The Original Villainess

“--good, but I really don’t think we’re meant to be.” “Mm.” My eyes fluttered open at the sound of a man’s voice. Carson? The name flitted through my mind. Wait. I don’t know anybody named Carson. Why…? I stretched and rolled over, the thin sheet covering me shifting enough to leave me exposed to the stranger sitting on the edge of my bed, putting his shoes and socks on. I stared at him, unable to think past his familiar features. Carson. OMG, it’s PRINCE CARSON. I blinked twice before pushing myself up on my elbows for a better look. How is this possible? He’s definitely a fictional character. Wait. I glanced down at my body, too shocked by Carson’s presence to be disturbed by the fact that I was clearly naked. Why am I white? No…tan? I held a hand up to the light. I’m definitely controlling this body. What am I, Italian? “You get me, babe?” What? No! If Carson is here, then that means… I know this scene. I read it last night. Am I dreaming, then? My eyes landed back on Carson, the main character of the fantasy romance novel I had been reading. His fingers brushed back his hair, the ever-present smirk he sported on the cover of the w*******l twitching at his lips. Rereading would be a better word for it, I sniggered to myself. Carson had a one night stand with Brynne, and then ignored her, saying he couldn’t marry the daughter of a lowly viscount when he was destined to be king. But since she was in love with him, his actions hurt her to the point where she actively rebelled against all of society, bringing ruin to her family and dragging her name through the mud, all in the name of love. Hmph. In my opinion, it was Carson’s fault for leading her on, telling her in private that he would give her the world and the throne, but once people were around, he mocked her and bullied her more than anyone else. Ugh. Why is he the protagonist? “Brynne?” I rolled my head to one side and peered up at him. I’ll figure this out later. For now, let’s get him out of here. “Why are you telling me this?” Carson blinked in surprise. “Wh…sweetheart, I know what I said yesterday, but after thinking about it this morning, I really don’t think we’re a good fit. If you want, I can ask my father to help you find a good match. I know the third son of Baron Kidven is looking for a wife. I think you two would be a good match.” That’s exactly what he told Brynne in the book! He slept with her, then tried to marry her off to the third son of a country bumpkin who was too much of a bumbling i***t to inherit his father’s title. His only hope was to marry into a family who had only daughters, so he could take over her father’s house. The man came to the capital to strike it big, only to fall under a mountain of gambling debt. Considering what Carson’s plans for Brynne’s family are, it’s not surprising he chose that man to marry her off to. I scoffed and pushed myself into a sitting position, knowing the sheet that was only barely covering me was no longer doing its job. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Last night was fun,” I said. I assume, since Brynne went crazy with obsession afterwards, and the author wrote their s*x scene so there was no leaving it to the imagination. “But if you think you rocked my world so hard, I fell madly in love with you, you’re more naive than I thought.” He stared at me slack-jawed for a moment before shocking his head and clearing his throat, his eyes trailing down my chest. He turned away from me abruptly. “Oh. I mean, good. I just didn’t want you to think I was leading you on at any point.” That’s exactly what you were doing, bastard. Brynne was known to be a beautiful woman before she met you. You stole her sense of self and destroyed her reputation and turned her into a villainess, all so you could become king. “Leading me on?” I tossed my head back, letting my hair shake out. This is a strange feeling. How long was Brynne’s hair again? Much longer than mine ever was, that’s for sure. So if this is not a dream, and I’m somehow Brynne now, before he ruins my life, shouldn’t I first ruin him? I smirked at the glamorous ceiling above me. That sounds fun. I never did like him in the story. Let’s see. How many ways can I mess with this man’s life? “So…you don’t think I was leading you on?” Carson's voice prompted me to leave my thoughts and return to our conversation. Why is he still here? In the novel, he told Brynne he was dumping her, and then left immediately. I flopped back onto the bed, arms stretched over my head. “I think you’ve been lying to everyone you want to sleep with,” I told him, turning my smirk towards him. I let my eyes wander a little lower until they settled below the belt, and laughed once, quietly, before closing my eyes and stretching out again. I caught a glimpse of the shock on his