The Villain Princess Rewrites Her Fate

I Actually Transmigrated Into the Novel

Lovf woke up.

A magnificent crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the richly woven canopy was only half drawn, but it was enough to cast a small patch of sleep-friendly shadow across her face.

The warm afternoon sun streamed through the glass and curtains into the ornate, refined royal chamber. The air carried a faint scent of fabric, wood, and fruit, warm and cozy. Somewhere, the soft sound of pages turning, probably a maid killing time while she watched over her.

Not a dream, then. Lovf's drowsy, foggy gaze gradually cleared, tinted with a familiar, resigned disappointment. She thought about it for a second, then slowly sat up.

The body of a five-year-old was still far too frail. She wobbled out of bed, didn't call for the maid, and headed for her little chamber pot.

Lovfrida de Lognias, Princess of Radiance, heir to the throne of the human kingdom of Radiance, was five years old this year.

From infancy, this princess had shown some unusual traits, like not liking to cry, not liking to be fussed over for diaper and clothes changes, and not caring much for the toys other children loved. If her eyes hadn't followed people as they moved, and if she hadn't flailed when thirsty or hungry, the maids tending her might have half-believed the child was simple.

When she was older and it came time to learn to speak, she flatly refused to open her mouth. If she hadn't wailed so loudly as a baby, the servants would have feared she was mute. Even so, that year and more was full of nervous tension, everyone terrified of being blamed for neglecting the heir and punished by the furious king.

Thankfully, Princess Lovfrida finally spoke at the age of three, clearly and coherently. Everyone was relieved, all of them breathing easier. The personal maid who'd raised her even hugged her and wept with joy, thanking the gods that the princess was neither simple nor mute, and that the ministers who'd seized the chance to pressure the king into taking another queen and siring more children had clearly been up to no good.

The princess everyone had once suspected of being simple and mute grew up slowly, strangely enough, growing more and more like an ordinary child with time. She was still wonderfully sweet and good, and spoke and thought with a maturity beyond her years, but at least she no longer seemed so odd next to other children.

Only Lovfrida herself knew she was neither simple nor mute. Tucked away in some corner of this world was another, more reasonable possibility: she wasn't a child at all.

Lovf was a transmigrator.

Exactly how she'd crossed over, she didn't know. Lovf only remembered dying, perfectly ordinarily, and waking up as a newborn, called "Your Highness" by everyone around her.

A toddler's mind was a fog. It took her years to learn this world's language, watching the maids talk, before she could patch together a rough picture of her own situation.

Unluckily, she'd transmigrated into a novel she'd read in her past life.

In that novel, Lovfrida was not the heroine.

And she opposed the heroine, not out of jealousy or any avoidable reason, but because their interests truly, seriously conflicted.

In the end, she died a terrible death for reasons unknown.

Sounds like a wonderful life, doesn't it.

When she'd first realized she'd become this character, Lovf's insides had collapsed. She couldn't imagine how she'd survive the long years ahead knowing her fixed ending. She wasn't even sure whether the maids beside her were real living people or just NPCs marching to the plot.

Though it sounded not-so-bad inside the story, when it landed on her own head, Lovf was utterly terrified.

And she soon realized her worrying was pointless.

You could tell from the maids' behavior that this world was hyper-real. The maids gossiped where she couldn't see them, each had someone they liked, complicated family lives, contented days or lazy shirking. Like right now, someone was lounging on the sofa flipping through a book while she napped, not NPC-like in the slightest. A few of them, Lovf could barely handle.

The one flipping pages on the sofa turned another page, then seemed to notice the little princess was awake. She closed the book; the two thick covers met with a dull thump.

A dark head poked up from the long sofa beside Lovf, golden slit-pupiled eyes gleaming with vivid life: "Yo, little princess, you sneaking off to steal a snack?"

Lovf froze at the sudden suggestion, not sure whether to complain about her tone or her words.

Yes, this unreliable woman, as the princess's guard captain, was exactly the "few she couldn't handle."

The hot, beautiful woman in formal warrior attire stood up from the sofa, humming off-key as she rounded it and scooped Lovf up. Her eyes were bright gold with slender pupils; her golden-brown skin was bright and smooth, hugging firm, full muscles that seemed to breathe.

Unluckily, the princess's maid had the day off for family business, so Guard Captain Laila herself was keeping the princess company for her nap.

This guard captain, who only looked like a woman on the outside, cradled the little princess, who hadn't gotten to say she needed the bathroom, and strolled out as if nothing had happened. "So, chocolate or cream cake like last time? Both feel too sweet, honestly. That lamb rack earlier was better. How about the kitchen roasts a few pieces, three-quarters rare, and four potatoes on the side..."

Lovf flailed and struggled: I did not! I never did! I've never once stolen food from the kitchen! I'm five, I just ate lunch, what lamb rack! Stop messing with me, how many times have you actually gone to the kitchen to steal food!

She smacked Laila's taut, sturdy shoulder; it was all solid muscle and hurt her hand, so she gave up and grabbed a handful of Laila's black curly ponytail instead: "Laila, Laila, I don't want food, I need the bathroom."

Laila looked at her: "...No. You want food."

