I'm in the garden again when Mina finds me, three days after sending my letter to Papa.
Three days of blessed normalcy. No dress fittings. No etiquette lessons on how to be the perfect duchess. No listening to Isabel Park gossip about which nobles would attend the Imperial Gala while fishing for information about my engagement.
Just me, the roses, and the trade reports I've been devouring like a woman starved.
"My lady." Mina's voice carries a note I can't quite identify. Nervousness? Concern? "Your father requests your presence in his study. Immediately."
I look up from the ledger I've been studying—mineral rights law, dull as dust but potentially lucrative. "Did he say why?"
"No, my lady. But..." She twists her hands in her apron. "Duke Vere's messenger delivered a letter this morning. I think it might be related."
My stomach drops. Of course. I'd been foolish to think Cassian would simply accept the delay without response. Men like him—powerful, accustomed to getting what they want—don't take refusal gracefully.
I close the ledger with deliberate calm. "I see. Thank you, Mina."
"Shall I help you change? Your dress has ink stains, and if you're meeting about—"
"No." I stand, brushing grass from my skirts. The emerald dress does have ink stains. My hair is probably windblown from hours outside. I look nothing like the proper noble lady I'm supposed to be.
Good.
Let Papa see that I'm serious about choosing a different path. Let whatever Cassian wrote be answered by a daughter who won't be made presentable and packaged like a commodity.
The walk to Papa's study feels longer than it should. I catalog possible scenarios: Cassian could be demanding the engagement proceed. He could be offended and severing all relations with House Kael. He could be—
I stop myself. Speculation is useless. I'll know soon enough.
Papa's study door is ajar. I knock anyway.
"Come in, Adeline."
He's standing by the window rather than sitting at his desk, which immediately tells me this conversation won't be comfortable. Papa only abandons his desk when he's deeply troubled.
"You wanted to see me?"
He turns, and I'm struck again by how young he looks. How much the next three years would have aged him, watching his daughter's slow destruction.
"I received a letter from Duke Vere." Papa holds up a paper that bears the Vere seal. "In response to my request for a delay."
My mouth goes dry. "And?"
"He wants to meet with you. Privately." Papa's expression is unreadable. "He says if you have reservations about the marriage, you should express them directly rather than through intermediaries."
Of all the responses I'd anticipated, this wasn't among them. Cassian wanted to meet? To actually speak with me?
In my first life, we'd barely exchanged a hundred words before the engagement was official. He'd treated required social interactions like tedious obligations, his answers to my attempts at conversation polite but dismissive. The idea that he'd now request a private meeting to discuss my feelings was so out of character I almost laughed.
Almost.
"What did you tell him?" I ask carefully.
"Nothing yet. I wanted to speak with you first." Papa sets the letter on his desk, studying me with those sharp eyes. "Adeline, be honest with me. Is there something specific that happened with Duke Vere? Something that made you refuse this match?"
Everything. Nothing. How do I explain that what happened exists in a timeline he'll never remember?
"No specific incident," I say slowly. "But Papa, I've been thinking about what marriage to him would actually mean. Not the fantasy I'd built in my head, but the reality. He's twenty-six years old and has never shown interest in romance. He's completely devoted to duty and military service. His mother runs his household with an iron fist."
I pause, choosing my next words carefully. "I would be marrying into a life where I'm an afterthought at best. A political tool. A vessel for heirs. Is that really what you want for me?"
Papa is quiet for a long moment. "Many noble marriages begin that way and develop into something more."
"Did yours?"
The question hits its mark. I see him flinch slightly. Papa's marriage to my mother had been a love match, rare among nobility. He'd told me once that marrying her was the best decision he'd ever made, politics be damned.
"No," he admits quietly. "Ours was different."
"Then why would you settle for less for your daughter?"
"Because the world is different for women, Adeline. You know that." But there's less conviction in his voice now. "Security, position, protection—these things matter."
"I'm not saying they don't. I'm saying I can achieve them without shackling myself to a man who'll never see me as more than an obligation."