face before I did, and gave myself a mental pat on the back. “I, for one, will no longer believe anything the ladies in high society say anymore.” “Hey–” he started, anger leaking out in his voice. “That’ll be all, Your Highness,” I sighed, interrupting him. “Thanks for scratching my itch.” “Brynne!” I held up a hand to my mouth in a semi-fake yawn, eyes still closed. “You can see yourself out.” The dip in the bed disappeared. “Try not to let anyone see you,” I called after him. “You wouldn’t want to damage your own reputation, would you?” His footsteps paused for a moment before the door opened and shut firmly, and I laughed, finally opening my eyes to properly take in my surroundings. Jeez. Touchy, much? I sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling. But is this okay? I’ve read comics about people dying and getting reborn into fantasy worlds as the antagonists, but does it actually happen? Did I die? What’s the last thing I remember? I dug through my memory, searching for a hint of something that would explain how I ended up in a w*******l, of all places. I could just be dreaming, right? I narrowed my eyes when the only thing I could pull from the dark recess of my mind was being awake in the dark, reading on my phone into the wee hours of the morning. Or maybe I’m somehow in a coma, and it’s more of a memory, since this was the last thing I read. But why would I be inside the story? And as Brynne, at that? Is it because I felt sorry for her? Each time I read it, I just can’t understand what had to be going through Carson’s and Lily’s mind to take an innocent and pure-hearted woman and turn her into a monster. Lily may not have known what was going on between Brynne and Carson, but Carson definitely knew what he was doing from the get-go. He deliberately used Brynne’s obsession and love for him. Not really sure why, though. The only thing I can think of, is that Carson knew he would never become a true king as long as House Sumner thrived. They’re not the richest noble house in this kingdom, but they are for sure one of the most influential. Even as a viscount house, they were the most powerful neutral house in the whole book before Brynne caused their downfall. Probably the most powerful house in the whole kingdom, second only to House Langly. I rubbed my eyes as I thought. Some fantasy novel this is. I thought this before, but aren’t these names a little too…normal? Carson, Brynne. Even Langly. Where’d they steal that from, the CIA? I sighed again, flopping my arms and legs out on my bed, my fingers almost reaching the edge of each side. But this mattress is heaven. There was a knock at the door. “My lady?” The voice was soft, but somehow, I instinctively knew who it belonged to. Dorothy. Now, that’s strange. I also knew who Carson was before I even opened my eyes. Is this the book’s way of letting me assimilate better? What would really help, though, are Bryne’s actual memories. “Come in.” The girl who entered was shorter than I had expected, and she blushed when she saw me. “My lady!” she squeaked. “Did you sleep naked?” Her hands covered her face, and she peeked at me through her fingers. Oh. “Sorry, Dorothy. I got hot in the middle of the night.” Something tickled my memory, and I shot up into a sitting position. “For now, get my bath ready, please. I have somewhere to be this morning.” I ignored her flustered acknowledgement, and dug through the sheets. Where is it? The novel said it would be right… I had no recollection of Brynne’s so-called steamy night with Carson. I had few aches in my joints, little muscle pains from the rigorous exercise described so heavily in the story. My knees held my weight, and my legs remained firm in their stance as I searched for the evidence, wincing only slightly at the bruising and tight pull in my thighs. All could be explained away by a long day at the gym—If Brynne ever did any kind of training. Unfortunately, she was as weak as anyone expected from a noble lady, fainting if she so much as stood for more than an hour at a time. I’ll have to fix that ASAP. Parts of the story had made even me blush the first time I had read it, and I was no prude or virgin by any means. However, Brynne was. And Prince Carson had gotten a little too rough with her, which led to one other detail I had temporarily forgotten. Ah! There it is. I scrambled off the bed, taking the top sheet with me, and wrapping up my body as I examined the stain. It’s larger than I thought it would be. If Dorothy sees this… I pursed my lips and furrowed my brow. How did Brynne get away with it in Consider the Lilies? Let’s see…she said her period must’ve started early. But that just led her to be confined to her room for four days, because people in this world treat menstruation like the devil’s waterfall. Like, seriously. How