The council cleared their throats again, shuffled papers, and fixed their eyes on me like they were about to witness a magical prodigy—or a disaster waiting to happen.
I straightened my back, lifted my chin, and gave them my full confident glare.
"Tell us more!" One of the mage tower asked.
"Yes," I began, voice steady, maybe bored, carrying just enough authority to make even Duke Tyler scowl, "As you can see, I have knowledge that some of you didn't have, because I love to read. Since I was a child, I've experimented with things—lots of them, plants, herbs, potions—and, well… I got decent results."
A few noblemen snickered.
Some whispered.
I didn't care. "And again, I'm telling you that I have not used magic," I continued, letting the words hang like a gauntlet. "No enchanted herbs. No secret spells. If you look closely—" I gestured casually at my hands and arms "—you will see I am completely ordinary. My results are the product of observation and—" I smirked, closed my eyes a little for a dramatic quote because I just couldn't stop my mouth. "When I was a child every single thing could blow my mind. Soaking it all up for fun but now I only soak up wine." I paused, looked around to add drama then continued, "They say to play hard, you work hard, find balance in the sacrifice. And yet I don't know anybody who's truly satisfied."
Speechless.
They all looked at me like I was Shakespeare or maybe Madonna.
And yes! I don't care if it hit the line or if they understood it.
But daaymmn. Adelle did it again. Mic dropped for her.
A murmur ran through the room. Shock, envy, disbelief.
One councilor actually leaned forward, squinting at my fingers as if trying to detect some hidden spark.
I didn't flinch. I couldn't. Not with all eyes on me.
Even Sir Alex, standing quietly at the edge of the chamber, gave a subtle nod.
A tiny dip of the chin. Barely noticeable. But powerful enough to silence half the council.
A knight's word carried weight.
Sir Alex Canva's carried more—because he wasn't just any knight. He was the kingdom's golden boy, the capital's walking poster of "chivalry," and Princess Millabuella's future slow-burn love interest if this story followed the original plot.
So when he nodded?
Everyone paused. Everyone listened. Everyone thought: "Oh. So Lady Seraphine is actually telling the truth? Damn."
Sir Alex didn't need to say a word. He didn't have to pull out my divine sword.
He didn't need to swear an oath on his noble family name.
He already knew.
After all, I gave him the divine sword—a relic in the original story he was supposed to find much later, covered in dramatic-destiny-flames, probably half-dead in the forest.
Now it was… in his closet.
Wrapped in one of my old tunics.
Great plot twist, I know.
He knew I didn't use magic—not the kind people in this kingdom drooled over.
No mana circle.
No glowing runes.
No dramatic cloak flapping in the wind.
Even Chubby—my ever-useless, ever-snarky shadow spirit—admitted that whatever magic lived in my body wasn't "normal."
"It's like… alien magic," he said once. "It's like seeing someone do push-ups wrong," he clarified. "It works sometimes, but also sometimes you faceplant. Very inconsistent. 4/10 form."
Thanks, Chubby. Truly inspirational.
Truthfully? I was trying to cultivate. I tried fire magic.
Result:
A spark… then a sneeze… then my eyebrows nearly evaporated.
I tried water magic.
Result:
A single drop. Chubby applauded sarcastically. I threw a slipper at him.
I tried earth.
Result:
The ground trembled for 0.2 seconds—and Chubby asked if I farted.
Wind magic?
HAHAHAHAHAHA.
I ended up slapping myself with the air I summoned.
Basically: My magic was like somebody else's ex—Unreliable, unpredictable, confused, and emotionally unavailable.
So I decided: "Y'know what? Forget this. I'll deal with magic later when demons start showing up."
Because trust me: The plot WILL eventually devolve into murder, curses, demonic lords, assassins, betrayals, and a dramatic apocalypse.
But right now? There were no demon kings. No armies of shadows. No ancient relic hunting quests.
Just… Banquets. Perfume trials. People crying over shampoo. And nobles asking why my skin glowed like I bathed in holy water.
Magic? Later.
Money? NOW.
So yes, I stood proudly in the center of the chamber, letting them all assume whatever level of genius, miracle, or blessing they wanted.
Because I had goals:
✔ Build my name
✔ Gather power
✔ Secure my territory
✔ Grow my wealth
✔ Protect my people
✔ Become the queen of practical magiclessness
✔ Look fabulous doing it
Magic cultivation thingy?
That could come later. When the dark plotline started crawling out like roaches. When beasts began attacking villages at night. When demonic generals entered the story with flaming horns and tragic backstories.
Right now? I needed more gold. More business. More corn fields. More influence.
The assassins and monsters could wait. The cosmic destiny nonsense could delay its appointment.
Let the hero and heroine fight fate—
I was fighting poverty. And winning.
Anyway, back to the chamber of baldness, Duke Tyler's lips pressed into a thin line. Just like my old man, he looked exactly like my father, without the hair.
I swallowed a small smirk and looked at him. I'm not your enemy, uncle.
The high priest however… he leaned forward in his chair, one hand resting on his chin, eyes narrowing. "You… made all of it?" he asked, voice sharp. "Without magic?"
REALLY? AGAIN?
"Yes, Monsignor," I said smoothly. "Everything—none of it required spells. Knowledge and effort went into every step. And yes, I experimented, failed, and perfected. That's why your people, and apparently many nobles, are using my products."
He frowned but nodded his head.
Princess Milabuella's mouth twitched. Female lead vibes were nonexistent here. Villainess vibes? Strong.
The king leaned forward, elbows on the desk, eyes gleaming with… something. Approval? Curiosity? Perhaps both.
Sir Alex's presence at my side gave me a quiet sense of confidence.
And yet, here I stood. Calm. Collected. Sass perfectly bottled, ready to pour if necessary.
Princess Milabuella's eyes didn't leave me.
I smiled faintly. Not for her. Not for the council. Not even for the king.
I smiled because I could. Because I was Lady Seraphine. Because knowledge—not magic—was my weapon. And I was ready to wield it. And then—because fate hates me and also finds me hilarious—the High Priest representative stood up. Robes swishing. Face solemn. Beard long enough to hide snacks in.
"Lady Seraphine," he said, voice heavy, "how did you manage to lift the curse in the mines? And what of the rumors… that your father's town has undergone extraordinary renovations under your guidance?"
Ah. There it was.
The big question.
The "let's see if she's secretly a witch so we can burn her politely" moment.
I inhaled slowly. Straightened my back. And then, like an idiot—or a genius—I answered.
"Honestly? Romance novels."