Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant

Alice leaned back against the carved armrest of her chair, eyes half-lidded as memory replayed itself.

The incident had been nothing remarkable—at least, it shouldn't have been. For someone like her, stares were inevitable. Every ballroom, every corridor, every gathering since childhood had been filled with them. Admiration, envy, resentment… it was the air she breathed. She had long since stopped noticing.

But this time, she had noticed.

His eyes.

Julius's gaze wasn't the sly, irreverent one she had grown used to—the one that made her want to scold him and laugh at the same time. No, it had been wide, unfocused, almost dazed.

As though he had forgotten himself for a moment.

As though he were looking not at his master, but at something untouchable.

'The same as the others,' she thought bitterly, her lips curving faintly. 'The same shallow reverence I see in courtiers and fools.'

And yet… it hadn't felt the same.

There had been no calculation behind it. No polite mask or flattery. Just raw, unguarded awe.

She should have hated it. She should have scoffed at such foolishness.

But instead—her fingers tightened slightly against her gown's sleeve—she had felt something else.

A quiet warmth, unsettling in its simplicity.

It wasn't about loyalty. Loyalty she could command from anyone, with her name, her blood, her title. Loyalty was her birthright.

This was different.

For a fleeting second, it had felt like she was being seen—not as the Duchess's heir, not as the frost of the north, but simply as Alice.

And that… that was dangerous.

Her eyes flicked toward the door, the faintest shadow of a smile tugging at her lips before vanishing again.

"…Troublesome boy," she whispered under her breath, though her heart betrayed her with its faint quickening.

Alice drew in a slow breath and smoothed the front of her dress as if brushing the thought away.

It was ridiculous, really. To let something so small linger in her mind. A servant boy staring as though bewitched—what of it? People had always stared. Men and women twice his age, lords and knights who had seen more of the world than he ever would, all of them had fallen into silence before her presence.

Yet somehow… it had unsettled her more than any of those grand halls filled with nobles.

"Hmph." Her lips curved in a faint, practiced smirk. "He should remember his place."

That was safer. To treat it as no more than a servant's clumsy lapse. That mischievous, irritating boy would return soon enough, teasing her with insolence until she wanted to chase him out herself. That was the way things should be.

And when that happened, she would forget about the look in his eyes entirely.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She stood, graceful as ever, her expression cool and untouched—as if she hadn't just spent several minutes recalling a single glance. To anyone watching, she was the perfect Lady of Draken once more.

But deep within, the faint warmth refused to scatter, no matter how sternly she tried to dismiss it.

Knock, knock—

The crisp sound broke through the thick air of the room.

"Come in," Alice said, her posture straightening as she gracefully folded her hands on her lap.

Click—

The door opened, and stepping inside was a young woman about Alice's age. Her presence immediately altered the atmosphere.

Green hair, long and lustrous, spilled down her waist like a cascade of emerald silk. Her eyes—deep violet, sharp and alluring—swept across the chamber before settling on Alice. She didn't need to announce herself. That kind of aura could only belong to one person.

Emma Voss.

The young lady of the western ducal family, heir to one of the empire's four great houses. She carried the weight of her name in every step, and the pride of her lineage shimmered subtly in her gaze.

Alice rose just enough to acknowledge her without lowering herself, her smile polite but restrained. "Lady Voss. Welcome to the north."

"A long journey, but not unpleasant," Emma replied smoothly, her voice warm but edged with steel. She glanced around briefly, then let her eyes return to Alice. "Your household runs as efficiently as the rumors claim."

Alice tilted her head slightly, her smile curving. "Rumors tend to exaggerate, but I'll take that as a compliment."

She gestured gracefully toward the chair opposite. "Please, have a seat."

Emma moved with measured steps, the faint rustle of her gown accompanying her as she settled into the seat with the poise of one born into power. Her eyes lingered on Alice, assessing, weighing—not rudely, but with a frankness that would have unsettled anyone less accustomed to scrutiny.

