There were worse places to freak out than Tempest’s office. I had privacy, amazingly good brandy, and someone competent to take charge until I was able to deal.

  Tempest went pale as I sprang from my chair and began stalking across his office, ranting about games and underwear. I managed three circuits of the plush rug before he got over his surprise and corralled me as I stormed past.

  He led me to a couch near the windows where he calmly draped a blanket across my shoulders and handed me a fresh glass of water, waiting patiently for me to get a grip.

  “Prince Victor,” I demanded, wide eyed and on the verge of panic. “He’s the Crown Prince, isn’t he.”

  “He is.” Tempest answered my question, visibly fighting to keep his voice calm.

  “Shiiit.” My heart sank to my stomach. I rubbed a hand over my face. “I told you about Elsie, right?”

  “Your work partner. Yes,” he confirmed.

  “She has a thing for these shitty romance games. Whenever we were working, she’d tell me all about them. I think it amused her how much it annoyed me. Before I died, she was telling me about a new one she’d picked up. Something Something Holy Maiden of Something.” I waved my hand dismissively. They all had similar sounding names; I could never tell them apart. “She wasn’t terribly impressed with the game. ‘An unimaginative cash grab,’ she called it. Her biggest complaint was with how lazy the writers were. It was so bad, they named the Villainess ‘Violet.’ Because she had purple eyes.”

  Tempest tensed and he stared at me expressionlessly. “You think you are in a game.” He parroted. “As the Villainess.”

  I laughed humourlessly. “Villain, now, I guess. There’s your name too, and Autumn’s.”

  “My name. What’s wrong with my name?” He was starting to sound a bit strangled.

  I whipped an accusatory finger at him. “Your eyes are stormy grey and you’re named Tempest fucking Grey! And Autumn’s a redhead like our father, right? Sane people don’t pick names like that! It’s how you might name a pet, not a child.”

  He watched me warily, like I was a wild animal and prone to biting.

  “Elsie called Princess Bitch’s fiancée in the game ‘Crown Prince Cutie.’ That’s why I asked if Prince Victor was the Crown Prince.”

  “‘Princess Bitch?’”

  I nodded. “Elsie always gave the characters stupid nicknames. Violet was ‘Princess Bitch’.”

  “And her fiancée was ‘Crown Prince Cutie.’” He confirmed. He still looked doubtful.

  I let my head fall back against the top of the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Think about everything you knew about me before last week. The way I dress. How I behaved. My engagement. My name.” I paused. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod. “Now, imagine me as a girl.”

  “… I think I would remember having a sister instead of a brother,” he said softly.

  I glanced at him. He looked surprised at his own words, as if he were doubting his own sanity as much as mine.

  “It would explain why my wardrobe is half lace and ribbons.” I pointed out.

  “And because of this, you believe we are in… one of these games. How?”

  “I don’t fucking know! Maybe our world are linked somehow? Or hell, maybe our dad was just shit at naming people and I really am insane!” I groaned and threw my arm over my eyes. “God. I really hope I’m not insane…”

  “If you have the presence of mind to question it, your sanity is likely not the issue.” I heard the rattle of a drawer opening, and the sound of paper. “What else do you recall about this game?”

  “You believe me?” I looked over at him, a tiny spark of hope blooming in my chest.

  “No.”

  So much for hope. Insane asylum, here I come.

  “But.” He opened the notebook in his lap to an empty page and absently tapped his pen against his lips. “I do believe you are not insane, nor a fraud, nor a liar.” He smiled humourlessly. “I’ve dealt with enough of both to recognize them when I see one. I believe you have your reasons for making the claim, no matter how outlandish it sounds. And there’s a strangeness to this whole affair that… unsettles me. So. I’m willing to entertain the premise. For now.”

  Screw it, that was good enough.

  “She talked a lot about the five main guys and bitched about the Villainess. Said the plot was boring drivel.” I thought back; Els had never been the most helpful narrator. “I’ve already mentioned the prince. Her favourite was ‘Sir Smexy.’ Autumn maybe? Then there was ‘Vengeance Hottie,’ and someone she called ‘Cuddles.’”

  “And the fifth?” He asked, his pen poised.

  I sighed. “‘The best worst decision she’d ever made.’”

  “Those are terrible descriptions.”

  “I know!” I wailed.

  “Is there anything you do recall about the plot?”

  “There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll be dead at the end of it,” I quipped wryly.

