I was just a side character, so why are you crying?

Chapter 7:Prison Arc?

The ride back to the Blackwood estate was deathly silent. I sat alone in the carriage, watching the frost begin to spiderweb across the glass. By the time the wheels crunched onto the manor’s gravel, the air had turned unnervingly cold.

I expected a shouting match. I expected my father to be waiting at the door with a luggage trunk packed for the West Estate.

Instead, I was met with a terrifying, triumphant smile.

“Marvelous,” my father, Marquess Alistair Blackwood, whispered as I entered his study. He didn't look angry. He looked intoxicated. “The restraint, Genevieve. The sheer, cold-blooded patience. To make them wait, to make the Saintess tremble in the very house of her God... it was a stroke of genius.”

“Father, I didn't do anything,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I let her finish. I’m done with the schemes.”

Alistair chuckled, a low, dry sound. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a silver vial—the twin of the one still hidden in my sleeve. “Of course you are. Because you knew that a public attack is for commoners. A Blackwood strikes when the doors are closed.”

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a dark, secondary light. “News just arrived from the palace guest house. The Saintess went to wash the holy oil from her face. It seems someone had coated her basin in a slow-acting caustic agent. Her screams could be heard from the courtyard.”

The floor felt like it had vanished beneath my feet. “No... I was here. I haven't left this house since the ceremony.”

“And that is your perfect alibi,” my father purred. “Felix was more than happy to play the delivery boy. He said you gave him the 'gift' for the Saintess just before we left the Cathedral.”

I spun around to find Felix standing in the doorway. He was still wearing his pristine white suit, his face a mask of angelic devotion. He didn't look like a child who had just mutilated a girl; he looked like a boy who had finally won his sister’s approval.

“You were too slow, Sister,” Felix said, his voice soft and airy. “So I helped. Now everyone knows you’re still the Queen. They’re all so scared of you now. Isn't it wonderful?”

“You monster,” I breathed, the Mikaela part of me reeling in horror. “She’s a girl! She’s innocent!”

“She’s an obstacle,” Alistair snapped, his face hardening. “And now, she is a scarred martyr. The Prince is already on his way here with the Imperial Guard. He’s furious, Genevieve. He’s absolutely, beautifully obsessed with finding the person who broke his precious doll.”

“I’ll tell him,” I shouted, backed against the mahogany desk. “I’ll tell them it was you! I’ll tell them about the medicine!”

My father stood up, his presence suddenly suffocating. “Go ahead. Tell the Prince that your ten-year-old brother did this on your orders. Tell him you’re being drugged while you stand there looking perfectly healthy and twice as cruel as usual. Who do you think the world will believe? The 'Villainess of Solis' or the Marquess who has funded the Crown for decades?”

He stepped closer, gripping my chin with a bruising force. “You wanted to be a side character? Fine. Go to the Tower of Sighs and play the martyr. Let the Prince hunt you. Let the Knight watch you. But never forget—you are a Blackwood. You don't get to leave the stage until I say the play is over.”

The sound of heavy hooves thundered in the courtyard. The Imperial Guard had arrived.

As the guards burst into the room, I didn't see the Saintess’s face in my mind. I saw Julian’s emerald eyes, burning with a new, dark fire. He didn't look like he wanted to execute me. He looked like he wanted to cage me.

And behind him stood Cassel Thorne. His hand was on his sword, but his eyes were fixed on the empty silver vial sitting on my father’s desk. He looked at the vial, then at my trembling hands, and for a fleeting second, his expression wasn't one of justice.

It was one of profound, silent doubt.

“Lady Genevieve Blackwood,” Julian’s voice rang out, vibrating with a terrifying mix of grief and possessiveness. “You are under arrest for the attempted murder of the Saintess. Pray to the Sun, Genevieve. Because in the Tower, the only person who can hear you scream is me.”

I didn't fight as they shackled my wrists. I just looked at Felix, who was still smiling, and my father, who was watching his "masterpiece" be taken away.

The "Side Character" life was dead. The "Prison Arc" had begun.