A Fortune-telling Princess

A day passed.

Then two, then three... before she knew it, a full week had gone by. With each day, Camilla’s face decayed into despair all the faster.

“Why—why...!”

Why am I not waking up?!

Stifled by frustration, Camilla scrubbed her face again and again with dry hands.

This had never happened before. Had she ever stayed in this world this long? Anxiety began to gnaw its way in.

No way...

It couldn’t be.

Don’t tell me I’m stuck here like this—forever!

Camilla shook her head hard. Just imagining it was horrific.

Because she knew all too well how Camilla’s life ended here.

She kept touching her neck—still intact, for now.

Knock, knock.

A moment later, someone entered at the sound of a polite knock. Donna, her personal maid.

“My lady?”

Donna flinched at the sight of Camilla sprawled over the bed, arms and head dangling.

“What?”

But as Camilla slowly lifted her head, Donna let out the faintest sigh of relief, trying not to show it.

“The head chef prepared a snack himself and brought it up.”

“A snack?”

“You haven’t been eating properly lately.”

After the incident in the dining room, most of the kitchen maids were replaced. Those who had tampered with her meals were expelled without a coin of severance.

Along with that came a direct order from the duke to pay careful attention to the food served to Camilla.

“I’m not hungry.”

But with no sign that her true self—Sia—would return, Camilla had lost all appetite. Lately she’d barely touched anything.

Even the finest, tastiest dishes were abandoned after a single mouthful. In the end, the chef had come himself with a special pastry.

“For Chef Jellard’s sake—he made it with his own hands—please, at least one bite.”

“......”

Donna’s voice was thick with worry. Camilla, about to lower her head back beneath the edge of the bed, turned her eyes to the maid.

If there was anyone here who genuinely cared about Camilla, it was Donna.

When Camilla had been seized as an attempted murderer, Donna had stood by her to the end.

She was also the only one who had wept for Camilla when she died.

She used to rage at the other maids’ bullying.

Every time something happened, Donna would stamp her feet and say they had to tell the duke immediately.

In the end she kept silent at Camilla’s order, and still looked helpless with pity, yet never hesitated to yank hair and brawl with the maids, swearing she’d clear her lady’s name somehow.

She’d come back with a blooming bruise and grin that she’d at least landed one more hit than they had.

Knowing that, Camilla couldn’t simply brush her off.

“Fine.”

Unable to refuse, Camilla pushed herself upright and straightened her posture.

Donna’s face brightened at once.

She hurried out and returned with a man who had been waiting in the corridor.

“Pardon me.”

He was in his mid-forties, a little on the lean side.

He inclined his head to Camilla, then set his tray on the table.

“Apple pie.”

A tart piled high with thinly sliced apples glazed in sugar.

“Please try it.”

Pride filled the chef’s tone as he presented the pie. Or perhaps arrogance was closer to it.

He didn’t say it outright, but the way Jellard looked at Camilla was anything but kind—harsh, even.

His face made plain that he was attending to her only because the duke had ordered it.

Camilla’s brows lifted.

Well, well.

Where Donna squirmed, sensing her lady’s displeasure, Chef Jellard stood firm—and even let his lip curl, just a little.

He could not abide the thought that the beautiful work of his hands would go into the mouth of a spoiled girl.

It grated that something crafted to perfection would be eaten by someone who, in his view, knew nothing of taste.

She should eat what she’s given.

Jellard’s blood had been simmering for days, watching every dish sent to Camilla come back to the kitchen untouched.

How dare she leave his food.

Those brats were contemptible too, but...

The maids who’d been caught tampering with Camilla Sorpel’s meals and were thrown out.

He had been furious with them as well for defiling his food, but if he was honest, he understood their feelings.

She wasn’t truly a duke’s daughter, was she.

A nobody from some backwater province with a name no one could place, putting on airs about a delicate palate—it was an eyesore.

If not for the duke’s order, he wouldn’t have cared whether she starved.

“I poured my heart into it.”

“......”

Camilla looked back at the chef.

Honestly...

Meeting Jellard’s discontented stare, she let out a small sigh.

The way his face wore its discomfort without the slightest attempt to hide it didn’t bother her.

I’m used to it.

From childhood—and through years in the entertainment industry—she’d become an expert at ignoring people who hated her.

That wasn’t the problem now.

The noise is.