  He rolled his eyes. “Useful details, please.”

  “It took place at a school.” I said, trying to remember. Els’ damn games all blended together. “The Heroine of the game is a student, and so’s the Villainess. Villainess hates the commoner for being a commoner and bullies her, drama ensues, blah blah blah. These things aren’t exactly ‘deep.’”

  “The Royal Academy, then. A finishing school of sorts. Illestrian nobles who turn seventeen the year before are required to attend, and there are some commoners who are invited if they possess unusual aptitude. Prince Victor is currently a student, and you would be attending this spring.”

  “That fits. The Heroine will be unusual. Rare magic, or a weird bloodline or something. And… things always end badly for the Villainess in these games. Exile if I’m lucky. Or death.” I couldn’t help my nervous swallow.

  “Then we had best make certain you fail to meet your ‘fate.’”

  I chuckled weakly. Tempest’s confidence was heartening.

  “Is there anything else you recall?”

  Something niggled at the edge of my memory. Something important…

  I stared absently into my glass, lost in thought. “There’s a Demon King.”

  The pen in Tempest's hand snapped in half, spraying ink across the paper.

  “Are you certain?” He demanded harshly.

  “There was a Demon King," I confirmed. The intensity of his reaction was frightening. “Some kind of surprise ending. Els was pissed about it. Claimed it was a blatant money grab for a sequel.”

  “There’s a prophecy,” he began.

  I groaned. “Of course there is.”

  He glared at me.

  I waved apologetically and waited for him to continue.

  “In short, a demon king will rise, overthrow the crown, and claim Illestria as his own.” He intoned. “All will fall before him. If you speak the truth, dark times are coming.”

  “And there’s something about a Holy Maiden in there too?” I guessed.

  “Your ‘Heroine,’ I presume?”

  “Probably.”

  With a tired sigh, Tempest closed his ruined notebook and rubbed his eyes.

  I rose, still clutching the blanket around my shoulders. The guy looked like he needed time to process the bombshells I’d dropped on him. My presence would be a distraction.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Sit.”

  Tempest was watching me blearily, but he patted the spot where I’d been sitting. “After all that, I think we could both use something to eat. You’ll join me for lunch?”

  Before I could respond, the door creaked open and a footman entered, carrying a large, covered tray. The footman shot Tempest an unimpressed look as he caught sight of my dishevelled state.

  My stomach rumbled; it smelled amazing. All the food I’d eaten here had been top notch, like eating in a high class French restaurant every day. I’d sent high praise back to the kitchen after every meal. I happily plopped my ass back on the couch and tried not to drool.

  Tempest snorted in amusement.

  -----------------------------------------

  Lunch with Tempest became a regular affair. He was willing to answer my questions, no matter how random, and I enjoyed his company. It worried me when we took lunch together a few days later and my normally engaging brother was quiet and withdrawn, answering my questions with sharp one-word answers instead of his usual amused tolerance.

  After lunch, he gestured for me to follow him without a word of explanation.

  “Tempest?” I asked hesitantly as he led me through the house. “Where are we going?”

  He stared dead ahead, his eyes flat and cold. “We have been summoned,” he replied tersely, “by your mother.”

  I cringed.

  The horrible relationship between Tempest and the duchess was infamous among the servants. The duchess hated Tempest for existing; our father had left him the entire duchy, which she had assumed would become hers after he passed. She hated Autumn just as much for not being his heir instead. The only child she seemed to like, or at least tolerate, was pre-accident me.

  Meanwhile, Tempest believed the duchess had driven our father to an early grave. He also hated her for turning both myself and Autumn against him out of spite when we were kids.

  Any meeting between the two of them was guaranteed to end with either screamed threats, thrown objects, or both.

  I wasn’t sure how Autumn felt about our mother, but considering she’d turned on him and driven him from his home, I was guessing it wasn’t warm and loving.

  Tempest led me through the manor towards the Duchess’s apartments, an area of the house I hadn’t been allowed to explore. The familiar bustle of the servants died away, replaced by oppressive quiet. It felt like walking through a museum. Or a mausoleum.

  He marched through it grimly, as if headed to his own execution.

  We approached a large set of doors guarded by a pair of men I’d never met. Another one of my mother’s games, Louise had told me. The duchess refused any servants Tempest had tried to assign to her, choosing instead to hire her own staff without any considerations besides loyalty to herself.

