The garden hasn't changed.
I suppose I expected it might have, somehow—that returning to the past would make everything feel different, distorted, like looking through warped glass. But the roses are exactly as I remember them. Red blooms heavy with morning dew, white petals unfurling toward the sun, the old stone bench where Mother used to sit positioned perfectly to catch the light.
I'd forgotten how beautiful it was. Or maybe I'd just stopped letting myself see it.
Mina sets up the writing desk on the bench, fussing with the placement until it's level. The good paper, as requested—heavy cream stock with our family seal embossed at the top. The kind used for important correspondence. Marriage contracts. Letters of refusal.
"Will you need anything else, my lady?" She arranges the inkwell, the blotter, three different quills as if I'm preparing for battle rather than writing to my own father.
Perhaps I am.
"Just privacy, thank you." I settle onto the bench, running my fingers along the sun-warmed stone. "I'll call if I need you."
She hesitates, clearly wanting to ask questions, but years of service win out over curiosity. She curtsies and withdraws, though I catch her glancing back twice before disappearing through the garden gate.
Alone, finally. Just me and the roses and the blank paper that represents every choice I didn't make the first time.
I pick up the quill, dip it in ink, and freeze.
*Dear Father* seems too formal. *Dearest Papa* too familiar for what I'm about to say. How do you tell your father you want to destroy his carefully laid political plans? That the advantageous marriage he's arranged—the one meant to secure our family's position and protect our territory—is something you'd rather die than accept?
Except I did die. That's precisely what happened.
The irony almost makes me laugh. Almost.
I set down the quill and close my eyes, breathing in the scent of roses. Let myself remember Papa as I last saw him—not at the wedding breakfast, but before. Three days before the ceremony, when I'd gone to his study to ask if he thought Cassian might learn to love me.
He'd looked so tired. "Love isn't always necessary for a good marriage, Adeline. Respect and partnership can be enough."
But there had been no respect. No partnership. Just cold courtesy and my desperate attempts to earn scraps of affection from a man who'd never wanted me in the first place.
Did Papa know? Had he suspected Cassian's indifference and married me off anyway?
My hand clenches around the quill. No. No, that's not fair. Papa had genuinely believed he was securing my future. The Vere duchy was powerful, prestigious. Cassian was considered a prize—brilliant military strategist, politically connected, wealthy beyond measure. On paper, it was perfect.
Papa couldn't have known his daughter would end up poisoned at her own wedding.
Neither could I, the first time.
I open my eyes and begin to write.
---
*Dearest Papa,*
*I need to speak with you about my future, specifically regarding the arrangement with House Vere.*
I pause. Cross it out. Too vague. Too easily dismissed.
*Dearest Papa,*
*I cannot marry Duke Cassian Vere. I am writing rather than speaking because I need you to understand this is not a passing feeling or nervous hesitation. This is my choice, made with clear mind and firm conviction.*
Better. Firmer. I continue, my hand moving faster now.
*I know this arrangement was made with the best intentions. I know you believe this marriage would secure our family's position and provide me with a prosperous future. I know you would never deliberately place me in harm's way.*
*But Papa, I need you to trust me when I say this marriage would harm me. Not physically—*
I stop. Strike through the last two words. Because it would harm me physically. It did. The poison, the convulsions, the way my lungs had stopped working while everyone watched.
*I cannot explain all my reasons in a letter. Some things I've come to understand about Duke Vere and his household, about the political situation I would be entering, about my own needs and capabilities—these require a conversation. But I am asking you, as your daughter who has never asked you for anything of real importance, to trust me.*
*I do not want this engagement. I will not accept it.*
My hand is shaking slightly. I set down the quill and flex my fingers, watching ink stain the creases of my palm like dark rivers.
Will he listen? The Papa I remember—tired and worried and always calculating three moves ahead politically—would he honor this request? Or would he see a daughter having pre-wedding jitters, easily soothed and redirected?
I pick up the quill again.
