With all the information revealed, I could take them down in one fell swoop. However, I knew Clara wouldn't go down without a fight. And I knew she would do everything to expose Rosaria's connection with the shadow walkers and bring me down with her. Which was why I needed a plan.

We returned to the manor under the swift cover of night, where my plan began to formulate in my mind. "Rowan, I'll need you outside my door tonight. Can I trust you?" I asked grimly. He knew I was very serious.

He nodded. "I won't fall asleep, not once."

"Good," I grinned. "Because heads are about to roll."

That very night, I called Clara to my headquarters. The fire's burned low, casting long shadows that shiver along the walls like they know what's coming. I didn't sit. I couldn't. I stood by the window, arms folded, gaze fixed on the night beyond the glass. Waiting.

She entered coolly, closing the door quietly behind her. "You called, my lady?" She asked, a calculating sharpness in her gaze. "Was my warning last time not enough?"

I motioned for her to sit then sighed, striding over to a chair and leaning against it. "You took your time," I deadpanned.

"It's past midnight. I assumed this could wait until morning." Clara said, her tone unamused.

"Oh, I think we've waited long enough, don't you?" I turned to her, my face unreadable. What are you up to? Just what kind of influence did you have on the original Rosaria?

Clara was a gray-haired woman with sharp blue eyes—she looked every part the loyal head maid, but I could see underneath her mask. She wasn't someone who appeared in the novel—rather, she was someone new, and that fact scared me. Someone I didn't have any prior information about—which was why I had to be careful. From what I'd gathered from the other servants, Clara had raised Rosaria after her mother died, and the two shared a fairly close relationship until Rosaria started letting things get to her head, running around wild and entitled.

Clara gripped her fists. "I advised you not to forget your place, little serpent," She hissed. "You have been given a duty—"

"Oh have I?" I leaned against my hands, amused. "Enlighten me."

Clara looked over half fed up with me, as she stared at me down. ""Don't play coy now. You know perfectly well. Don't tell me you've got cold feet? Chancellor Veltin will not be pleased to hear."

I waited, expectantly. Her words intrigued me. They reminded me of the night she delivered the poison. I knew there was something more to Rosaria and Clara's relationship. And now I was learning exactly how Rosaria was connected to the Shadow Walkers.

She sighed. "You were born to rule, Rosaria. To end a kingdom that's long outlived its worth. Your place at the Crown Prince's side is no coincidence. When the moment comes, you'll do your part. You'll be the end of him—and the beginning of something far greater." Her eyes flashed, the promise of power behind them. "If you continue to do what I say, you'll have the power you've always wanted."

My eyes flashed with recognition. So I was right. In the original novel, Rosaria was beheaded for trying to poison a court noble—Julia hadn't detailed who—but now I saw the real target was the Prince himself. My gut twisted. She couldn't bear to kill him, could she? Slowly, I was starting to understand Clara. And see the original Rosaria in a new light.

She continued, her voice slow and calculating. "You were meant to be the Crown's jewel of us—the final piece to our plan. Polished and placed just right, so no one saw the dagger underneath. I raised you to be subtle, obedient, and devastating—but perhaps not well enough," She looked me up and down. "You've changed lately, Rosaria."

Because I'm not her. I pitied the poor Rosaria, she hadn't been given a choice in who whispered promises of power in her ears. There was no way I'd let C;ara flip the tables on me. I advanced, so our faces were inches apart. "What if I've changed my mind? Maybe I don't want to be your crown jewel anymore." My heart pounded in my chest. I was growing bold, too bold. "You're vile, Clara. Selling out your home and your people like a dozen eggs at the market. But I won't be your puppet anymore. I'll take you down—you'll see." Not only for me, and Rowan and Katia... but for Rosaria.

"How dare you speak to me like that, when I raised you!" Clara spit, pointing her finger.

"Raised me?" I scoffed, voice soft and bitter. Clara hadn't raised Rosaria—she poisoned her. Now I understood why a girl with such a sweet, loving family could have such rumors about her. "No, you mean you twisted me. Sharpened me into a blade for someone else to wield. But you forgot something, Clara—blades cut both ways." The steely tone of my voice hung in the air for a moment, and I stared her down, right in the eyes.

"You should tread carefully, child. You don't know half of what I've done for you. What I've done for this plan. I'll not let someone like you let it all go to ruin." Clara's voice was thick with sternness. She didn't like being stood up to—but I could sense the desperation. She didn't want to lose her hold on Rosaria, the key to her plans. If she did, it was her own neck that would be in danger. But I wasn't the original Rosaria—her empty threats and promises of power didn't scare me.

I scoffed. "You're delusional, Clara."

Clara gripped the arms of the couch, her nails digging into it. It looked like she wanted to lunge at me, and strangle my neck, but she restrained herself. Instead, she looked thoughtful for a moment, swallowed, and lifted her icy gaze to meet mine. "When your mother passed away, you cried for her for weeks. Do you remember? They said she slipped in the garden. How tragic." I froze. What? My mind was reeling. Don't tell me...