  The guards glowered menacingly at Tempest.

  He ignored them and rapped softly on the door.

  A cold voice answered from the other side. “Come in.”

  The duchess was waiting for us in her sitting room. She spared us only the briefest glance, lounging like a queen on one of the love seats. Her sharp, ice-cold eyes chilled me to the core. She motioned us sharply to the sofa across from her.

  My mother could easily have passed as my twin. She shared my heart-shaped face and black hair, but her eyes were amber to my violet. Only the faint lines at the corners of her eyes and a few strands of grey betrayed her age.

  A high tea was a set out on the low table between us. There were only two cups.

  I felt my brother flinch at the implied insult.

  The duchess looked me over and smiled. It never reached her eyes. “Violet, my poor, sweet child. I was so terribly worried,” she crooned. “I am glad you’re feeling better.”

  Ignoring Tempest entirely, she poured two cups of tea and handed one up me. I took the cup and pretended to take a sip. Everything about the Duchess set my hair on end. I watched her like she was a venomous serpent about to strike.

  ”I’m fine, Mother. I’ve recovered well.”

  ”Thank the merciful gods. I was worried sick when I heard what had happened.”

  And yet she hadn’t bothered to visit me.

  Her mask of civility slipped as she looked over at Tempest. Her lips curled into a cold, disgusted sneer as she finally acknowledged his presence. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She snapped hatefully. “How could you allow this to happen to my precious son?”

  Tempest stayed silent, his eyes downcast. There was no sign of the calm and confident Tempest I had gotten to know.

  “If only your father could see your incompetence. He’d turn in his grave. You can’t even run a manor without maiming someone. You’ve turned his legacy into a laughingstock.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” I interrupted the Duchess, coming to Tempest’s defence. “Regardless of what happened, any blame should fall squarely upon my shoulders.”

  My mother’s mouth snapped shut, and Tempest’s gaze shot to me. The disbelief mingled with faint hope in Tempest’s eyes upset me more than I expected. Had no one ever stood up for the guy before?

  She huffed dismissively. “Nonsense. If anything, the fault lies with his incompetent stablemaster and the rabid beast they gave you. I’ll have the beast dealt with and the man flogged.”

  “You will not.”

  The clink of the china as I put down my cup seemed to echo in the silence following my declaration. Whatever she had been expecting, that wasn’t it.

  “Violet! Do not argue with me. This is hardly becoming behaviour.”

  “I will not have an innocent man punished, and an animal killed for something that is most likely my fault!”

  We glared at each other across the table, breathing heavily.

  After a moment, The duchess sat back in a huff and flicked her fingers at me dismissively. “You are being ridiculous, dear. You must still be a bit addled from your accident. Give it some time and you’ll understand; I only want what’s best for you.”

  I sighed. “Unfortunately, that will not be happening.”

  She stilled, scrutinizing me closely. Her frown grew angrier with each passing second. “Explain,” she commanded.

  “Violet’s memory loss is permanent,” Tempest said quietly. “This is who he is now.”

  He barely flinched as the Duchess’s cup and saucer smashed into the table in front of him, showering us both with porcelain shards and milky tea.

  She stood suddenly, her face bloodless. “You hateful little monster,” she hissed. Her voice was as cold as the netherworld. “You stole everything from me, everything I was owed. It should have been mine, you ill-bred mongrel. And now, you dare steal the only thing of worth your useless father left me with?!” Her face twisted in rage, her eyes so wide you could see the sclera all the way around. “Why couldn’t you have just died along with your common whore of a mother?!”

  With a scream, she snatched up the heavy silver teapot and reared back, readying to throw it at Tempest's face.

  I lunged for her. The tea service crashed to the floor as I slid across the table and grabbed her raised arm. I squeezed her wrist, forcing her to drop the pot. It smashed into the strewn debris of the tea service, splattering us both with even more tea.

  She screeched and clawed at my hand.

  “That’s enough.” I injected every ounce of confidence and authority I was capable of into my voice as I grappled with her.

  She stilled, her eyes flashing with hateful fury. “You ungrateful brat,” she spat. Her nails sank into my hand, deep enough to draw blood. “After everything I’ve done for you, you dare turn against me.” She wrenched out of my grip and her hand cracked against my cheek.

  “Get out, you worthless failure. Never show your face here again.” She spun and stormed off, heading deeper into her rooms, slamming the door behind her.