Lovf: What the hell are you even saying?

This guard captain's behavior as an Adept had always been utterly bizarre. Every day she got scolded by the proper maids for causing trouble. But today she'd outdone herself.

Forget it, this woman was beyond saving. Lovf thought. She'd woken from a nap and wasn't in a hurry, really. Might as well go see the kitchen with her.

Come to think of it, she'd never been to a kitchen in this world. A magic-world kitchen, sounds interesting, maybe like the one in Hogwarts?

The little girl gave up trying to fix this hopeless guard captain, flopped onto her shoulder all laid-back, and turned to glance at the full-length mirror in the corner of her room.

They'd reached the doorway; the mirror caught an angle her usual space didn't, reflecting the sofa.

In the mirror, a golden-haired woman sat quietly, as if watching her, or as if not.

She's still there, Lovf thought.

Laila carried her out.

From beyond the closed door came a familiar voice: "Sir Laila, what's the matter with the princess?"

Lovf turned to see her personal maid, planted in front of Laila, staring at her in shock.

"She's hungry. I'm taking her to the kitchen for something to eat." Laila said it dead serious. "Aita, want to come along?"

Aita, the personal maid, panicked at once: "How can you take the princess to a place like the kitchen??!? During her nap time??!?"

She glared at Laila with utter distrust and, thoroughly displeased, took the little princess into her own arms. Lovf felt her distrust wasn't unfounded; she also thought Laila was unreliable. But she was a little disappointed. She was curious about the magic-world kitchen, had thought she might see one like Hogwarts's great kitchen.

Not letting her near the kitchen, and calling it "a place like that", the kitchen must feel wronged too.

Lovf sighed inwardly. Fair enough. In the novel the heroine had been held to strict discipline as a child; flawless manners and breeding, and chatting with a cook was considered extraordinarily down-to-earth.

Laila wasn't bothered by having her plan ruined, nor did she lose face at being scolded by a maid. She let Aita take the princess, scratched her head. "What's wrong with the kitchen? You eat what's cooked there whether you've seen it or not. If you want to be a big shot you've got to see a bit of real life."

"Your reasoning is fine, but the princess is five!" Aita was shaking with anger. "Five! She's a princess!"

Laila thought about it, and as always, backed down: "Alright, alright, you're right. I'll head off and get something to eat, then."

"What do you mean 'you're right'??" Aita was still hopping mad, but the hot beauty in all black had already run off.

Lovf sat in Aita's arms and decided to say nothing about the routine squabble. Aita barely listened to her anyway, insisting a princess should be dignified and elegant, kept that way from early childhood. And Laila, though an Adept, knew her own behavior was bizarre and wasn't pushy where Lovf was concerned.

Aita carried her back to the room; the beauty in the mirror was still there. While no one was looking, Lovf quietly waved at her.

The beauty didn't move, didn't even blink.

Lovf was used to it, not disappointed in the least.

Aita was still fuming, clearly holding a grudge against Laila.

Lovf decided to put in a good word for her guard captain: 'Aita, Aita, don't be angry. I woke up on my own.'

Aita tucked her back under the covers, not soothed at all: "Your Highness, you are His Majesty's only daughter, the heir of Radiance. Of noble birth, you should guard your words and deeds, be dignified and composed, and must not lower yourself to mingle with the servants..."

Lovf was speechless. If she hadn't confirmed this world had magic, she'd have almost thought she'd transmigrated into a European-court-edition of an Eastern noblewomen's household intrigue drama.

Aita went on muttering: "Sir Laila is indeed a respected Intermediate Saint, but the Adept lifestyle she knows doesn't quite suit the court. The princess should understand that."

Lovf's ears pricked up; it was the first time she'd heard Laila's rank as an Adept. She stretched out a soft little hand and tugged her personal maid's sleeve: "Aita, Aita, what's an Intermediate Saint?"

"An Intermediate Saint is a saint in the middle position, stronger than an Initiate Saint, but not as strong as an Apex Saint."

Aita thought about it: "Someone like me, with no real ability who only does simple cleaning, is called a Mortal. A Mortal who cultivates magic or martial skill to a certain degree can begin to sense the rules between heaven and earth. That makes you a Saint. The more rules you sense, the higher your rank. Saints are divided into three tiers, initiate, intermediate, apex. An Intermediate Saint can probably split space and adjust time, more or less."

Hmm... Lovf tried to recall.

Nearly six years had passed since she'd been a helpless infant, and she'd all but forgotten the contents of the novel she'd read in her past life. She vaguely remembered this was a high-magic world, but even so, an Adept who could split space was still pretty rare.

Sending such a precious expert to be the princess's guard captain, the king really did seem to value his eldest daughter.

Even if Laila herself was hopeless.

"Sleep, Your Highness." Aita patted her little blanket. "It's not time to get up yet. Little children need lots of sleep to grow tall. I'll stay with you, sing you a song."

She really did hum softly, patting Lovf, her tone gentle, her voice soft. Every time, Lovf got a strange feeling of still having a mother, even though her own mother was forever unreachable, and Princess Lovfrida's mother had died years ago.

Aita's singing strangely relaxed her, and she sank into warm darkness.