Chapter 2 the Crown Prince

Chapter 2

The Villainess Makes Her Move

Querencia walked through the long, dimly lit corridor of the Baron's estate, her footsteps light but purposeful. She paused before a large mahogany door, took a steadying breath, and pushed it open. The scent of old books, cigar smoke, and expensive liquor greeted her. Seated at the grand desk was Baron Loretta, her father by blood, though not by heart.

The Baron's sharp, disapproving gaze shot to her the moment she stepped inside. His dark eyes narrowed, and his fingers laced together atop the polished desk.

"Well, it's about time you learned to listen," he sneered, his voice laced with disdain.

Querencia met his stare without a hint of fear, her lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. "You should be thankful my ears haven't gone deaf from the constant shouting in this house," she shot back, her tone mocking.

The Baron's eyes widened in fury. Without warning, he snatched the heavy ashtray on his desk and hurled it toward her. Querencia's reflexes, sharpened by years of surviving this man's temper, kicked in. She sidestepped effortlessly, the ashtray shattering against the wall behind her.

"Luck won't always be on your side, Querencia!" the Baron bellowed, slamming his fist onto the desk. "Next time, you'll leave this room with a hole in your head!"

Querencia couldn't help the soft, dark chuckle that escaped her lips at the sight of his red, furious face. "Careful, Baron. You'll give yourself high blood pressure," she taunted before spinning on her heel and striding out of the room.

As she stepped into the hallway, her loyal maid Marina was already waiting for her. Querencia gestured toward her with a smirk. "Marina, prepare the carriage and lay out the dress I'll wear for the celebration tonight. It's about time I entertained my dear father," she said with a wicked grin.

"Yes, Binibini," Marina replied, bowing slightly before hurrying off to relay the orders.

Falling into step beside Querencia, Marina couldn't help but comment with a sigh, "It seems you've angered the Baron again."

"Not nearly enough," Querencia replied without missing a beat.

If not for the unfortunate blood that tied them, she might have admired the Baron's cunning. But knowing the depths of his cruelty and the life he'd stolen from her mother, Querencia couldn't muster even an ounce of respect for him. He was a man who believed power justified all sins - and Querencia had long vowed she would never be like him. Or fall under his control.

"Will you be meeting the Crown Prince tonight, Binibini?" Marina asked hesitantly, her voice low.

Querencia laughed at that, a cold, mocking sound. "The Crown Prince would be lucky to have a moment of my attention. That man's the reason for my inevitable death in this cursed story - and I'm supposed to go chasing after him? What do you take me for? A fool?"

Marina offered a nervous smile but said nothing. She'd learned it was wiser to stay silent when her mistress was in such a mood.

The Celebration at the Palace

Night fell swiftly, and soon Querencia was dressed and seated inside her ornate carriage, en route to the grand ball hosted at the royal palace. The cobblestone streets blurred past, lantern light flickering against the windows.

Upon her arrival, the air thickened with the buzzing hum of gossip.

"There she is - the Baron's infamous daughter."

"Querencia Loretta Lynn? Isn't she the one the Baron protects like some prized jewel? I heard he's desperate to marry her off to the Crown Prince."

"They say she's insufferable. Proud and wicked."

"Oh, terribly cruel, that one."

Every word reached her ears, though spoken in supposed secrecy. It made Querencia's lips twitch into an amused, mocking smile. Part of her wanted to walk right into their little huddle, correct their pathetic assumptions, and watch them choke on their words. But tonight, she had bigger plans.

The grand ballroom shimmered with chandeliers and velvet drapes, the air thick with the scent of wine, perfume, and ambition. Nobles spun on the polished marble floors to the sound of a string quartet. And there - near the far side of the room - was her target.

Tall, with pale silver hair and eyes like storm clouds, Archduke Castriel de Wolreign stood apart from the crowd, wine glass in hand, watching the festivities with the bored detachment of a predator in a room of sheep.

Querencia's lips curled.

But before she could move toward him, an unfamiliar voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Delighted to see you, Lady Lynn," a portly, middle-aged noble greeted with a smile too wide to be genuine.

Querencia turned, her face polite but distant. She didn't recognize him, nor did she care to. "The pleasure is mine," she replied smoothly, offering the barest of courtesies.

Without invitation, the man's hand slid to her shoulder in a gesture far too familiar. Her skin crawled.

Disgust rising in her throat, Querencia's polite mask slipped. She straightened, her gaze sharpening like a blade. "It seems your hand has a mind of its own, sir," she said icily.

Before the man could stammer a reply, she grabbed his wrist, twisted it sharply, and heard the satisfying crack of strained joints.

"A-argh!" the man yelped, drawing startled glances from nearby guests.

"You wear those pretty rings to make your hands look noble, but no amount of gold will hide your filth," she spat, releasing him with a shove.

She calmly drew a handkerchief from her pocket, wiped her palm as if to remove his lingering touch, and dipped into a shallow curtsey. "Excuse me."

As she turned away, the stunned man clutched his hand, too shocked to speak.

Tsk. Old fool, she thought.

Querencia scanned the room once more, but the brief distraction had cost her - the Archduke was no longer where he'd been.

Where did that damn man go?

She spun around in frustration, only to overhear the tail end of a conversation.

"Yes, Your Grace. As you wish."

She followed the voice just in time to spot the Archduke dismissing a subordinate. His back was to her, but Querencia's heart leapt. Without hesitation, she crossed the floor and stopped before him.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she greeted, offering a dazzling smile and extending her hand.

Too late, she realized she'd held her hand a little too low - dangerously close to the man's waist.

Oh hell.

Querencia's face flushed crimson as she quickly lifted her hand higher, internally cursing her nerves. If the Archduke were of a dirtier mind, he might think she was greeting... other parts of him.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his gaze.

Shyt, he's tall.

The man was a walking work of art - sharp jawline, cold, elegant features, and eyes like a storm about to break. Even standing in front of him felt like standing at the mouth of a lion's den.

"Your Grace," she pressed on, regaining her composure. "May I have this dance?"

For a long, excruciating moment, he said nothing, his gaze pinned to her face. It felt like being weighed, measured, and judged all at once. Querencia held her ground.

And then, without a word, Castriel de Wolreign turned away.

He placed his wine glass on a passing tray and walked off, leaving her standing there, hand still outstretched, heart pounding in her chest.

W-what the hell?!

Around her, conversations stalled. Curious eyes locked onto the spectacle she'd just made of herself. The buzzing whispers resumed, now aimed entirely at her.

Querencia clenched her fists, her expression darkening.

"They didn't call me a villainess for nothing, Archduke," she muttered under her breath, a sharp smile slicing across her face. "You better be ready. I'm not done with you yet."

And with that, she tossed her head back and laughed - a rich, defiant sound that made even the most self-righteous nobles flinch.

From across the room, Castriel shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Crazy woman," he murmured to himself before vanishing into the crowd.

But Querencia wasn't bothered. This was just the opening act. And in her story, she refused to be anyone's victim.

Not this time.

To Be Continued...