Her head was already on the verge of splitting from the situation as it was—

[Boy! How many times have I told you! Food only truly shines when someone eats it!]

—who was this noisy old man?

[No matter how fine it is, if no one eats it, it’s just trash!]

Camilla sighed again, looking at the old man standing at Jellard’s shoulder, yammering on since a moment ago.

These aren’t even my eyes.

They weren’t her real eyes, so why could she see that?

When she entered this world as a bystander, she couldn’t see beings like this. Now, suddenly, she could.

The realization sank her heart further.

It really did feel like she’d come fully into this place.

Oh, for—

She wanted to swear.

Whoever had rammed her into this woman’s body—she wanted to pour a bowl of curses over their head.

What am I supposed to do now?

[And this pie! You used one gram less cinnamon! It’s only a gram, but do you not grasp how much that shifts the flavor? And Camilla—this child doesn’t like apples. I told you to consider the eater’s taste!]

So noisy.

Frowning slightly, Camilla took a bite of the pie—mainly to get them to leave.

Then she set the fork down as if she’d thrown it.

“What is it, my lady?”

“Take it away.”

“What displeases you?”

Expecting Camilla to marvel at his pie, Jellard scowled at her unexpected reaction.

“It’s bad.”

“Pardon?”

“I said it’s bad.”

“W-what...!”

Jellard’s face contorted.

What did she know of taste, this ignorant child—how dare she? His food—bad?

“Impossible! This pie—”

“You used too little cinnamon. By one gram. Don’t bring me baked goods that don’t meet basic standards. Take it out. Now.”

“Excuse me?”

Cinnamon?

“And I don’t like apples.”

“T-that...”

“Shouldn’t you start by learning what the eater prefers? What good is it if only you are satisfied? If no one eats it, it’s just trash.”

“......!”

Those words... that was exactly what his late master used to say.

Camilla’s eyes snapped wide as she stared him down.

“Are you still here?”

Jolted back to himself, Jellard grabbed the plate with a flushed face and hurried out.

You can go too.

She flicked her fingers toward the old man who was still staring at her, startled, as if impressed she’d said everything he’d wanted to say.

Their eyes met—squarely.

The old man’s eyes went wider still.

What? Never seen someone who can see ghosts?

Apparently not.

Ugh, whatever.

Camilla collapsed back onto the bed like a discarded rag.

****

[What’s wrong, Ferrol?]

Another ghost drifted up beside the old man in the chef’s whites as he left Camilla’s room. An elderly gentleman in a neat suit—about the same age.

[She looked right at me.]

[Looked at you?]

[I’m telling you, our eyes met—for real!]

[Calm down and start from the beginning. What are you talking about?]

[The girl in that room. We locked eyes.]

[Who? Lady Camilla?]

[“Lady,” my foot. Do you still think you’re the butler here?]

[Death is no excuse to forget one’s post.]

Butler Derrick’s ghost smiled mildly.

[Since the duke accepted her as his daughter, we should show her respect as well. But truly—she looked at you?]

[I said she did.]

[Hmmm.]

Both old men turned to stare at the door to Camilla’s chamber.

They had watched her for a long time, and never seen the slightest sign of anything like this...

[You sure you didn’t imagine it?]

[We made eye contact. She even waved me away.]

[Waved?]

The butler ghost, Derrick, stroked his chin, intrigued.

[We’ll know soon enough if we watch. We’ve got nothing but time, after all.]

At that, the chefly ghost, Ferrol, nodded.

A moment later, the two spirits faded from sight.

****

Live.

I’m going to live.

Three more days passed after «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» that.

And in the end, Camilla had to draw a conclusion.

It’s hopeless.

Going back to the original world—there was no hope for now.

Who knew what would happen later, but at least at this moment, there was no way out.

She couldn’t keep wasting time like this.

First, survive.

Camilla sprang up from where she’d been lying like a corpse. If she stayed like this, she’d die like a dog in the street.

“Fix the reputation first.”

Across the countless repeats of her life, there were times she hadn’t joined Ravi’s plan to assassinate Ludville, the first son.

But...

The result wasn’t much different. Too many people found her a thorn in the eye.

The moment Ravi’s crimes were exposed, they bundled Camilla in with him as a criminal.

They lied on the stand to brand her his accomplice.

No matter how she shouted that it wasn’t true, no one listened.

They lent their ears to perjurers over her every time.