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

Chapter 3: Know Your Place

I stared at the snowflake until it melted into a dark damp spot on my sleeve. A warning. The world was literally turning cold because I refused to play the sacrificial lamb.

I turned and shoved the heavy oak doors of the manor open, ready to collapse into bed, but I didn't even make it past the foyer.

“You’re late.”

A small, shadows-drenched figure sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase. It was Felix Blackwood. At only ten years old, he already possessed the chillingly perfect features of the Blackwood line—midnight-black hair and violet eyes that looked far too old for his face.

In the drama, Felix was the "Golden Child" who would eventually grow into a monster. But for now, he was just a boy who followed his sister around like a silent, vengeful ghost.

“Felix? Why aren't you in bed?” I asked, clutching my emerald skirts. “It’s way past your bedtime. You’re going to stunt your growth sitting in the dark.”

Felix didn't move. He sat with his chin resting on his small, pale hands, his eyes tracking me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He looked past me, staring at the closed doors as if he could see through the wood.

“I smelled a horse,” he whispered, his voice high but unnervingly flat. “A warhorse. Not the Prince’s stallion. Who was it, Sister? Who touched your hand tonight?”

I blinked, taken aback by the sheer jealousy dripping from his tone. “It was just Commander Thorne. He was acting as an escort. It’s a job, Felix. Now, go upstairs before I tell the Head Maid you’ve been sneaking out of the nursery again.”

Felix stood up. He was small, barely reaching my waist, but he walked toward me with a slow, deliberate grace. He stopped inches away, his eyes fixed on the spot on my sleeve where the frost had melted.

“I don't like him,” Felix muttered, his small fingers suddenly gripping the fabric of my dress. “I don't like the way the Prince looks at you, and I certainly don't like a common-born Knight breathing your air. You belong in this house, Genevieve. You belong to me.”

He looked up at me, his expression shifting from a pout to something much darker. “If they keep coming closer, I’ll have to tell Father to buy more hounds. Or maybe I’ll just put glass in their saddles.”

“Felix! That’s—" I started to scold him, but the words died in my throat.

A sudden, sharp heat flared in the back of my skull. My vision blurred for a split second, and before Mikaela could intervene, Genevieve’s body took the reins.

My spine straightened. My hand moved of its own accord, not to comfort him, but to lift his chin with a single, cold finger. I looked down at my ten-year-old brother with a gaze so icy it felt like it could freeze the very air in the room.

“Know your place, little brother,” I said.

My voice was no longer the soft, tired tone of a girl who wanted a snack. It was a low, melodic poison—the voice of a woman who had ruled this household with an iron fist long before I arrived. “You are a Blackwood, not a jealous hound. If you ever speak of sabotaging the Crown’s men again, I will personally ensure you spend the winter in the drafty North Tower. Am I clear?”

The words felt like they were dragged out of a dark corner of my throat—words Genevieve had used to keep her brother in line for years.

Felix didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes shined with a twisted, worshipful delight. He leaned into my touch, a tiny, chilling smile touching his lips. “There she is. My beautiful, cruel sister. I thought the Prince had finally broken you, but you’re still as sharp as a dagger.”

He let go of my dress and stepped back, bowing with a flourish that was far too sophisticated for a ten-year-old. “Sleep well, Genevieve. I’ll be watching the gates. Just in case anyone tries to steal what’s mine.”

He vanished up the stairs, his small footsteps making no sound.

I slumped against the heavy oak door, my heart hammering so hard it hurt. What was that? I hadn't meant to say that. I hadn't meant to look at a child like he was an ant I was about to crush.

“I’m a side character,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I clutched my head. “I’m just a side character. I’m Mikaela. I’m just here to survive.”

But as I stood there in the dark, the "canon" words echoed in my mind like a curse. Know your place.



The script wasn't just in the book anymore. It was in my blood. And as the second snowflake drifted past the window, I realized the original Genevieve wasn't going to let me change her story without a fight.