Papa walks to his desk, sinking into his chair. He suddenly looks tired. "Duke Vere's letter was... not what I expected. He wrote it himself, not through a secretary. The tone was almost... curious."
Curious. I try to reconcile that word with the Cassian I knew—the ice-cold duke who'd watched me die with apparent indifference.
"What exactly did he say?"
Papa picks up the letter, scanning it. "That he has no wish to force an unwilling bride. That you both deserve a frank discussion before dissolving an arrangement that took months to negotiate. That he'd like to understand your reservations directly."
Each sentence lands like a stone in still water, creating ripples I don't understand. This isn't the Cassian I remember. That Cassian hadn't cared enough to be curious.
Unless...
A cold thought occurs to me. What if this is a power play? A way to publicly demonstrate that he's being reasonable while privately pressuring me to accept? Meeting with him gives him an opportunity to charm or manipulate or simply overwhelm me with his presence and position.
In my first life, I'd been so desperate for his attention that any scrap would have swayed me. He might be counting on that.
"I don't think meeting him is wise," I say.
"Why not?" Papa leans forward. "Adeline, if you can't articulate your reasons to Duke Vere himself, how am I supposed to justify breaking this engagement to the rest of the court? They'll say you're being childish. Capricious."
"Let them say it."
"You don't mean that." He stands again, agitation breaking through his usual calm. "Your reputation matters. Our family's reputation matters. If you refuse to even meet with him, it makes you look unreasonable."
"And if I meet with him and still refuse, it changes nothing."
"Maybe. Or maybe you'll find he's not what you've imagined." Papa's voice softens. "I know you've built up this idea that he's cold and unfeeling. But Adeline, you barely know the man. Perhaps your instincts are wrong."
They aren't. God, if he only knew how wrong he is.
But I can't say that. Can't explain that I know exactly who Cassian Vere is because I've already lived the consequences of marrying him.
"What if my instincts are right?" I counter. "What if I meet with him and come away even more certain that this marriage would be a disaster?"
"Then I'll support your refusal." Papa says it with finality. "But Adeline, you owe him—and yourself—the courtesy of this conversation. If only to be absolutely certain."
I want to argue further. Want to insist that I am certain, that no conversation will change my mind.
But I see the exhaustion in Papa's face. The weight of trying to balance his daughter's happiness with political reality. He's asking me for one meeting. One conversation.
And refusing might make him doubt my conviction. Might make him think this is girlish whim rather than genuine determination.
"Fine," I say. "I'll meet with him. Once. But Papa—" I meet his eyes steadily. "When I come back still wanting to refuse this engagement, you'll support me. No more questions, no more doubts. Agreed?"
He hesitates, then nods. "Agreed."
"When does he want this meeting?"
Papa glances at the letter. "He left the time and location to your choosing. He emphasized it should be properly chaperoned and at your convenience."
Of course he did. The perfect gentleman, on paper. "The Kael estate gardens, tomorrow afternoon. You can chaperone."
"Are you certain? The Vere estate would be more—"
"Here," I say firmly. "On our territory. I'm not walking into his stronghold."
Papa looks like he wants to argue, but he nods. "I'll send the response today."
As I turn to leave, he calls my name. I pause at the door.
"Adeline... whatever happens tomorrow, know that I'm proud of you. Your mother would be too. You've grown into a woman who knows her own mind."
The words lodge in my throat. In my first timeline, Papa never said anything like this. Never had reason to be proud of a daughter who'd meekly accepted her fate.
"Thank you, Papa."
I make it back to my room before the trembling starts.
Tomorrow. I'm going to see Cassian tomorrow.
The man I loved desperately and uselessly for three years. The man who stood by while I died. The man whose cold gray eyes were the last thing I saw before the world went dark.
I sink onto my bed, pressing my hands to my chest where my heart pounds too fast.
This is fine. I can do this. It's just a conversation. I'll tell him clearly and directly that I don't wish to marry him, that he should find a bride who actually wants the position, that we'll both be happier pursuing other arrangements.