*I know this creates complications. I know refusing House Vere may seem foolish or ungrateful. But I have my own plans for securing our family's future, if you'll permit me to pursue them. The Kael territory has resources we've never fully leveraged. The silver mines alone, properly managed, could—*
I stop myself. Too much too fast. This letter isn't the place to lay out the business strategies I learned by necessity in my first life, when I'd tried desperately to be useful to Cassian's household and ended up discovering I had a head for commerce.
Those plans can wait. First, I need to break free.
*Please, Papa. Meet with me today. Let me explain.*
*Your daughter,*
*Adeline*
I read it over three times, checking for anything that sounds too strange or too desperate. It's not perfect. It doesn't explain enough. But explaining would require telling him things he'd never believe—that I've lived this already, that I died, that I somehow came back.
Even I barely believe it, and I'm living it.
I fold the letter carefully, seal it with wax, and press our family crest into the soft red surface. There. Done. No taking it back now.
"Mina!" I call.
She appears so quickly she must have been hovering just beyond the gate. "Yes, my lady?"
"Please deliver this to my father immediately. Tell him I request an audience today, at his earliest convenience."
She takes the letter, glancing at the seal with barely concealed curiosity. "Of course, my lady. Shall I wait for his reply?"
"Yes. I'll be here."
After she leaves, I lean back against the bench and let the sun warm my face. The garden is quiet except for bees moving between blooms and the distant sound of servants in the main house. Peaceful. This moment right here, before everything changes—it's peaceful.
I should savor it. The calm before I upend my entire life.
Instead, I find myself thinking about Cassian.
Not the Cassian I loved—that version was mostly fantasy anyway, a character I'd constructed from stolen glances and projected depth. The real Cassian. Cold. Controlled. Brilliant in strategy and completely absent in emotion. I'd thought he was protecting a sensitive heart beneath the ice.
Turns out some people are just ice all the way through.
Except... I remember his face when I collapsed. Just for a moment, before the careful blankness descended, there had been something. Shock, yes. But underneath? I'd been too busy dying to analyze it properly.
Did it matter? He hadn't saved me. Hadn't even tried. Whether he felt something or nothing, the result was the same.
I'm pulled from my thoughts by footsteps on the garden path. Too quick to be Mina returning. I turn and find my father himself striding toward me, my letter clutched in his hand.
He looks... younger. The observation hits me with unexpected force. His hair is more brown than gray, his face less lined. He moves with energy I'd forgotten he possessed. Of course—he's only forty-five right now, not yet worn down by three years of watching his daughter wither in a loveless engagement.
"Adeline." He stops a few feet away, studying me with those sharp amber eyes—the ones I inherited. "Mina said this was urgent."
I stand, smoothing my skirts. My heart hammers against my ribs. "Papa. Thank you for coming so quickly."
"Your letter was... concerning." He holds it up. "You want to refuse the Vere engagement?"
No preamble. No gentle leading up to it. That's Papa—direct when it matters. I'd forgotten that too.
"Yes," I say simply.
"Why?"
The question I'd known was coming. I have my answer prepared, but standing here facing him, the careful words tangle on my tongue. How do I explain without sounding insane?
"I don't love him," I finally say.
Papa's expression softens slightly. "Adeline, we discussed this. Love can grow after marriage—"
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. I take a breath, try again. "Papa, I know what you're going to say. That love isn't necessary, that respect and partnership are enough, that the Vere alliance secures our position. But I'm telling you—I know—this marriage won't have respect or partnership either. It will only have... emptiness."
"You've barely spoken to Duke Vere. How can you possibly know—"
"I know." I meet his eyes, willing him to see the certainty in mine. "The same way Mother knew things sometimes. You told me once that she had instincts you learned to trust, even when they didn't make logical sense."
It's a gamble, invoking her. But I remember Papa saying that, late one night when I was fourteen and couldn't sleep. He'd been drinking wine in her garden, talking to the roses like she might hear him.
His face shifts, something pained and old moving behind his eyes. "Your mother's instincts were uncanny," he admits quietly. "But Adeline, this isn't just about feelings. The Vere alliance—"
"Can be replaced with other alliances." I step closer. "Papa, you taught me to play strategy games when I was eight. You showed me how to think three moves ahead, how to see the whole board instead of just the immediate piece. So trust that I'm doing that now."
