Chapter 2 —The Villainess and The Story

When I woke the next day in a glamorous bed and ostentatious room, the reality of my fate collided with my hazy dream state. 

I'd regained my memories from a previous life in a world that spun on science and operated on democracy when I turned four. When my mother made her ridiculous promise to never lie to me, memories of my life as Amelia Kim came to life as if someone had cast a spell. I watched 25 years of life flitter by like a roll of falling film tape, and 10 more followed it in a milky haze.

Although I saw so much of my life flickering by behind my golden eyes, I only clearly recalled when I was turning 24. 

It was the year COVID took away my dreams and my life, and I spent my days depressed and escaping into stories where I could temporarily live someone else's life. 

And my most vivid memories are of the webnovel The Emperor's Trials.

It's a stereotypical historical fantasy romance. The plot was mediocre, the characters were so-so, but the overall story was a fun read. It gave me all the clichés and tropes I loved best, fluff when I wanted it, momentary angst when I needed it.

The Emperor's Trials was written from the point of view of the female protagonist, Veronica Rubellite, the long-lost daughter of Marquis Rubellite. 

She lived the standard hard childhood of a commoner orphan who was fortunate enough to be a long-lost noble and reunited with her family, where her obsessive family's care and love cured her childhood trauma during her second chance at life.

Unlike her second life, Veronica lived abused and lonely in her first life. She lived tragically abused at an orphanage before being sold to the Orzo duchy, where her life became a living hell. To make it even worse, she was bought to threaten Iristella Orzo's (cast: me) position as heir.

Duke Orzo was a cruel man whose only goal in life was to produce the next emperor. Unfortunately for him, as if the gods were punishing him, his only child was born from a concubine with no apparent background, and (probably out of spite because those gods be petty) the child was a girl.

Although empresses are not unheard of in the Pastillia Empire, the author made the world a misogynistic society for kicks and giggles (and maybe the plot) because there were a lot of feminist elements in the novel. So. Reasoning for misogyny?

A singular boy could make more babies than a woman could.

And with that unsound logic, female candidates were not seriously considered for the throne, but the ducal houses (more often than not) had female heirs. Thus, polygamy was common practice in the Pastillia Empire to birth the next boy emperor each generation, and male ducal heirs were preferred. 

Like all of the other houses, Duke Orzo had many concubines in addition to their wives in pursuit of a male infant. Not only did each ducal household need a candidate for the emperor's trials, but they also needed an heir for their respective houses.

With his own sick reasoning, Duke Orzo believed only sons were allowed the privilege of living because (apparently) only they were worthy of the imperial throne and ducal seat. 

The duke believed daughters only complicated the matter of the ducal succession and imperial candidacy because women (on paper) had equal rights to the throne and the ducal head of household. A girl could threaten his precious boy's chance at becoming the next emperor.

Unlike the process of becoming the monarch's successor, ducal houses set the rules for their succession. For example, the Orzo and Fusilli duchies viewed both male and female children as eligible ducal heirs because heirs were determined by the goddess's blessing. And in this misogynic society, most confusingly, House Gomiti only had female ducal heirs. 

Despite these rules and traditions, for some unclear (and morbid) reason, Duke Orzo hated the idea of a female heir.

Because the insane murderer disliked girls, Duke Orzo had a nasty habit of slaughtering his daughters the moment they were born. He was a tyrannical (but hot) nightmare.

But as if the gods were punishing him, Duke Orzo sired fewer boys than Henry VIII. Until ultimately, Iris was the duke's only living child and heir apparent thanks to Elle's (Iris's mother) quick thinking and bravery.

Iris's mother (who definitely fell in love with the duke's looks and not his "charming" personality) escaped the duchy towards the end of her pregnancy in fear for her child's life.  

Although she would've been exalted and adorned with riches had she birthed a boy, she decided riches were not the risk to her baby's life and ran away. Elle escaped to a village in the mountains on the border between the Orzo and Fusilli duchies, where she gave birth to Iris and raised her until Iris's fifth birthday.

It's never explained in Iris's backstory why her mother abandoned her at the duchy after working so hard to run away and hide Iris for five years, but it was clear why Duke Orzo wanted—(read) needed Iris.

Once House Orzo discovered Iris's existence and her lineage was undeniable due to her golden eyes and ethereal, whisper-blue hair, Duchess Orzo had no choice but to accept her. No one questioned Iris's right as heir apparent (despite being an illegitimate child of a commoner mother) mainly because she was the spitting image of the first duke of Orzo, Asher.

Iris's coloring indicated a strong affinity for the divine and the undeniable right to the ducal seat because she was the only child in centuries to be so fervently favored by the goddess.

For as long as anyone could recall, no one—not even Iris's conception collaborator, possessed the deep golden eyes that were proof of the goddess's blessing upon the Orzo family. 

Past Orzo descendants were born with golden eyes holding only specks like gold leaf in their irises; some had golden halos around their pupils, but none had the golden sun embedded into their eyes like they were in Iris.

In fact, the duke's eyes were strangely translucent, as if all light and color wept out of the orbs until his eyes became iridescent sun catchers instead of the incandescent sun.

