Heavy purple velvet dragged against my ankles like wet sand, pulling me down with every step.
Cold stone walls of the imperial palace loomed overhead, casting long, jagged silhouettes across the polished obsidian floor.
Guards flanked me on either side, their iron boots striking a rhythmic, terrifying beat that echoed through the empty corridor.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild animal trapped in a chest that felt far too tight. Just hours ago, I had escaped Min Yoongi's deadly shadow-blades by turning his dagger into a pink glass peony. Now, I was being dragged to the grand strategist himself.
Kim Namjoon.
Of all the seven Bangtan lords, he was the most dangerous to cross. He wasn't just a powerful sorcerer; he was the intellect that kept the entire empire from crumbling. He saw through lies before they were even spoken.
Memory of the original novel flashed in my mind, a vivid warning. In the original timeline, Namjoon was the one who uncovered Sarang's plots, methodically dismantling her web of lies until she had nothing left but the gallows. He had stood there, watching her execution with those same cold, analytical eyes, completely unmoved by her screams for mercy.
"Move," the guard behind me grunted, shoving my shoulder roughly.
Stumbling forward, I caught myself on the frame of a massive set of double doors. They were carved from ancient oak, reinforced with gleaming brass plates that caught the cold magical light.
Slowly, the heavy wood groaned open, revealing the grand strategist's personal sanctuary.
Books piled so high they defied gravity lined the walls, stretching toward a vaulted ceiling. Scrolls lay open on long tables, covered in complex geometric maps and glowing magical equations.
Right in the center of the room sat a desk carved from a single, flawless block of blue-tinted crystal. It was immaculate. Not a single speck of dust marred its reflective surface. I could see my own pale, wide-eyed reflection staring back at me from the polished top.
Behind it sat the man who held my fate in his hands.
Silver hair caught the overhead light, falling in neat, precise lines around a face that looked as though it had been chiseled from marble. Thin-rimmed silver spectacles rested on the bridge of his straight nose.
He didn't look up when I entered. He simply dipped a long, black quill into a silver inkwell, his fingers moving with a terrifying, deliberate grace.
Silence filled the room, thick enough to choke on.
"Leave us," Namjoon murmured. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards.
Soldiers bowed instantly and retreated, the heavy doors sealing shut behind them with a definitive, heavy thud.
Alone. I was completely alone with a man who could dissect my mind with a single spell.
"Sit," he commanded, still not looking up from his parchment.
Instead of moving toward the plush leather chair opposite his desk, I remained glued to the spot. My fingers twitched against the thick velvet of my skirt.
"I... I prefer to stand, My Lord," I stammered, letting my voice pitch high, thin, and tremulous.
Finally, his hand stopped. He carefully set the quill down on a silver rest, ensuring it aligned perfectly with the edge of his ledger.
Removing his spectacles, he folded them and placed them beside the quill. Those sharp, analytical brown eyes locked onto mine.
"Sarang," he said, the name sounding like a sentence on his tongue. "You look pale."
"I have had a very stressful morning," I blurted, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. "First, Lord Yoongi tries to paint his walls with my blood, and now I am dragged here like a common thief."
A cold, humorless smile touched his lips. "You are many things, Sarang, but common is not one of them. Nor are you a victim."
Reclining in his high-backed chair, he crossed one leg over the other. Blue silk of his tunic shifted, revealing the faint glow of protective runes stitched into the fabric.
"Explain the flower," he demanded.
"It... it was a peony," I mumbled, staring at my satin slippers. "A very pretty one, actually. Though I suppose pink isn't really Lord Yoongi's color."
Namjoon's eyes narrowed. "Do not play games with me. Yoongi's dagger is a cursed relic of S-rank shadow magic. It cannot be altered by ordinary means. Yet, you transmuted it into glass with a single touch."
Rising to his feet, his towering frame cast a shadow that swallowed mine. He walked slowly around the crystalline desk, his movements measured, predatory.
"You possess no such power," he continued, stopping a few paces away. "Your magic core has always been weak, barely capable of lighting a candle. Yet today, you display high-level transmutation. Who is backing you?"
My throat went dry. If he suspected a foreign power or a rebellion, I was dead. I had to convince him I was just a brainless, chaotic mess.
"Nobody!" I cried, letting a tear slip down my cheek. "It was an accident! I was so scared! I thought he was going to cut my throat, and I just... I closed my eyes and wished really, really hard that it was something pretty and harmless!"
Namjoon stared at me, his face an unreadable mask. "Wished? You expect me to believe a high-level magical reaction was triggered by a wish?"
"Yes!" I sobbed, putting my hands over my face. "I don't know how magic works! I'm just a girl! A very pretty, very terrified girl!"
"A viper," he corrected coldly, taking another step forward. "You have spent years plotting against the holy maiden. You have poisoned her tea, hired mercenaries, and lied to our faces. This sudden innocence is a poorly constructed facade."
Walking closer, his gaze dropped to my hands. "Is this another one of your pathetic games? Last spring, you 'accidentally' spilled tea on my maps just to get closer to me. The winter before that, you faked a sprained ankle to force Seokjin to carry you. You think I do not see the pattern?"
"That wasn't me!" I protested, which was technically true, though I couldn't explain that to him. "I mean, I was a different person then! I've had a change of heart! I want nothing to do with any of you anymore!"