Clara continued, and it was her turn to step closer to me. "I did what had to be done. And if you forget your place, I'll put you down too. Just like I did her." She took one step toward me with each word, eventually pressing her cold, wrinkled finger to my chest.

No way... I was startled with this revelation. It was like my brain turned off. She killed Rosaria's mother? An overwhelming sense of pity rose in my gut. What would Duke Leeland think if he knew? I sighed, shaking my head. This was tragic.

Those are empty words, you can't get rid of me, I thought, steadying myself to meet Clara's gaze. Despite myself, I couldn't help tears starting to well up in my eyes, and I raised my hands to my face. What's happening? I wasn't sad—but it was like my body was having a reaction. Like the original Rosaria was mourning. It was jarring and left me disoriented, as I broke down in tears.

Satisfied, Clara gave a triumphant smile. Then, she rose from her seat, and pressed a hand to my shoulder, bringing her head low to talk near my ear. "Remember your place, Rosaria. Or someone else will have to remind you."

Her words left a chill in my bones as I struggled to regain control over Rosaria's body. It was a weird experience—mourning for someone I'd never even known before. Even stranger, I wasn't close with my parents. I never knew the love of a mother's sweet touch. Still, I cried, as I eventually regained control of this body. Rosaria, you poor thing... was all I could think as I gripped my trembling shoulders.

___

The night was quiet, and I was restless. There was a reason I had placed Rowan outside my door—and whether there was a basis to that reason remained to be seen. I lay in my bed, flipping through the sudden revelation. Rosaria was a key piece in the Shadow-Walkers plans, a piece they'd just lost. I felt a sense of triumph in that small victory.

Clara won't do anything to me... she can't, I reassured myself as I stared at the ceiling, trying to slow my beating heart. But she won't give up so easily. I had to prepare myself for her retaliation. Clara was going to try everything she could to get me back on her side.

But it was a relief to know the real Rosaria hadn't joined them willingly. I was angry at the vile thing Clara had done—imagining the beautiful young woman Rosaria could have become, instead of the deeply troubled child. No wonder she was Julia's favorite character.

Julia... I recalled my best friend's face once more. Her blonde hair, flawless pale skin, and green eyes—every time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of her. Why didn't I see it? There was quite a parallel between her life and Rosaria's. Julia grew up in a fractured home, raised by an awful aunt and uncle, much like Rosaria.

But unlike Rosaria, Julia had come out a better person from her struggles. Broken, but nonetheless still better. The parallel between her and Julia's life made Rosaria's tale all the more saddening. I recalled every scene with Rosaria in the novel, and thought of her actions and motivations, wishing Julia had written her POV.

A tear slid down my cheek. Why did you have to take your own life, Julia? It had been a while since I thought about it. I didn't want to think about it. But now, those memories came flooding back to me, even after spending weeks as a new person in an entirely different world.

I wish I'd been more careful... I wish I'd seen the pain in her eyes... I thought mournfully. Julia always struggled with depression, but writing her book series had been her escape, and I'd supported her dream since childhood. I had always tried to be there for her, but as friends do, we grew naturally distant as we aged. We went to different colleges, pursued different careers, and moved to different cities.

We tried to keep in touch as best we could, and I was an editor for Julia on the weekends. But nonetheless, we drifted apart. If only I'd fought harder to stay in touch, if only I'd realized how much she was struggling.

And then, when she received the rejection from the publishing company, she was devastated. She called me on the phone, crying, and I consoled her—but that very same night, she took her own life. It was after a slough of bad luck; her fiance of four years cheating on her, her father passing away, and getting laid off of her job. The rejection from the publisher was the final straw. I'm sorry, Julia... I was a horrible friend to you.

And now here I was, living in her novel, as a character, the villainess, she'd personally designed after her younger self. Ironic, isn't it? I brushed a tear from my cheek. Maybe this is my way to make it up to you.

I swore I would, from the moment I woke up in this world. I would not only survive, but I would make sure the story survived as well—and save people's lives if I could. Because this wasn't just a story anymore. This was my reality. Everyone around me was a real person, with real feelings and thoughts. They weren't just characters in a book. Which, in a way, made this challenging. Book characters are much easier to figure out than real life people.

I thought of Prince Roland, Katia, and Duke Leeland—all characters written about in the book, but they were much different in real life. And those not written about in the book, like Julian, Edith, Gareth, and Rowan... to me, they were all real people, with real experiences. The grueling reality of battle was no different in this world, which made me fear death all the more.

And I'm not really the same anymore, am I? I thought slowly. While I was still Tamara, there was a part of me that was also Rosaria. I was no longer that sad, loveless girl living paycheck to paycheck. Here, I had a home, and I had a family. Something I was willing to fight for and protect. It was a strange feeling.

I rolled over on my side and closed my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. That's enough thinking. I need to rest, and come up with a plan tomorrow.

Still, sleep wound not come, and I tossed and turned for another two more hours. A cold draft entered the room, the breeze swirling around my face. I didn't forget to shut the window, I recalled. I remembered, after Clara left, shutting the window which had remained open all afternoon, and locking it tightly.

An eerie feeling shrouded my gut.