No Longer His Villainess

Chapter 4: Peace Over Pride

Eleanor |Roséthorne Estate | Evening

Dinner started soft and golden.

The chandelier bathed the long table in warm light, silver cutlery clinked against porcelain, and for the first time in months, I didn’t have to pretend I was fine.

The roast was perfectly pink. The wine, oh well, my parents still thought I didn’t drink, so I just politely sipped water and smiled whenever the staff refilled my glass. Mother kept asking if I was eating enough at the Academy, while Father made vague threats about k********g the Headmistress if I ever came home bruised again.

It was light and easy, until it wasn’t.

“A letter came yesterday.”

Father’s voice cut clean through my second spoon of lemon custard.

I froze.

Beside him, Mother straightened in her seat, her brows drawn in slight confusion. She tilted her head toward me, a soft frown playing at her lips. “What letter?”

Father set his utensils down. “From Eleanor.”

Mother turned to me. “You sent a letter? You didn’t mention it earlier.”

I felt the custard turn sour in my mouth.

“I — yes,” I said, setting down my spoon. “Before I came home. I wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance to talk to you both so I sent it in advance.”

“And what did it say?” she asked carefully.

I met her elegant and composed gaze, but her voice held the faintest tremor.

Father answered for me. “She requested permission to stay with her Uncle Aamon in Frostvale.”

Her brows shot up. “Frostvale? But why?”

“And,” Father added, “she also asked to dissolve the engagement with Crown Prince Duncan Davenford.”

A clatter echoed as Mother dropped her spoon.

The room fell deathly silent, only broken by the ticking clock on the far wall and the soft flutter of the fireplace.

Her voice came next, brittle as glass. “Eleanor, why now? You were the one who fought for this engagement in the first place. You all but begged the Queen to let you have him.”

I looked down at my hands. They didn’t tremble, but the pressure in my chest was unbearable. I remember it.

I was five. Dressed in an infamously itchy gown like the color of wilted roses, with curls too tight and a ribbon too big, that looks like it had a personal grudge against me. I stood far too close to the dessert table at the Grand Royal Ballroom of Davenford Palace, contemplating whether I could sneak another éclair without getting caught by my Duchess mother.

And that’s when I saw him.

Duncan Davenford.

Just seven years young but already wearing navy and gold like he was born in a crown. His back was too straight for a child. His expression was far too serious. But even then, the air around him bent. Like the world had already started folding in his favor.

Beside him stood the people who would become my world and, eventually, my ruin.

Nikolai, his cousin, always a step behind but never outshined. The twins, Calix and Callen Fenroque, too pretty for their own good.

I didn’t know it then, but I was staring at the future king's guard. The Lions of Davenford. Born to protect the heir of the crown.

The three Ducal families of Ashtor weren’t just nobility. They were myth.

House Valehart — the sword of the kingdom, led by Duke Theodore and Duchess Felicia Valehart, parents of Nikolai.

House Fenroque — the spine, steady and ruthless, led by Duke Calvin and Duchess Carmila Fenroque, parents of the twins.

And my family, House Roséthorne — the soul of the realm. The head of the three. The fire behind the crown’s cold edge, the second-in-command to the throne.

Led by Duke Alger Roséthorne and Duchess Celeste Roséthorne.

My parents.

I was born Eleanor Roséthorne, the heiress to legacy, elegance, and power. Second only to the throne, but the perfect match to a prince.

I remember thinking back then that I would love him. I must have him. That it made sense, that the engagement was right. That we were right.

And maybe, back then I believed it.

But now?

Now I knew better.

I raised my eyes, meeting my mother’s shocked, searching gaze. “That girl? The one who wanted the crown? She died when I fell off that cliff.”

Mother flinched. My father said nothing, his face unreadable.

“I still respect the Davenford name. I know what our families mean to each other. I know the power of this union,” I said carefully. “But I also know something else.”

“What is that, sweetheart?” Mother asked, her voice small.

I gave her a bitter-sweet smile.

Something that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Loving Duncan Davenford will kill me.”

Mother tilted her head slightly, her brows pulling together in soft confusion. She clearly hadn’t read it.

Father folded his napkin with the precision of a man about to declare war. “You want to end your engagement to Crown Prince Duncan Davenford?”

I set down my glass, chin high, voice calm. “Yes.”

Silence. The kind that settles when everyone knows there’s more, but no one dares to ask.

Father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Does Duncan know?”

“Not yet,” I replied, brushing invisible crumbs from my skirt. “But I’m sure he’ll be delighted when he finds out.”

Something dark flickered behind his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

“I’ll prepare the official documents,” he said at last, with that signature Rosethorne finality. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m 200% sure.” I smiled sweetly, like I hadn’t just detonated a royal arrangement.

Mother looked like she wanted to protest again, but I beat her to it. “No more discussions, Mother. This time, I’m choosing peace over pride.”

She sighed and for once, she let it go.

Father cleared his throat. “Then about your request to leave Ashtor and stay with Aamon in Frostvale, why the sudden interest?”

I glanced at the candle between us, its flame steady, unlike my voice. “I just need a new environment. Something that doesn’t look like heartbreak and smell like old memories.”

They must’ve felt the sadness I’d kept locked behind sarcasm. For once, neither of them challenged me.

Father nodded. “I’ll send word to the Headmistress of Forbes and process your withdrawal. You’ll leave in a few days, when all is in order.”

My heart jumped in quiet relief. Finally, an escape. But just when I thought I’d won, my mother smiled too sweetly.

“At least attend the Forbes Spring Ball before you leave,” she said.

My eyes narrowed. “Seriously? You planned this?”

“No,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I anticipated you.”