Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 865: Fade

Elaris’s smile didn’t fade.

If anything, it deepened.

But the shimmer in her eyes had shifted—less velvet now, more edge. The kind of smile one offered before drawing the veil over a guillotine.

“My,” she said, almost thoughtfully, “so principled. So… poetic.”

She leaned forward just slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried with perfect clarity between them.

“I do hope that same conviction holds,” she said, “when the Academy corridors begin to narrow. When your schedule fills with errors that no one recalls assigning. When your requests go unanswered. When the dueling invitations start coming… from names you were never meant to cross.”

A pause. Just long enough to let the implications settle like frost along the skin.

She tilted her head, almost wistfully.

“It’s remarkable,” she mused, “how swiftly one’s school life can become… inconvenient.”

Valeria didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Only answered, her voice soft, level, and iron-clad:

“Being on the side of truth,” she said, “has never been easy.”

Silence curved between them like the arc of a drawn bowstring.

“…I see,” Elaris murmured.

But her voice had changed. The warmth—feigned as it was—dissolved, replaced by something colder. Not rage. Not even threat.

Pity.

The worst kind of cruelty.

Elaris looked at her as one might a cracked porcelain figurine—fragile, already failing, destined to be swept aside.

“All this,” she said quietly, “because of him.”

Her gaze flicked, not to the past, but the present—the shadow that had crossed the ballroom earlier, the one Valeria had walked toward without hesitation.

“A man like that,” Elaris said, “a stray man with no future, no house, no throne—he’ll take everything you’ve built. Getting seduced by such a man….”

She leaned in.

“Do you know what that is, Valeria?”

Her smile returned.

Thin.

Cold.

“Stupidity.”

Valeria’s hand curled—gloved fingers tightening against the fabric. Her breath stilled.

And for the briefest moment—

She wanted to act.

To let the fury rising beneath her ribs break the poise she wore like armor.

But she didn’t.

Not here. Not now. Not with Elaris.

Because a snake like her didn’t strike without the room watching.

Instead, Valeria forced herself to breathe—slow and even.

To master her anger.

To remember the rules of the court.

Elaris saw it. Saw the restraint—and mistook it for weakness.

She smiled again. As if she’d won something.

“Well,” she said sweetly, drawing back a step, her voice returning to that measured rhythm of politeness, “you’ve made your choice. I won’t say more.”

Another small nod, a tilt of her head laced with deceptive grace.

“It’s clear you have no intention of changing your mind.”

She turned, her dress sweeping behind her like a curtain falling over a performance’s end.

“Do take care,” she added lightly, already walking away. “Some truths… come with a very steep education.”

Valeria inhaled—slowly, deeply.

Let the breath settle behind her ribs. Let the fury coiled in her spine sink back beneath the stillness of control.

That had gone as expected. Almost to the word.

Which is why it didn’t sting as much as it should have.

Of course the Crown Prince wouldn’t let her walk the floor untouched. Of course he would send his velvet-clawed proxy to whisper poison in her ear. The moment she stood beside Lucavion, that moment…

She exhaled.

’Such façade.’

Elaris’s elegance was just embroidery over threat. Framed in pleasantries, dipped in perfume. But still a blade. Still sharp. Still predictable.

Valeria’s hands relaxed, fingers slipping back into proper place against the folds of her gown. Her expression smoothed.

She was tired.

Not in the way that sleep could cure—but in the way that came from watching the same game played with different faces.

’Let this damn banquet end already… It’s grown dull.’

Even the chandeliers seemed dimmer now. Even the laughter in the far alcoves, more brittle. The political rhythms of the night had begun to drag, repeating themselves like a poorly rehearsed play.

She turned slightly, intent on reclaiming her space near the balcony. Just one breath of fresh air.

And then—

A familiar voice, calm and irritatingly amused, cut across the distance.

“Hmm… this one’s not bad.”

She blinked.

Lucavion.

Plate in hand.

Mouth half-full.

He stood there without a care in the world, sampling what looked like a delicate cream-stuffed pastry, his coat slightly rumpled from whatever corner he’d vanished to. As if the war of words she’d just endured had happened in another lifetime—or another room entirely.

The absolute bastard.

Valeria stared at him. Just stared.

Her eye twitched.

She had faced veiled threats, survived a verbal siege, and managed not to commit a courtly crime—and here he was, casually critiquing canapés like some culinary scholar sent from the heavens to mock her restraint.

The urge to slap him across his ridiculously composed face surged like a second heartbeat.

Because of him, she had been cornered. Threatened. Painted as traitor-adjacent by a noble viper with powdered lashes and too much charm.

And what was Lucavion doing?

Sampling hors d’oeuvres.

He glanced her way.

Paused mid-chew.

Swallowed.

“…You didn’t eat anything, did you?” he asked, as if that were the primary offense committed this evening.

Valeria’s jaw tightened.

Her glare could have cut through marble.

And yet—

Lucavion smiled, just faintly, his black eyes glinting like stars that knew too much and said too little.

“Pity,” he said, lifting another bite to his lips. “You missed the good part.”

Valeria exhaled through her nose, quiet and slow.

I swear, she thought, if he says one more word—

Lucavion, as if pulled by some godless compulsion to test the limits of her restraint, extended the plate toward her.

“Do you want some?” he asked, tone maddeningly neutral. “You look like you want one.”

Valeria’s stare sharpened. A touch colder. A touch more surgical. If looks could draw blood, he’d be bleeding into his boots.

Lucavion, undeterred, simply tilted the plate a little closer, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was daring her to throw it back at him.

“Come on,” he said, with that same infuriating casualness, “don’t be like this.”

Like this, she echoed inwardly, the phrase grating as it landed.

Her glare deepened, as if she were contemplating not just slapping him, but snapping the plate in two and using the shards to carve civility back into his face.

Lucavion only raised an eyebrow, taking another bite for himself, entirely unhurried.

Then, with a flick of his wrist—graceful, practiced—he plucked a smaller pastry from the plate, something wrapped in flaky gold layers and dotted with what looked like sweetened herbs.

Without asking again, he stepped closer.

Too close.

And in a movement so casual it bordered on insolence, he brought it up to her lips.

“Here.”

Valeria blinked. Once.

Her jaw locked.

Lucavion tilted his head slightly. “You’ve had a long evening,” he murmured. “And you’re hungry. Don’t lie.”

“I am not—” she began, but he cut her off with a low hum and the flick of the pastry a fraction closer.

“Mm, I think you are.”

She could feel the eyes nearby—not many, but enough. Enough to make a scene if she snapped. Enough to start whispers if she didn’t. And Lucavion—damn him—knew exactly how far he could push her without tipping the cup.

She should have slapped it away.

She should have turned and walked.

Instead—

She bit.

The pastry was warm, annoyingly perfect. Sweetened with orange blossom and just the faintest trace of spiced clove. It melted on her tongue with a frustrating grace that only made her more furious.

Lucavion watched her chew with the air of a man who had just proven a very petty, very deliberate point.

“See?” he said quietly, smiling now—subtle, sharp. “Told you. Good part.”