Two daughters of dukes, two pillars of the empire, seated across from one another.

And between them—unspoken, but heavy—was the shadow of the Phantom Thief.

It was Emma who finally broke the silence.

"I want to change the terms of our deal."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And here I thought we had agreed on something mutually beneficial. This is… surprising."

Emma's lips curled faintly. "Don't worry. I'll still give you the information you want about the Phantom Thief."

That eased nothing. If anything, Alice's guard sharpened further. Changing the conditions of a deal with the Voss ducal family was never a small matter. Emma wasn't the type to speak lightly—this could easily drag them into territory neither had the authority to tread.

"…Very well. I'll hear you out before I decide. What exactly do you want?"

"Nothing too difficult. In fact, you might find it easier than before."

Emma idly twirled a lock of her dark hair, the movement deliberate, practiced, almost mocking.

"Handing over the Phantom Thief after capture?" She let out a low laugh. "I don't even expect that. We've been after him for decades, and every attempt has failed. It was a far-fetched promise from the start."

Alice's fingers stilled against the polished table. So that was it—Emma was calling her bluff.

"I'd rather propose something else."

"Go on."

"There's a thief who's made quite a name for himself here in the North lately, isn't there? Faceless Imposter, was it?"

At the mention of that name, Alice's chest tightened, a chill sinking deep into her bones.

Emma's smile sharpened. "Public disgrace must be answered with public action. If we cannot catch the Phantom Thief, then capturing this new criminal—this 'Faceless Imposter'—in the mines will help restore the reputation of House Voss. A different thief, but just as symbolic. Don't you agree?"

Alice's nails bit into her palm beneath the tablecloth. …This was troublesome.

The Faceless Imposter belonged to her. Not in name, not in blood, but in resolve. She needed him alive, needed his identity uncovered. Every step she had taken, every string she had pulled, had been for that purpose. Handing him over was out of the question.

"I understand your intent," she said coolly. "But in that case, let's make the terms clearer."

"Oh?"

"There is no need to hand him over. He is mine."

Emma's eyes flicked, surprised for the first time. "What?"

"The thief in the North will be dealt with by the North," Alice continued, voice steady as steel. "There is no room for negotiation in this."

The faint curve of Emma's lips returned, though this time it carried the bite of challenge. "How very typical of the North. Possessive, territorial. What are you planning then, Lady Draken? A swift execution to make an example?"

"You needn't concern yourself with that." Alice's gaze narrowed, cold enough to frost glass. "Besides… he isn't just a thief. He's also a demon."

That landed. Emma's smirk faltered, replaced with an unreadable stillness. The room seemed to chill with the weight of what Alice had just declared.

For a moment, Emma said nothing. Her eyes narrowed, studying Alice as though trying to peel back her composure.

"…A demon, you say?" she murmured at last, voice low, skeptical. "That is a very convenient claim. Too convenient. You're not simply using that word to tighten your grip on him, are you?"

Alice didn't flinch. "Do you think I would invoke demons so lightly? Especially after what happened in the Velra case?"

Emma's lips pressed together, betraying a flicker of unease.

"I don't need to exaggerate," Alice continued smoothly. "He's dangerous. I've seen enough to know. A demon hiding behind the mask of a thief—do you think I would allow that threat to roam freely?"

Emma leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming against the armrest, her earlier playfulness gone. "If that's true… then it changes the scale of this matter entirely. Demons aren't thieves to be paraded at public trials. They're enemies of humankind. That puts it under the jurisdiction of every ducal house, not just yours."

"That may be so," Alice replied, her tone sharpened, "but it was my North he appeared in, and it will be my North that resolves it. This isn't up for debate."

The two locked eyes across the table, silence stretched taut like a drawn bowstring.

Then Emma let out a soft laugh, though it carried no warmth.

"You're more stubborn than I remembered, Lady Draken. Possessive to the last breath."

Alice did not say anything, because she herself know how much she's possessive is.