is it my fault I’m not pregnant, if I can’t even get married until I’m 20 in this world? Jeez. Uneducated swine, the lot of them. But not something I can fix right now, so. I sat back on the bed with a heavy sigh. I can’t be confined to my room. I have things to take care of! Whether this is a dream, or I’m in a coma, or I died and came back to life–it doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and my life and family are on the line. So first things first, I need to take care of this. After, I can take care of that. I glanced around the room and spotted a flower vase on the window sill. Hmm. I eyed the dried spot on the bed. I could easily cover it with crumpled-up sheets, but when the maids strip the bed while I’m in the bath, I wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. It looks like I have no choice. I walked to the window and picked up the vase. After walking back to the bed, I lifted it above my head and aimed at the edge of the night table, shutting my eyes for some meager protection against flying slivers of glass. As soon as the crash sounded, I heard a large splash from the bathroom. “My lady!” Dorothy cried, running water nearly drowning out her voice. I hurriedly picked up the largest piece of glass that I could fit comfortably in my hand, and winced as I snatched it swiftly across my other palm. I gasped in pain and dropped it. Dorothy barged into the room, soaking wet. Wait. Did she fall into the tub? Guilt ate at me, but not enough to abort my mission. “My lady!” she sobbed. “What happened!” She froze in her tracks, as she took in the sight of the hundred pieces of broken vase and crumbled flowers on the floor. Her eyes came up to meet mine, even as I purposely clutched at the mattress with my injured hand, allowing my fresh blood to hide the evidence of Carson’s visit as I sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, eyes wide, nearly tearing up. Nice one, Kammi. Looks like drama class in high school finally paid off. “I-I didn’t mean to.” “My lady, don’t move!” Dorothy commanded, and I nodded sullenly, wrapping my sheet tighter around me. See the blood. Notice my injury. See me. The door to the bedroom flew open, and my eyes widened at the man standing nervously in the doorway. His eyes frightened, his breathing rapid, his chest heaving. His terrified eyes widened as they locked onto me, and I smiled lovingly as a sense of warmth and joy filled my heart as the familiarity of his presence brought peace to my heart. “Zane.” His face paled, and his normally impeccable stance slumped back awkwardly. “I’ll go fetch some more maids!” he shouted, slamming the door shut again. I stared at the closed door for a long minute before turning back to face Dorothy. Her eyes were fixed on my sheet, face white. I glanced down at myself. Oops. It looks like I cut my hand deeper than I had thought. “My lady!” Dorothy sunk to the ground, tears spilling from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks so fast, her small hands that struggled to wipe them away couldn’t keep up as she sobbed. Now I really feel guilty. I bit my bottom lip as the door to my room opened again, and several maids came in, along with Brynne’s brother and a man I could only describe as a mad scientist. “Doctor Richards,” I greeted uneasily, as the name flitted through my mind. Tension welled in my heart as I met the man’s eyes. Brynne didn’t like him, did she? Wait. If how I feel when I look at people is how Brynne felt about them, then why didn’t I feel anything for Carson when I woke up? Was it because I had just woken up and Brynne’s emotions hadn’t had time to take over? I smiled at the physician. Whatever. It won’t do to get on his bad side. He is Brynne’s father’s doctor, after all. “Were you here to see my father?” “It looks like you’re in need of more dire attention,” the man said stoically, raising a brow at the bloody hand prints on the bed. I clenched my teeth as a raw ache tore at my heart under the pressure of his cold voice. “Thank you, Doctor, but it’s just a small cut. There’s no need for treatment.” “How could you say that, Brynne?” Zane shouted, snatching my wrist up and exposing my wound, even as Doctor Richard’s eyes widened slightly at my reaction. “It’s still bleeding! Does this look minor to you?” “He’s right, my lady!” Dorothy yelped from beyond the sea of broken glass, fists curled, eyes puffy, voice raw. “You’re hurt to the point of bleeding! You must get treated!” The sound of Zane and the maids scolding me over the clinking of the glass as it continued to be swept up, stabbed at my temple. I shut my eyes tightly and let out a stiff sigh. “Alright, enough!” I finally snapped loudly. My eyes scoured the rug by the bed, and I forced a kind smile to the maids. “Thank you for your help. You’re excused now.” They