"A change of heart," he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. "A convenient excuse for a spy who has finally been caught."
His presence was suffocatingly close. Heavy scent of cedarwood and ozone filled my nose, making my head spin. I needed to break his concentration. I needed to destroy his pristine, orderly world.
"I'm not lying!" I wailed.
Taking a sudden, dramatic step backward, I deliberately tangled my left heel into the heavy velvet hem of my gown.
Losing my balance completely, I let my body pitch forward, flailing my arms wildly in the air.
"Ah! Help!" I screamed.
Forgoing any attempt to save myself, I aimed my entire body weight directly at his immaculate, blue-tinted crystalline desk.
Crash!
My hips slammed hard against the edge of the crystal. My hands slid wildly across the polished surface, knocking over everything in their path.
Pots of silver ink flipped, thick black ink spilling across the pristine surface in a dark, messy pool. Stacked scrolls tumbled like dominoes, rolling off the edge and scattering across the floor.
Even his spectacles were swept off, clattering loudly against the hard stone floor.
"My desk!" Namjoon gasped, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.
But I wasn't done. I needed to escalate the chaos.
Reaching deep into my chest, I searched for the spark of summoning magic. I didn't want anything dangerous. I needed something light, harmless, and utterly ridiculous.
"Oh no, oh no!" I babbled, squeezing my eyes shut. I let my mana burst outward, channeling it through my splayed fingers on his ruined desk.
Pop.
A soft, sparkling sound echoed through the room.
Suddenly, a brilliant blue spark flew from my fingertips. It was followed by another, then a dozen, then a hundred.
Glowing, neon-blue butterflies exploded from my palms, a swirling storm of soft wings and sparkling dust. They flooded the space, fluttery and chaotic.
They bounced off the heavy oak bookshelves. They fluttered around the ancient maps. They swarmed directly into Namjoon's face.
"What in the world—" Namjoon stumbled backward, waving his hands frantically to swat them away.
One particularly fat, glowing butterfly decided his silver hair was a perfect nesting spot. Another landed directly on the bridge of his nose, its tiny wings fluttering against his skin.
"Get them off!" he muttered, his deep voice cracking slightly as his hands flailed in a distinctly un-lordlike manner.
"I'm so sorry!" I cried, crawling on my hands and knees through the spilled ink and scattered papers. "I wanted to summon a cloth to clean up the ink, but I got confused! I always get my spells mixed up when I'm scared!"
My hands snatched a highly classified military document, using it to desperately wipe the ink off the desk. In doing so, I smeared the black liquid across the entire page, completely erasing a map of the northern border.
"Stop! Do not touch that!" Namjoon yelled, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and sheer disbelief.
"I'm trying to help!" I wept, rubbing another document over the wet ink, effectively ruining a second treatise on imperial taxation. "See? I'm helping!"
More butterflies swarmed him, drawn to the powerful mana radiating from his body. They clung to his shoulders, his hair, and his hands, turning the fearsome grand strategist into a glowing, blue-lit fairy king.
Standing stock-still, he realized that swatting them only made them flutter more frantically. He looked down at me, his chest heaving as he tried to process the absolute disaster his office had become in less than thirty seconds.
"You... you are a menace," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and profound confusion.
"I know!" I agreed loudly, sniffling as I sat back on my heels, my hands covered in black ink and my heavy velvet gown ruined. "I'm the worst! I shouldn't even be allowed to have magic! Please just let me go back to my room, I'm so clumsy and stupid!"
To add to the performance, I let out a loud, messy hiccup, wiping my nose with the back of my ink-stained hand. I looked completely pathetic. No master spy would ever act like this. No plotting villainess would sacrifice her dignity to smear ink on her own face.
Namjoon stood perfectly still, surrounded by the glowing blue insects. His brilliant mind, which usually calculated battle strategies twenty steps ahead, was completely stalled. He was trying to find a hidden motive, a secret strategy behind my clumsy fall.
Instead, there was only a weeping girl, ruined papers, and a room full of glowing bugs.
"This is absurd," he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. The butterfly on his nose finally fluttered away, joining the others as they slowly began to lose their magical glow.
Gradually, the blue butterflies began to dissolve into harmless, sparkling dust. The brilliant light faded, returning the room to its dim, candle-lit state.
Silence returned to the study, save for my quiet, rhythmic sniffling.
Staring down at the ink-stained floorboards, I kept my head bowed. My hands were trembling, but not because of the act. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving me cold and exhausted.
"Look at me," Namjoon commanded, his voice returning to its quiet, dangerous calm.
Refusing to move, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep my breathing shallow.
"Sarang. Look at me."
Slowly, the sound of his leather boots approached me. He knelt down in front of me, ignoring the ink puddles on the floor. His long, pale fingers reached out, gripping my chin with firm, unyielding pressure.
Tilting my face upward, his grip was firm.
Our eyes met again. His gaze was searching, scanning every line of my face, looking for the calculating, cold villainess he knew. But all he saw was a tear-stained face, wide eyes, and trembling lips.
Then, his eyes drifted down to my collarbone.
As the butterflies fade, Namjoon notices a drop of real, terrified sweat sliding down Sarang's neck, realizing her trembling isn't an act of malice, but of genuine, paralyzing horror.