"You two are to be wed, yet you dare to go on his wrong side?" Voice laced with disappointment.
The count, Norielle's father, his face says it all lines of strain around his eyes, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch. It was the day after the pavilion, and I was alone with him in his study, Zilda having slipped out at his first sharp glance.
"I... I didn't mean to," I managed, my voice smaller than I'd intended.
When I'd first woken up after transmigrating, he'd been the first person I saw, so worried, so overjoyed that his sole daughter was alive. The man standing before me now felt like a stranger.
The count turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Mean to? Evander Hanes de Valois is the Grand Duke's only son, heir to the entire northern duchy. Our family's future rests on this union, Norielle. And you return home in his carriage, escorted like a dismissed guest?"
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. Heir. That's right, I have completely forgotten Evander wasn't just the villain, he was the heir to the Grand Duchy. That detail had slipped through the cracks of my half-read story.
"He was angry," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I... I lost my focus."
The count sighed, running a hand through his dark brown hair it fell back in unruly strands, a rare sign of his frustration.
"That girl I raised the flower of society, would never lose her focus with a man like him. What has gotten into you?"
Lightning, a typhoon, a story I barely remember. But I couldn't say that.
His expression softened for just a moment, then hardened again. "Fear is a luxury you cannot afford. He will be here the day after tomorrow for the agreement dinner. You will make amends. And you will remember who you are- and what is at stake."
What is at stake?
***
"Do I really have to marry that Evander guy?" I murmured in annoyance, my fingers automatically reaching for the nearest stem.
It was a full-bloomed pink rose, petals soft as silk under my thumb, one of the garden's prized specimens, the kind old Marcus fussed over daily, checking for blight and talking to them like they were his own children. He was hunched over the next row of bushes, but I could feel his eyes on me the moment my fingers closed around the stem.
I pinched one edge, then another, plucking them off one by one and dropping them in a small pile at my feet. Marcus's trowel stilled in the dirt. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, as if he and the garden itself were both holding back a cry, worried I'd tear the whole rose apart.
"My lady, you cannot call the future Grand Duke and your future husband like that." Zilda, at my side, lectured gently, though her eyes were wide with alarm. She gestured at my hands, then at the scattered petals. "And will you please stand up? Stop plucking at the roses and yanking out every weed in sight, for heaven's sake. Did you lose all your dignity when you got hit by that lightning?"
I plucked one last petal the innermost one, pale as a pearl and dropped it on the pile. "Dignity doesn't keep you from getting killed by your betrothed," I said, though the words were barely a whisper.
I've been in this world for a week or two, I don't even remember. The only thing I know is that no matter what I do, I'll still end up dying someday. The only difference I can make is who takes my life.
Zilda cleared her throat softly beside me. "My lady, it seems like you have forgotten but you have to attend a tea party today and," She paused, noticing the way I'd gone still, my eyes fixed on the bare rose stem.
She didn't finish the rest, but her hand moved to adjust the collar of my dress, her meaning clear, you have to get ready.
I let my fingers slip away from the rose. The petals at my feet were already starting to wilt in the midday sun, and Marcus had straightened up from his work, watching us with a furrowed brow.
"Right," I mumbled, pushing myself off the grass.
Dirt streaked the hem of my gown, and the scent of rose clung to my skin.
A tea party, with all the ladies who'd known the real Norielle. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd made small talk that wasn't about comic panels, let alone navigated a room full of nobles.
We went back to my room, and I bathed again while Zilda fussed with my things. When I was done, she helped me get ready, pulling over a gown the same shade as my eyes, adorned with delicate white ornaments that caught the light as she adjusted the bodice.
I stepped out with Zilda, and a familiar carriage was waiting for us at the front gate the very one Evander had lent us to return home the day before.
"Samuel Sewan, my lady." The knight standing beside the carriage greeted, saluting with a sharp nod. "His lordship has ordered I'll be escorting you to Marquis Deran's estate."
Why though? I thought he despise me?
I gave the knight a smile, then he help both Zilda and I to enter the carriage. I was full of questions but I couldn't dare to asked.
The carriage door clicked shut behind us, and a moment later, the wheels rumbled to life, jostling me gently against the plush velvet seat. Outside, the garden's rose bushes blurred into streaks of green and pink as we rolled past the iron gates of the Marqui's estate.
Zilda smoothed down her skirts, her eyes darting to the window then back to me, as if afraid I'd do something reckless even in here. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the clip-clop of the horses hooves on the cobblestones and the distant clatter of the city.
"Why do you think he sent his own knight?" I finally asked, my voice barely a whisper over the carriage's creak.
Zilda's shoulders tensed. "Perhaps... perhaps he's not as angry as you think, my lady. The Grand Duke's household is very particular about protocol, sending a knight to escort his betrothed to a tea party is only proper."
Proper. The word curdled on my tongue like sour milk. Everything in this world revolved around it-proper words that lied, proper dresses that constrained, proper marriages that wove families into power's web like puppets on fraying strings. Even Evander, the villain was trapped in its grip. And the real Norielle, who shared this cruel fate, had felt it closing in until she could barely breathe.
Children bound by their parents orders before they'd even learned to walk. Lives mapped out in ink before a single dream could take root. That day the lightning struck? It wasn't an accident. It was the day she'd finally tried to run-slipping out of the estate at dawn, her feet bare in the dewy grass, running from the duty that had become a noose around her neck. She couldn't bear to be tied to Evander, to a future built on politics and lies, when her heart belonged to another.
Even I. Even after transmigrating I still couldn't escape this strict cage of duties.
The carriage came to a stop. I heard Samuel's voice outside, polite and clear, "We've arrived, my lady." He announced.
The door swung open, and his gloved hand appeared, waiting to help me out. I placed my hand in his, and he helped me step down onto the cobblestones. The sun hit my face, warm and bright, and for a moment I closed my eyes, then I opened my eyes.
I have to act like a proper lady, a proper flower of society. If they saw how foreign I felt in this skin, they might not just cut me dead. In a world where difference was suspicion, what was worse than being shunned? Being burned to ashes as a witch.
Proper ladies smile with just the right curve of the lips. Proper ladies say thank you in a voice as sweet as honey. Proper ladies walk into rooms full of people who are waiting to pick apart every gesture, every word, every flicker of their eyes.
The tea party was waiting. And so was the rest of my life.