"What moves are you seeing that I'm not?"
I hesitate. This is where it gets tricky. "The Vere household has... complications. Political entanglements that would make me a target rather than an asset. And Duke Vere himself is—" I search for words that won't sound like baseless slander. "—not suited to me. Our temperaments would clash. I would be miserable, and a miserable duchess serves no one's interests."
Papa walks to the stone bench, sits heavily. He looks older again suddenly, burdened. "The contracts aren't signed yet, but refusing now would offend House Vere. Duke Cassian might take it as an insult."
"Let him." The words surprise me with their vehemence. "Papa, when has our family ever based decisions on whether they might offend someone who doesn't value us?"
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it?" I sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "Has Duke Vere visited? Written? Shown any indication he values this arrangement as anything more than a political convenience? Has his family shown us any particular warmth or welcome?"
Papa is quiet. Because the answer is no. Even in my first life, even when I was desperately romanticizing every scrap of attention, I'd known the Vere family viewed me as a useful connection at best.
"They're busy people," Papa finally says, but it sounds weak even to him.
"So are we." I take his hand—his fingers are ink-stained from morning correspondence, warm and solid and real. "Papa, I'm not asking you to burn bridges with House Vere. I'm asking you to let me refuse a marriage that would make me deeply unhappy. Can't the alliance be friendship instead? Political cooperation without binding me for life to someone who doesn't want me any more than I want him?"
"You said in your letter you have plans. For securing our family's position."
Here it is. The opening I need. "The silver mines in our northern territory. We've been underutilizing them for years because we lack the capital for proper equipment and skilled miners. But there's a merchant consortium in the capital—the Moonstone Trading Company—that's looking for mining partnerships. They provide the investment, we provide the resources, split the profits."
Papa's eyebrows rise. "How do you know about the Moonstone Company's interests?"
Because I learned about them three years from now, when I was trying to be useful to Cassian and studied every commercial venture in the empire. But I can't say that.
"I've been reading the trade reports you leave in your study," I say instead. It's not quite a lie—I did read them, just in a different timeline. "And I've been thinking about our position. We're land-rich but often cash-poor. The mines could change that, if we're strategic about partnerships."
He's staring at me like I've grown a second head. "Since when do you read trade reports?"
"Since I started thinking about my future." I squeeze his hand. "Papa, I know I've been... frivolous. Focused on parties and dresses and romance. But I'm twenty now. Old enough to think seriously about how I can actually help our family, beyond just marrying well."
"Adeline..."
"Give me one year," I say quickly, pressing my advantage. "Let me refuse the Vere engagement and prove I can contribute in other ways. If after a year our position has worsened because of my choice, I'll... I'll reconsider whatever marriage you think best."
It's a lie. I'll never reconsider marrying Cassian. But one year gives me time to make myself indispensable enough that Papa won't want to marry me off at all.
Papa is quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. "Your mother would have liked seeing this side of you," he finally says. "The steel underneath the softness. I'd wondered if it was there."
My throat tightens. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a 'let me think about it.'" He stands, still holding my letter. "The Vere family expects an answer within the fortnight. I need to consider how to refuse without creating an enemy."
"You'll find a way," I say, standing with him. "You always do."
He cups my cheek with his free hand, studying my face like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "You really have changed. Overnight, it seems."
If he only knew. "Maybe I just needed to wake up."
"Perhaps." He kisses my forehead—something he hasn't done since I was a child. "I'll send word after I've made my decision. Until then, you're to cancel all appointments related to the engagement. No dress fittings, no meetings with the Vere household staff, nothing that assumes this marriage is proceeding."
Relief floods through me so intensely I feel lightheaded. "Thank you, Papa."
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't decided anything." But there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Though I will admit, the idea of my daughter as a shrewd businesswoman has a certain appeal."
After he leaves, I sink back onto the bench, suddenly exhausted. The sun is higher now, the heat building. Bees drone among the roses. Everything is exactly as it was an hour ago, and yet everything has changed.
I've taken the first step. Said the words that I couldn't say before.
Now I just have to survive the consequences.