eyed each other suspiciously, but bowed once. “Yes, my lady,” they said before filing out of the room. I glowered at Dorothy. “Weren’t you drawing my bath?” “Eep!” A hand flew to her mouth and she scrambled to her feet before scurrying back into the bathroom like a mouse after cheese. I shook my head once before meeting Brynne’s brother’s eyes. “Zane, I love you, but even a brother shouldn’t be seeing his adult sister clothed in nothing but a bedsheet. I’ll thank you to wait outside.” Zane’s ears reddened rapidly, and he pounced backwards away from me, as if the thought had never occurred to him, and shut the door firmly behind him. My gaze settled evenly on the doctor, who remained silent and calm throughout the whole ordeal. I said nothing, sizing him up. There wasn’t a lot that went into his character in the novel. I think he was merely given a name so the family would stop addressing him as ‘the doctor.’ I c****d my head to one side. I didn’t realize before, but he’s rather young, isn’t he? And quite handsome, too. Or he would be, if he cut that dreadful hair. As it is now, he definitely reminds me of that one dude on the cartoon my kid siblings love. The one with the platypus. Or Albert Einstein. A wet trail trickled down my wrist and dripped silently onto my knee, where it was lapped up promptly by the thin fabric wrapped around me. I finally broke eye contact with the good doctor and took a corner of my sheet, pressing it to my wound. I watched as the red seeped into the individual threads, spreading further and further inwards. Ow. I heard a sigh coming from the doctor, and he knelt in front of me, gingerly taking my injured hand in his. “Wrapping it like that will only cause infections.” I blinked at him in surprise as he dug through his medical bag and retrieved some items. Since when was he so polite? Just a minute ago, he didn’t seem to care if Brynne was near death. Now he sounds almost…kind? As far as I’m aware, they didn’t really have any kind of relationship in the novel. I don’t think they said two words to each other. He was mostly there for Brynne’s father, who is getting weaker. The novel explains it was due to old age, but some of the members of Brynne’s family were under the impression that he was slowly being poisoned. But according to the author, he’s the only one who died of a natural death in Consider the Lilies. Though…if I think about it, his death transitioned directly to Brynne acting out and ruining her family name. Perhaps Prince Carson merely used his death as the catalyst to cause the Sumners’ downfall. “What happened?” he asked softly. “Hmm? Oh.” I watched Doctor Richards finish tying my hand up carefully. I winced at the pinch. “I wanted to bring the flowers to my bedside, but I tripped on the rug, and dropped the vase.” A stubborn sigh. “You should have asked for your maid to do it.” “She was drawing a bath. I have two hands. I’m very capable.” “Apparently not,” he muttered under his breath, and I shoved down the irritation in my chest, smiling as sweetly as I could. Such an anti-feminist world I’m in. “Yes, silly me, for thinking my hands were meant to do anything more than embroider and sip tea.” His eyes widened as he looked up at me from below. “Er. Miss Brynne–” I stood and strolled toward the bathroom, dropping the sheet on my way. “You may leave,” I told him, not bothering to check to see if he obeyed before I entered the bathroom. “Oh! My lady!” Dorothy was just turning off the water to the giant tub built into the floor that could easily fit six adults. At least this novel had amenities like indoor plumbing. I gagged at the thought of having to use a chamber pot. “I put in rose petals for your skin today, and also medicinal herbs to help your hand heal, and lavender, to clear your mind. Is there anything else you’d like today?” I stared at the water. “Bubbles.” “I’m sorry?” I shook my head, a little upset that they didn’t have bubble baths in this world. “Never you mind. Is it ready?” “Yes, my lady. Careful not to get your injured hand wet.” If I can’t get my hand wet, what’s the point of the medicinal herbs? With Dorothy’s help, I stepped gingerly into the tub. The water had a silky feel to it, almost like a bath bomb. “Oh, this is nice,” I sighed, leaning my head back. “I could get used to this.” “Get used to…what, my lady?” I should be careful. Someone’s going to suspect something if I keep vocalizing everything I think. I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Nothing.” Dorothy gathered my hair with her hands and began washing it, humming as she went. Her hands were small, but very strong. Gentle on my scalp, but tough on the tangles. Then she took my hand and a bar of soap that smelled like roses, and started massaging, from my fingers to my shoulder. I really could get used to this.