Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard
Chapter 228 - 228: Scalding Showers and Stubborn Hearts

Enara left Liria's room with the sort of energy that could crack stone a thundering, messy cocktail of anger, longing, humiliation, and the peculiar frustration that only a once-in-a-century idiot you happen to love can provide. The corridor was silent except for the distant sounds of repair: hammers on half-fallen walls, the complaints of a carpenter somewhere down the hall, and, just beneath it all, the shuddery echo of her own breath.

She paused by her door, the wood still painted with the faint wards her mother had inscribed when she was twelve and going through a phase of "borrowing" forbidden books. Even now, the runes hummed under her palm, soothing and familiar. Enara took a deep breath then another, and another trying to stuff all that boiling confusion into some kind of reasonable container.

It didn't work.

She slipped inside her room and shut the door, locking the world (and especially Liria) on the other side.

Her bedroom, at least, was untouched by the chaos outside. Someone probably Nyssara had left fresh rosewater in a delicate silver bowl. Her sheets were newly aired, her books stacked with obsessive neatness. A moonstone charm dangled in the window, filling the space with a cool, trembling light.

But all Enara could see was Liria's face, pinched with remorse, eyes shining, voice cracking on that "I'm sorry" as if it meant something more than all the apologies in the world. She pressed her fists to her temples and let out a very unprincesslike groan.

"Why do I still love her?" she whispered to the ceiling. The ceiling, wisely, did not answer.

There were only so many strategies for surviving a heartbreak. Since arson was out (the castle had suffered enough), and violence had not yielded any real satisfaction (that slap should have felt better, honestly), Enara fell back on a classic: a very long, very hot shower.

She swept into her bathing chamber, flicked her fingers to light the lamps, and let her magic heat the water until it steamed. She stripped off her formal jacket, kicked aside her boots, and stepped beneath the cascade, letting the scalding water pound against her skin.

It hurt, in a way that was almost pleasant a pain that could wash away something deeper, something tangled up in memory and hope.

She leaned her forehead against the marble, steam rising around her, and let her thoughts run wild.

Why did Liria have to come back now? Why couldn't she stay gone, letting Enara get on with the messy work of moving forward? Why had she betrayed them her in the first place? Was love really that stupid, that stubborn, that ready to survive two years of war and heartbreak and shadow magic?

Of course it was. Love was a legendary fool.

"I can't believe I still want to punch her and hold her," Enara muttered.

Behind her eyelids, she could see it all so clearly: Liria's first day in the palace, awkward and brash, hiding terror behind a crooked grin. The countless nights they'd sneaked out onto the battlements, trading secrets and plans . Liria's laugh when she won at chess. Liria's eyes, always daring, always sad, always burning for something more.

Enara tried to scrub away the memory with a fistful of soap.

It didn't work. Liria was everywhere, under her skin, in her bones.

She ducked her head under the spray, letting it drown out her thoughts for a while. She stayed until the steam had plastered her hair to her forehead and her fingers had wrinkled, the world fading into fog.

Finally, she turned off the tap and toweled herself off with more force than strictly necessary, as if friction alone could erase everything Liria had ever done to her heart.

Wrapped in a robe, she padded back to her bedroom, trying to compose herself. She was, after all, a princess. A future queen. She'd weathered worse. She'd faced Azael, led armies, nearly died a dozen times. She could handle one contrite ex-villain, no matter how much she wanted to throw something.

At her desk, a stack of letters awaited. She tried to focus on them—orders for rebuilding, petitions for clemency, a truly heroic number of requests for goat compensation from the nearby village.

She managed three lines before she realized she'd spelled "reconstruction" as "reconciliation" three times in a row.

"Wonderful," she muttered, glaring at her own traitorous hand.

A knock on the door startled her. She tensed, heart in her throat.

"Go away, unless you're here to offer emotional clarity or a better reason for why Liria is such an idiot," she called.

The door creaked open just a crack. To her relief (and disappointment), it was her mother, Nyssara, wearing her midnight-blue dressing gown and that patient look she reserved for when Enara was about to lie badly.

"I thought you might want tea," Nyssara said, holding up a tray. The scent of honey and jasmine floated into the room.

Enara accepted the cup gratefully. "Thank you, Mother. Did you… did you see what happened?"

"I heard more than I saw." Nyssara set the tray on the desk and perched on the bed. "You are not the only one with a heart that aches tonight."

Enara looked away, ashamed. "Am I weak for wanting her back?"

Nyssara's smile was sad and knowing. "Weakness isn't loving someone who hurt you. Weakness is pretending you feel nothing at all. But forgiveness… that is your choice, not your duty."

Enara swirled the tea, watching the tiny flecks of gold leaf shimmer on the surface. "She betrayed us. Not just me. The whole realm."

"And she returned." Nyssara's tone was gentle but firm. "Few do, after such shame. Few would dare."

Enara let her head fall into her hands. "I slapped her. Twice."

Nyssara reached over, smoothing Enara's damp hair from her brow. "That's less than she deserved. But more than you needed."

Enara snorted. "Maybe I should have just hugged her and gotten it over with."

Nyssara smiled. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you both needed to bleed a little more before you could heal."

They sat in silence for a while, the warmth of the tea and her mother's steady presence soothing the storm inside Enara's chest.

When Nyssara left, Enara curled up on her bed, the last of the sunlight fading from the window. Her mind wandered back to Liria her mistakes, her laughter, the way she looked at Enara like she was the only real thing in the world.

"Why do I still love you?" she whispered into her pillow, knowing there was no answer yet.