Iris's eyes held the twinkling stars in her irises and the summer sun in the way they shined. But despite her sunny façade, she lived as an ill-mannered child who sought her father's affection and her stepmother's benevolence. She acted out in defiance for attention; she flaunted her wealth and superiority as her narcissistic father and stepmother modeled for acceptance.

Vain was Duke Orzo, who valued nothing more than House Orzo's reputation. Nothing in this world mattered more to him than the family's dignity.

To make matters worse, Iris was incapable of making friends as a child due to her poor social skills and anti-social behavior.

Then around ten years old, Iris rebelled, defying her father (as she should) and terrorizing her tutors (as she shouldn't). The duke then bought Veronica from the corrupt orphanage when he met her selling flowers on a street corner. 

Veronica, the kind hearted protagonist she was, made a great effort to please the duke and desperately wanted friendship with Iris. But she was tragically met with pressure and scorn.

The duke only brought Veronica to the manor to become Iris's competition—to motivate Iris to become the perfect heir by lavishing Veronica with affection and attention like she was his beloved daughter. And Iris hated Veronica because of how much attention and affection the duke and duchess showed our ill-fated protagonist.

In the end, both Veronica and Iris lived terrible childhoods in the Orzo manor.

One suffered covert disdain; the other endured overt hatred.

Later, it's implied that Iris kills Veronica, but how Veronica died remains unclear. By plot magic, Veronica somehow learns she's actually the long-lost daughter of Marquis Rubellite by the time of her return.

Marquis Rubellite had lost his wife and toddler in a horrific carriage accident like all good backstories go. The child was never found and was presumed dead by everyone but the marquis. 

With the help of the plot fairy, Veronica reunites with her long lost family and begins healing from her childhood traumas in her new loving home on her second try at life.

Fast forward a few years, Veronica meets the male lead at the Foundation Day ball, and they both fall madly in love at first sight. Of course, for no rhyme or reason, the men of the empire all end up adoring her for everything she was and stood for when she meets them at various points in the story (insert angsty love conflict and hair-pulling misunderstandings). 

This is when the reverse harem part of the story begins, and we watch all the critical eligible bachelors (a crown prince and two ducal heirs) fall madly in love with the gentle yet firm and flawless Veronica with her perfectly tragic past. 

Iris (unsurprisingly) is jealous of Veronica and begins terrorizing her until, one day, she (of course) takes it too far and attempts to poison Veronica. The three love interests all band together to relieve Iris of her head and ultimately destroy the Orzo duchy in revenge for Veronica.

Then Veronica and all three leads live happily ever after.

It was an entertaining read when I was Amelia, but it sounds like the stupidest story now that I am Iris. And it sounds like the dumbest plot in existence now that I was standing in the oppressing office of Duke Orzo in the ugliest and scratchiest brown dress, awaiting the beginning of my tragic demise.

"What is your name," was all his brusk voice breathed into the cool air with the sound of flipped pages filling its emptiness. The duke didn't bother looking up from his desk to speak to his long-lost child. He was dismissive both in tone and demeanor.

He looked domineering, unapproachable, immovable. Immovable in a way that was different from my mother. My mother was immovable like a sturdy mountain; Duke Orzo was immovable like a stubborn mule.

"Iristella Noviette," was my reply. Surprisingly, my voice wasn't meek or timid. It didn't cower like that of a five year old child. Instead, it was the calm, composed, collected tone of a 25 year old adult claiming her space in the body of a small child. "Orzo," I decided to add at the last moment, even though I'd never once used that name.

It was blatantly defiant. 

And risky. 

I was claiming to be of the Orzo duchy before being officially recognized. I was etching my name into the prestigious and grand Orzo legacy, chiseling and claiming my space within this prejudiced and constraining household. 

But at that moment, I was nothing more than a bathed street urchin in a cheap ugly dress, boldly claiming the Orzo name in front of the patriarch. It was rebellious at the least and overtly insulting at best.

But I was making my stance. I had to—even if it meant being severely reprimanded.

I wasn't the helpless Iris, five years old and confused. I was twenty-five, out of control, and uncontainable—a colonizer of my rightful place. Whether this POS wanted to recognize me or not, I was—undoubtedly, an Orzo. And I had the right to the prestige and self-righteous dignity of this house—goddamn it!

To everyone's surprise, the duke's fingers paused, a page suspended between his thumb and pointer finger, and his face calmly looked up to meet my defiant glare. The tension in the room was palpable, and everyone—but father and daughter, tensed. 

The servants in the shadows along the walls held their breath in fear and amazement at the tiny child's unwavering glower. It was uncertain who was more intimidating—the duke or the unwanted heir.

It momentarily stunned me when the duke examined me closely from his desk, blue hair brushing against his strong forehead, grazing his brow, focus deepening the lines between his eyebrows the longer he stared at me and me back at him. 

I had assumed he'd called me to spout some nonsense, become disinterested and dismiss me, but he examined me from head to toe for the next eternity.

"A fitting name," finally broke the silence, "Vera. Iristella Vera Orzo, heir apparent and only child of the Orzo duchy. You're dismissed now."

Just like that, I was ushered away in my god awful dress back into my gilded cage and awaited the next day with a bated breath.