Simple. Straightforward. Unemotional.
Except I'm shaking, and there's a tightness in my chest that feels suspiciously like panic.
A knock at my door makes me jump. "My lady?" Mina's voice, concerned. "Are you well? You came back so quickly."
I take a steadying breath. "I'm fine, Mina. Just... tired."
"Shall I draw you a bath? Some tea?"
Both sound wonderful. Neither will fix the knot of dread in my stomach.
"Tea, please. And Mina? Tomorrow afternoon I'll be meeting with Duke Vere. I'll need..." What? What does one wear to refuse a marriage proposal face-to-face?
"Something appropriate but not overly formal," I finally say. "I want to look put-together, but not like I'm trying to impress him."
There's a pause. Then, carefully: "May I ask what this meeting is about, my lady?"
"I'm going to tell him directly that I won't marry him." Saying it aloud makes it feel more real. More possible. "Papa thinks I owe him that courtesy before finalizing the refusal."
"I see." Another pause. "And how do you feel about seeing him again?"
How do I feel? Terrified. Angry. Determined. Guilty, though I'm not sure why—he's the one who should feel guilty.
"I feel resolved," I say instead. "This is the right choice, Mina. I know it is."
"Then that's all that matters, my lady. I'll prepare your tea."
After she leaves, I walk to my window. The garden stretches below, roses swaying in the late afternoon breeze. Tomorrow Cassian will walk these paths. Will sit in my mother's garden and listen to me refuse him.
How will he react? Anger? Indifference? That cold, calculating look he gave me so often before?
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. It doesn't matter how he reacts. His feelings—or lack thereof—aren't my concern anymore.
I died once loving a man who didn't love me back. I won't make that mistake twice.
The resolve settles into my bones, solid and sure. Tomorrow I'll face Cassian Vere. I'll look him in those cold gray eyes and tell him the truth: I don't want to marry him. I won't marry him.
And whatever happens after that, I'll handle it.
I have to.
---
The rest of the evening passes in a strange fog. Dinner with Papa is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. He doesn't mention the meeting again, but I catch him watching me with that puzzled expression—like he's trying to reconcile the daughter he thought he knew with the one sitting across from him.
Later, as Mina helps me prepare for bed, she chatters about inconsequential things. The weather. The new roses blooming in the garden. Gossip from the servants' quarters.
I barely hear her. My mind is already in tomorrow, playing out scenarios.
*I appreciate the honor, Your Grace, but I must decline.*
Too formal.
*I don't love you and I never will.*
Too harsh, even if it's true.
*We wouldn't suit each other.*
Too vague. He'd ask why, and what would I say? Because you'll let me die? Because in another timeline you broke my heart?
"My lady, you're not listening to a word I'm saying." Mina's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts.
"I'm sorry, I—"
"It's alright." She sets down the hairbrush, meeting my eyes in the vanity mirror. "You're frightened."
"I'm not—"
"You are. And that's natural." She places a hand on my shoulder. "But my lady, remember—you hold the power in this situation. He's the one asking for your time, for your consideration. You're the one who gets to say no."
The simple truth of it strikes me. She's right. In my first life, I'd approached every interaction with Cassian from a position of desperate hope. Wanting him to like me, to choose me, to see value in me.
But this time? This time I'm the one doing the choosing. And I choose not to repeat my own tragedy.
"Thank you, Mina."
"Sleep well, my lady. Tomorrow you'll need your strength."
But sleep doesn't come easily. I lie in the darkness, staring at the canopy above, and wonder what version of Cassian Vere will appear tomorrow.
The bored aristocrat who'd barely looked at me?
The cold duke who'd watched me die?
Or someone else entirely—someone curious enough to write a personal letter, to request a meeting, to claim he has no wish to force an unwilling bride?
I don't trust it. Can't trust it. Trust is what got me killed before.
Tomorrow I'll be polite. Firm. Clear.
And then I'll be free.
The thought carries me finally into fitful sleep, where I dream of roses and poison and gray eyes that see right through me.