the target dummies until her arms trembled. Each blow was a word she'd never said, a confession she'd never risked, a wild hope she dared not name.

By midday, she was slick with sweat, breathing hard, hair tangled and wild. She slumped on a bench, cursing herself for cowardice. Talk to her, she thought. Just talk to her. Or at least don't glare every time Kael tries to be a hero.

The door creaked. Ananara's voice drifted in, smug as ever. "Good swing, princess. But you'll never win her back with that left hook."

Enara threw a towel at him. "Go haunt someone else."

"Already haunting you, darling. It's much more entertaining." He winked. "Shall I deliver a message?"

Enara rolled her eyes, but some stubborn part of her wondered what she would say if she dared, if she could.