No Longer His Villainess

Chapter 5: Wolves And Rosé

Calix | Forbes Magic Academy Garden | Afternoon

It's been a week since we last saw Eleanor Roséthorne.

A full, unnervingly quiet week.

No dramatic entrances, no sly, sharp-tongued remarks, no perfume trailing down the hallway like a threat in silk.

Just silence, and the thing is Eleanor's silence is louder than most people's presence.

Some say she returned to the Roséthorne estate. Others swear she's concocting some final act of villainy to drag Charlotte through social ruin. Honestly? Either option feels on-brand.

We're in the East Garden of Forbes Academy now. Sun's warm, the sky's blue, and there's fresh dirt on my boots because Charlotte thought a picnic sounded "wholesome." So here we are, sitting under a flowering tree like one big happy group of mildly dysfunctional nobles.

Charlotte baked cookies for all of us or at least, tried to. The flour explosion earlier was more entertaining than any of her failed spells in potion class.

She's talking now, laughing at her own clumsiness. "I accidentally put too much sugar and cried for twenty minutes," she says with that giggle only she can pull off.

Niko laughs like he lives for this exact kind of chaos. Callen doesn't say anything, but you can tell he's relaxed. Duncan is elsewhere.

He's next to Charlotte, but he hasn't looked at her once.

Something's changed since the infirmary.

Eleanor looked at us like she was done. Not heartbroken, not angry. Just done like chasing approval was yesterday's tragedy and today's plot twist was survival.

It was unsettling.

Because for all the things Eleanor was, manipulative, theatrical, dramatic, she was also undeniable.

The thing is, once you've seen Eleanor Roséthorne walk into a room, hips swaying, chin high, her silhouette making full-grown men forget how to speak, you can't unsee it.

Eleanor had curves. The kind that didn't ask for attention. They demanded it.

She didn't need to try.

I shake the thought away and glance at Charlotte.

Charlotte Bettina. The kingdom's favorite sweetheart. She has that soft kind of beauty. Brown eyes wide and innocent, lips always curved into a polite smile. Her brown hair's a shiny, perfectly trimmed curtain, and she tucks it behind her ear the same way every time.

She's petite and gentle in every way. She's too sweet, so sweet it almost makes my teeth ache.

The kind of girl you write letters to. The kind you walk away from fights for, the kind you don't touch unless you mean forever and then there's Eleanor, again.

Eleanor is the opposite of sweet.

She's all sharpness and shine. A girl who walks into a ballroom and makes silence fold around her like a cloak.

She's curves and confidence and chaos wrapped in expensive fabric. She's not the girl you write love letters to. She's the one who steals them, reads them aloud in a mocking tone, and leaves you wanting her anyway.

Charlotte is spring tea and vanilla lace.

Eleanor is red wine and wildfire.

Charlotte clings to you with her goodness.

Eleanor? You chase her even after she's long gone.

Charlotte was simple, not in a bad way. Just simpler.

Smaller chest, too.

Not that I care. I mean, I.DON'T.CARE. I'm not like Nikolai. I'm not perving over chest sizes like a hormonal peasant.

It's just, I notice things, okay?

And I hate that I notice those things. That I still remember how Eleanor looked that day in the infirmary. Het eyes calm, voice steady, like she had finally let go of trying to impress us, talk to us like we no longer mattered.

That should've felt good, right?

But it didn't.

I glance at Duncan. He hasn't spoken all afternoon. He's still staring at the garden like Eleanor might appear between the roses, ruining the mood just by existing.

Honestly, same.

"Calix?" Charlotte's soft voice cuts through my thoughts. "Are you okay? You've been staring into the void for like five minutes."

Crap.

I blink, straighten up, and force a smirk. "I was just trying to figure out if this is a cookie or an elaborate trap to assassinate us through sugar overdose."

She giggles, cheeks pink. Niko throws a leaf at me. Duncan still doesn't move.

And maybe somewhere, far from the safety of this garden and these smiles, Eleanor Roséthorne is probably doing something no one expects.

Which is exactly the problem.

Nikolai | Forbes Magic Academy | Few Days After

The Spring Academy Ball is tomorrow night and once again, shock of the century, I AM DATELESS.

Not for lack of offers, of course.

I've been asked out more times than I've buttoned my uniform this week. Lady Merina from House Pearlore practically offered me her family title in exchange for one dance. Freya from House Linwood? She 'accidentally' dropped her corset ribbon in my lap during fencing class. Subtle, real subtle.

And don't get me started on the Frostvale redhead who sent me a note sealed with a kiss and spelled with cinnamon. It literally sang when I opened it. 'Be mine, Nikolai, my Valehart valentine~'

I should've said yes to at least one of them. It's what I do. Be charming, be seen and be unforgettable.

But this week? I'VE BEEN DISTRACTED.

I was going to ask Charlotte.

Yes, that Charlotte. Sweet little sunshine with her pink cheeks and crooked smile. She blushes when I wink at her, stammers when I call her darling, and tries to hide her giggles behind teacups.

