Chapter 5: Death Threats and Dancing Lessons
...
"You die next week."
I stared at the letter again the next morning, just to make sure it still said what I thought it said.
Yep. No signature. No seal. Just those four cheery, blood-red words scribbled in a script that looked like it had been written with a poisoned dagger dipped in snark.
Honestly, as a former hardcore gamer, I had to admire the dramatic flair.
If this were a game, I'd be unlocking the Assassination Route side-quest right about now.
But this wasn't a game.
Not anymore.
I folded the letter, tucked it into the inner pocket of my coat, and moved toward the window. The courtyard below was already bustling—knights training, servants rushing, nobles loitering with practiced laziness. The world went on like nothing had changed.
Except someone wanted me dead.
Probably one of my brothers.
Possibly someone in the heroine cast who thought I was trying to "corrupt their route."
Or maybe even the Hero himself, though he hadn't made his appearance yet.
Which reminded me...
I was running out of time.
In the game's timeline, the Hero would be summoned in less than a month—at the Sacred Academy Entrance Ceremony. That's where he'd meet the heroines, fall in love, and eventually put a sword through my chest.
Unless I flipped the board first.
Later that morning, I found myself in the royal ballroom. Not my usual haunt, but my presence had been "highly requested" by Duchess Velora, the court etiquette master.
And by "highly requested," I meant she'd sent two guards to drag me here.
"Young men of noble blood must dance as if their lives depend on it," Velora said, whacking a poor knight across the knee with her cane. "Because sometimes they do."
I knew better than to argue.
Lucien, as it turned out, was a terrible dancer. The kind who waltzed like he was preparing to duel the floor. But I couldn't afford to let that be true anymore. Not when every major social event—including heroine encounters—revolved around dances, galas, and royal ceremonies.
"Again!" Velora barked, clapping her gloved hands.
I gritted my teeth and stepped into place opposite my new dance partner.
And froze.
It was Lady Mirelle.
Great.
The sword princess.
The walking muscle tank in a dress.
And she looked like she was suffering.
"This is stupid," she muttered under her breath, eyes fixed on the marble floor.
"I agree," I replied. "But we both have titles to maintain. You, the future war maiden. Me, the flamboyant boss prince trying not to get stabbed."
Her lips twitched.
"Ready?" I asked.
"I've never danced."
"Then let me lead."
We moved.
And to my surprise, it wasn't... awful.
Mirelle was strong, but she followed well—sharp and precise, like everything else she did. I didn't stumble, I didn't trip, and best of all, no bones were broken.
[Ding!]
[Mirelle Affection +4 — Status: Amused]
[New Flag Unlocked: "Unexpected Grace"]
We spun once, twice—her hand in mine, her golden eyes watching closely. She still didn't smile, but I could feel something shifting.
Trust.
Or maybe... curiosity.
Velora clapped politely. "Better. You're not entirely hopeless, Prince Lucien."
"High praise," I muttered.
The music ended. Mirelle stepped back with a nod. "That wasn't awful."
"I aim for mediocre at best," I replied.
"I've noticed."
She turned and walked away, boots clicking against the floor, cape trailing behind her like she was storming a battlefield instead of a ballroom.
Another unlikely win.
After lunch, I decided to take a gamble.
The letter still burned in my pocket like a cursed item. If someone was going to try and kill me, I wanted to know who.
So I paid a visit to someone even the royal family feared:
Lady Seraphina Noir.
High sorceress. Enchantress. Former villainess of the Dark Obsession Route. And probably the only woman in the kingdom who could melt a man's brain with a flick of her wrist.
She also happened to be—according to game lore—secretly lonely as hell.
Her tower was high above the rest of the palace, perched like a crow on the cliff's edge. Getting there required a walk, two spiral staircases, and a brief argument with a talking door.
"Lucien," she said as I stepped into her private study. "Either the stars have aligned... or you're very, very desperate."
"Little of both," I said, handing her the death letter. "I need to know who wrote this."
She took the parchment between gloved fingers, scanned it, and raised one delicately arched brow.
"No poison. No curse. Just ink and very bad penmanship."
"Can you trace it?"
"Perhaps." She stepped over to her alchemy desk, murmuring incantations as glowing sigils bloomed around the paper. "But it'll cost you."
I hesitated. "What do you want?"
She turned, and her crimson eyes glinted like garnets.
"A favor."
I immediately disliked that word.
"What kind of favor?"
"One day," she said smoothly, "I will ask you to do something. You will not argue. You will not refuse. You will owe me."
I considered my options.
Lucien, the villain, had burned every bridge. But I was trying to build new ones. Dangerous or not, Seraphina's help was worth the risk.
"Deal."
She smiled like a cat who just got a new toy.
The sigils pulsed.
Then, slowly, the ink shimmered and re-formed—shifting into a symbol I recognized instantly.
The emblem of House Valemont.
Prince Rael's faction.
So it was official.
My brother wanted me dead.
Lovely.
I returned to my chambers as the sun dipped low, setting the sky ablaze with crimson and gold. The palace looked peaceful on the outside. But inside?
It was a powder keg.
And someone had just handed me the match.
I poured myself another glass of wine.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's change the rules."
Because if this was a dating sim, and I was the final boss... I still had one advantage:
I knew how every story ended.
And this time?
I'd write my own.
...