Ascension Of The Villain

Iyana sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, utterly bewildered as yet another pair of hands attacked her hair with what felt like the twelfth comb of the morning. The maids had been unusually persistent today—fluffing, pinning, tugging—each of them determined to sculpt her into something divine. One even murmured something about "the perfect silhouette for soft lighting," which, frankly, sounded more like preparation for a portrait session than lunch.

"Is this some kind of beauty pageant I missed the memo for?" she muttered under her breath as another pin slid into place.

When they finally left—after an hour-long campaign of swirls, curls, and lace—Iyana exhaled dramatically and stood up, rolling her shoulders. Lunch would be served soon, and a familiar warmth settled in her chest at the thought of spending it with Vyan. Maybe they'd sneak in a chess match before the food arrived. Or she'd play him something sweet on the piano, like she often did when the mood struck her and the house felt too quiet without music.

Just as she was turning to leave, her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror.

She paused.

Oh.

Well... she looked—pretty.

Not the usual kind of "presentable" pretty that came with tidy braids or a clean bun, but something softer. Almost… delicate. The pale sage green dress flowed gently down her figure like water, and the carefully crafted hairstyle framed her face in a way she rarely associated with herself.

The maids really had gone all in.

But… why today?

Her brows furrowed. Was it because it was the weekend? Did the house have some secret "Dress Like a Grand Duchess on the Weekend" tradition she was unaware of?

Shrugging, she stepped out of her room—only to freeze at the sight waiting for her down the corridor.

Vyan stood casually by the arched window, bathed in the golden light of early noon, wearing a tailored pastel green suit that matched her outfit perfectly. His beautiful wine-red eyes lit up the moment he saw her, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Well, well, as expected," he said, voice silk and mischief. "You look absolutely ethereal, my lady."

She narrowed her eyes with a slow smile. "What's this, Vee? Are we going for an impromptu imperial banquet or something? Should I be worried?"

Vyan gave a dramatic bow and, with a flourish, produced a bouquet from behind his back—plump, delicate purple hydrangeas bound together with a silver ribbon.

Her eyes widened, a quiet gasp slipping out of her. "Wait… these are—" she paused, heart fluttering, "these are my favorite flowers."

He stepped forward and placed the bouquet gently into her hands.

"Where did you get these?" she asked, brows raised in suspicion. "Don't tell me—" she fixed him with a glare so sharp it could slice air—"you went halfway across the empire for this again."

He chuckled, shameless as ever. "Nope. I got them from the garden."

Her jaw nearly dropped. "Wait—really? You had them grown?"

Vyan's eyes softened. "Yes. For you. Now you can admire your favorite flowers every day."

Something in her chest tightened—something tender and inexplicably giddy. She looked down at the vibrant petals, then back up at him, her expression unreadable for a moment.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice you'd started growing them," she said, a little guilty. "But I thought they only bloomed in very specific conditions. So how did you even—"

Vyan raised one hand and snapped his fingers, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Magic."

Iyana blinked… then snorted. "Of course."

Vyan stepped closer, the corners of his grin curving higher as he gently reached for her hand. With the kind of theatrical elegance only he could pull off without looking ridiculous, he gave her a courtly nod and asked, his voice rich with flair, "I can see you're quite pleased with the flowers, my lady. So... will you go on a date with me?"

A date?

Iyana's heart did an embarrassing little skip—but she masked it well, tilting her head with mock skepticism, even though her fingers instinctively curled around his.

"I obviously want to say yes," she murmured, "but... are you sure we should? It's risky for you to be outside." Her eyes flickered with real concern. "You know that."

But Vyan just raised a brow, his tone suddenly bold and unapologetically confident. "Why should I be the one to fear? I'll have the strongest knight in the empire right by my side. My enemies should fear, if anything."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, the kind that made her eyes crinkle just slightly at the corners. She gave him a look—half fond, half amused.

"You're impossible."

"And yet, you're still holding my hand."

Iyana shook her head, surrendering to the moment as she tightened her grip on his fingers. "Alright then," she said with a soft smile. "Let's go."

Vyan raised their entwined hands to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on the back of hers with the solemnity of a man about to embark on a sacred quest. Then, mischief lighting up his eyes like stardust, he uttered, "Let's not waste a single second."

And before she could grasp what he meant—

The world dissolved in a shimmer of gold and heat.

They vanished—just like that—leaving behind a floating petal from the bouquet and the faintest echo of laughter in the hallway.

———

The world melted back into shape with a soft hum, and the first thing Iyana noticed was the warmth—the sun here felt richer, closer somehow, brushing against her skin like a playful whisper.

She adjusted to the sudden light and scent in the air: ripe fruit, cinnamon, street dust, and something floral. They were standing in a quiet cobblestone corner, tucked between narrow pastel buildings, where wooden wind chimes danced lazily in the breeze.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice still dazed from the teleportation.

Vyan grinned, his fingers still entwined with hers as he tugged her gently forward. "Welcome to Preaton—my mother's hometown."

Iyana's brows rose in surprise. "We're that far from Ashstone?"

The air was warmer, and the sunlight brighter, kissing the edges of the painted walls and flowering balconies above them. Children's laughter echoed faintly in the distance, mingling with the ringing of bells and the thrum of drums.

They turned the corner and stepped into chaos—in the most delightful sense.

Colorful streamers arched between buildings, stalls lined every street, and people bustled everywhere, bargaining, laughing, dancing. Bright silks fluttered in the wind. It was as if someone had spilled joy and confetti into every crack of the town.

Iyana's posture shifted slightly, instinctively. Her eyes scanned the crowd. In a place this crowded, her guard had to be up.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, keeping close to him.

Vyan shrugged, his expression far too innocent to be believed. "I don't know. My grandfather just felt like it, I guess."

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, he definitely knows something. The way he avoided her gaze and started whistling like a guilty bird made it painfully obvious. She opened her mouth to press him—

And someone bumped hard into her shoulder, knocking her a step back.

She turned sharply, reflexes kicking in, eyes darting behind to glare at that person, and when she turned back—

Vyan was gone.

Her fingers, once loosely clasping his, now clutched air.

She turned.

Once.

Twice.

But his familiar frame was nowhere in sight.

The crowd, once a sea of color and celebration, suddenly blurred into a chaotic smear of unfamiliar faces. Voices blurred into noise—too loud, too many, too close.

Where is he?

Her pulse quickened.

She turned again, a little sharper this time, eyes darting left and right. There were too many people, all of them moving, laughing, shouting—not him. Not even a glimpse of wine-red eyes or that smug, irritatingly gorgeous grin. Not even his coat. Nothing.

Her heartbeat pounded faster. Her breath hitched.

"Vyan?" she called—just once—but her voice was swallowed by the noise.

This is fine, she told herself, He's just—he's nearby. He has to be.

But the longer she stood still, the more she didn't see him.

Her eyes scanned the street with military precision, every shadow and movement a potential threat. Her mind raced faster than her eyes could keep up.

What if someone recognized him? What if someone followed us here? What if this was planned? What if—

She shook her head, but the thoughts didn't stop. Her spine stiffened. Her fingers twitched, ready to summon her blade at the slightest sign of danger.

The noise closed in around her, like the world was shrinking.

The music no longer sounded festive—it rang in her ears like static. The laughter grated like mockery. People brushed past her like ghosts—nameless, faceless, faceless, faceless—

She spun again.

Still not there.

She felt the familiar ache in her chest, the kind that always came when she felt out of control, the kind that whispered you can't protect what you can't see.

No, no... No! Don't take him away from me!