She's so easy to fluster, like poking a bunny with a feather.

But after that day in the infirmary, everything got tangled.

Because ever since I saw ELEANOR. FREAKING. ROSÉTHORNE, bruised and bandaged and still hotter than sin? Damn. I haven't been able to think straight.

Since we've become teens, I've always thought she was dangerous. She's too sharp-tongued, too smart, too naughty and TOO DAMN SEXY.

Those eyes? That lips? Those legs? Hell, yeah.

Damn. Stop it Nikolai. STOP. IT.

She drives me insane. Always has, always will. She's the only girl who rolls her eyes when I flirt with her. She pretends to hate me, but I've caught her staring. Once. Twice. Seven times.

Eleanor and I? We are disaster. A walking scandal waiting to happen and yet, I can't stop wondering.

Would she laugh if I asked her to the ball? Slap me? Stab me? Kiss me?

I groan and knock my forehead against the windowpane. "God damn it, Nikolai, you need help."

Then I see her.

No, not Eleanor.

Charlotte Bettina.

Down in the garden courtyard, walking with her girlfriends laughing. Her eyes lighting up like lanterns in the dusk. She's wearing that uniform she always tugs at, like she's not used to being looked at.

She's so innocent.

Her brown eyes are warm, her hair bouncing on her shoulders, and her body, well uhm, let's be brutally honest.

She's flat. Too flat for a playboy like me.

No curves, and no cleavage. Nothing like Eleanor's dangerous hourglass frame that could kill a man at thirty paces.

But somehow, Charlotte still makes people fall in love with her.

It's not her body.

It's her heart.

She makes you feel like you're the only one in the world when she listens. She smells like honey and speaks like morning light. You don't want to touch her, you want to protect her. Like she deserves every soft thing the world forgot to give her.

And me?

I'm not good at soft, but still, I lean closer to the window, watching the sunset spill over her like a blessing.

And I whisper to myself, "What the hell are you doing, Valehart?"

Two girls.

One a flame. One a flower.

One might burn me alive.

The other might teach me how to breathe again, and I don't know which one I'm falling for.

Callen | The Grand Ballroom | Forbes Magic Academy | Ball Night

The chandeliers above us glimmered like stars trapped in glass. Thick curtains framed the marble columns, and music swelled from the quartet by the arched windows. Everything felt dreamy, polished, just like a scene stolen from a fairytale book.

Right beside me, holding her small clutch like it was a shield, was Charlotte.

She kept looking down at the hem of her gown, adjusting it nervously every few seconds. "Do I look weird?" she whispered to me, her voice barely louder than the music.

I smiled gently. "You look pretty."

I'm not lying. Her gown wasn't as grand as the others tonight, no gold embroidery, no corseted drama. Just a simple, white tube ball gown that shimmered quietly when the light touched the tiny stones scattered across the skirt. Her brown hair was half tied, soft waves falling over her shoulders. Her lips were tinted with the lightest blush, and her eyes looked like she'd been crying this morning, because she had.

I found her alone under the willow tree by the north gardens. Her cheeks blotchy and her shoulders shaking.

I didn't push her, just sat beside her on the grass until she spoke.

"They said I don't belong here," she had whispered, looking away. "That I'm pathetic for not having a date tonight."

It didn't take much for me to offer. "Then I'll go with you." She blinked, surprised. "But maybe Duncan will ask."

I chuckled. Not because it was funny, but because I knew it wouldn't happen.

Still, I told her softly, "If he doesn't, and if you still want someone by your side, just come find me."

And she did so now we were here.

Charlotte wasn't a noble. She's a scholar. Her gift was an Earth elemental magic. Too rare when you weren't from a noble family that's why she was accepted.

She didn't brag or flaunt it like the others. That's not who she was, but tonight, she was just a girl hoping she belonged.

"Thanks, Callen," she said shyly, her voice trembling. "For doing this."

I turned to her, placing my hand lightly on hers. "You don't need to thank me. I'm glad you're here."

Just then, the sound of leather shoes against polished floors drew our attention. I glanced sideways.

Nikolai, Calix, and Duncan. All in tailored navy with golden crests stitched over their lapels.

Nikolai was the first to notice Charlotte.

"Well, don't you clean up nice," he said with a crooked smirk, eyes scanning her body before landing on her face. "Looking nice, Char."

But his tone was too casual, too empty. He winked, of course, but it didn't land.

Calix followed, giving me a nod and offering Charlotte a small smile, one of those polite ones he gives when he's trying not to be annoyed by something or someone.

Then Duncan came.

His jaw clenched slightly, as if the bowtie was strangling him, even though we all knew that wasn't it.

He didn't greet us. He just scanned the ballroom with that cold, calculating stare of his.

Like he was looking for a shadow.

A ghost of a woman with silk white hair and a mouth that never shut up.

And I knew in that moment, he was looking for Eleanor.