  My hand rose to my stinging cheek. I stood in the middle of her ruined carpet, dumbstruck by the sudden violence of her outburst.

  Tempest wordlessly took my arm, startling me out of my shock, and led me out into the hall.

  Her guards watched stonily as we retreated.

  I ruefully brushed the debris of the tea set from my clothes with trembling hands. Adrenaline was a bitch. The white silk shirt was likely ruined, but hopefully Louise would be able to save the brocade jacket.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I glanced over at Tempest. He had managed to reassemble his usual calm mask, but I could see the cracks.

  “For what?”

  “I shouldn’t have allowed you to become involved,” he said in a quiet monotone. “I should have dealt with her myself.”

  I shot him a scathing look. “Don’t be an idiot,” I told my startled brother, my arms crossed and head held high. “This whole mess is my problem too. There’s no way I’m going to abandon you to deal with it. What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

  “…Thank you.”

  His voice was so soft I barely caught it.

  -----------------------------------------------

  To my surprise, Tempest didn’t lead me back towards his office, but up to the third floor of the manor. A door just past the stairs opened quietly and Tempest’s valet stepped out. He took in our dishevelled appearances, Tempest’s with resignation and mine with surprise.

  I gave him a little wave as Tempest ushered me past him.

  My brother motioned for me to wait and vanished through a door on the far wall.

  I found myself in a cozy little sitting room. It was much more inviting than I would have expected.

  The small, sunny room held worn furniture in a mishmash of styles, the wooden floors overlaid with numerous rugs. Bookcases full of worn tomes and treasured trinkets lined the walls. A small, battered desk stood against one of the walls, a souvenir of his childhood, judging by its size. On it sat a large vase of flowers and a framed portrait of a frail-looking woman with kindly grey eyes.

  I picked the portrait up for a closer look.

  “My mother,” Tempest said with a sad smile as he returned. He had changed into a clean shirt and held out a second shirt for me.

  “She’s beautiful.” I put the portrait back in its place. “What was she like?”

  I quickly shrugged off my soiled jacket and ruined shirt, pausing briefly to admire my flat stomach before I pulled on Tempest’s shirt. I was continuously surprised that a short, skinny little waif like Violet came with nicely toned muscles and lightly defined abs. Tempest’s valet collected my dirty clothes and vanished without a word.

  Tempest reached out and ran a loving hand along the frame, as if he could touch the person herself. “She passed away when I was four, so I don’t remember much. She was kind and gentle, and she had a beautiful singing voice. I loved it when she sang lullabies to me at night. She was Father’s first love,” he told me with a tiny laugh. “The daughter of a landless baronet, one of the Royal Knights granted a title by the king. A completely unsuitable match, but he insisted. It was love at first sight.” His smile fell. “When she died, a piece of him died with her.”

  “What happened to her?”

  He frowned, lost in a dark memory. “A fever swept through the capital that summer. Mother’s health had always been fragile. One day we were playing together in the garden. Less than a week later, she was gone, and House Dusk was in mourning.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could have met her. She sounds like a wonderful person.”

  “She was.” He smiled. “You two would have gotten along well. She also had a habit of interfering in other people’s fights,” he teased, reaching out to ruffle my hair. I playfully swatted his hand away and he chuckled. “According to Father, they met when he saved her from some ruffians in a bar. I’m fairly certain it was she who saved him.

  ”He was never the same after she passed away. He remarried, of course, but it was an alliance rather than a love match. I remember the day he brought his new bride home. I thought your mother looked like a princess from a fairy tale. I had such high hopes that she would be kind and loving and heal our broken hearts. Instead… She hated my mother for stealing Father’s heart, and me for reminding her of it every damned day.”

  “Is it always that bad?” I asked, gingerly touching my cheek. It still stung from her slap.

  Tempest sighed. “No. Usually I can deal with her on my own, but sometimes…” He looked past me, his eyes haunted. There was something deeper going on. Something dark and ugly, and I’d only just glimpsed the surface.

  “If you ever want to talk, I’d like to listen.” Emotional support had never been my forte, but no way was I going to let him suffer alone. “I don’t think I’d be coping with all this nearly as well without you. So, if you want to talk or rant or something, I’m here.”

  Tempest stared at me in silence, his expression unreadable. I grew increasingly uncomfortable.

  “I would appreciate that.”

  I released a breath I hadn't been aware I was holding. “I’d love to hear more stories about your mom.”

  He smiled.