Talking to Prince Florian is very different to reading about him.


    For starters, due to the nature of his role as a supporting character in his brother’s story, all information presented about him was either incidental or pertinent to a specific plot point within the larger narrative. As a reader, I only knew about him what the author considered to be necessary information. That he was smart, but unambitious; strong of heart, if not of body. That is why I am so deeply interested in hearing how he describes himself instead.


    In our time together, I hear about his day-to-day activities, his likes and dislikes, and I ask if he has any friends within the Palace. Prince Florian—“you can call me Florian, if you like”—tells me that his days are largely spent in the library, the gardens, or (in winter) the kitchen. “It gets very cold in winter,” he explains, with a distant smile. “The servants don’t always remember to bring firewood to my room. But the kitchen is always warm, and nobody minds me being there so long as I don’t get in the way. Cran—she’s an apprentice chef—always keeps snacks aside for me. I think she and I are friends.”


    Perhaps because it was told according to Prince Isidore’s understanding of fact, the novel assumed Florian read mostly fiction books. When the three royal children were still young enough to be raised in closer contact with one another, Florian would often be found with his nose buried in some manner of fairytale. “I do still like novels,” he says. “But I’ve actually been more interested in reading books about medicine of late.”


    “Medicine?” I prompt.


    “It’s just a passing interest,” he clarifies quickly, flushing. “What about you, my lady? Do you also like to read?”


    My gaze narrows in on the twitchiness in his composure. Despite my best efforts, Florian tends to become uncomfortable if we spend too long talking only about him. I’ve noticed that whenever he feels overwhelmed he will attempt to shift the focus back to me somehow. I don’t want to be too pushy, so I usually let him. This is our second meeting, and he has continued to not let his guard down around me.


    By asking around, I did manage to learn more about the rumours surrounding me within the Palace. Most prevalent are the rumours of my capricious, cruel personality. They say that I am easily angered, and quick to dole out excessive punishments. Rumour has it that I cut out the tongue of a maid who forgot to greet me properly. Another says I whipped a stable-hand bloody for merely daring to look me in the eye. As someone still new to the experience of being Linnea Corydalis myself, I don’t have enough historical context to separate the fact from fiction. I don’t know how much of what I hear about my past self is true and how much is just embellishment. Surely the stories are exaggerated though, I find myself anxiously hoping. Right?


    If this is what Florian has heard of me though, it makes sense he hasn’t let go of his wariness.


    “I do like to read,” I reply, smiling softly. “I actually prefer fiction. My family’s library doesn’t hold many novels though, sadly."


    “Oh,” Florian blinks, his eyes widening with sympathy. "That''s unfortunate. Well, you could always come and use the royal library i-if you want?"


    “Really?" I lean in. "Would you show me around?”


    “I—” he falters. His eyelashes flutter as he looks down, blushing faintly. “If you… if you want me to?”


    “Wonderful!” I clasp my hands together in excitement. “I can hardly wait.”


    Florian nods, looking at me with unexpected fondness.


    ***


    Prince Isidore always returns to the greenhouse with at least five minutes to spare.


    The original Linnea has been coming to the Palace for regular scheduled “meetings” ever since they were first betrothed. Their frequency varied, but typically he could expect her to request a meeting with him every three days. They served a dual purpose, offering Linnea a chance to spend time with the object of her affections, and permitting her parents the opportunity to closely monitor the crown prince’s actions within the Palace. If it had been up to her, I think the original Linnea would have wanted longer than three hours with him, but the Corydalis’ authority over the crown prince’s schedule could only be stretched so far. Once three hours are up, any authority I may have been able to wield over the prince’s personal guard disappears again.


    In a way, I suppose the crown prince and I aren’t too different. My power isn’t real either. Like these three hours of borrowed power, granted as a gift to an already privileged girl, it is temporary and extremely conditional.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    This day is no different. Prince Isidore strides out from behind a rose bush just as the time reaches five minutes to. His outfit is the same as when he left, consisting of a closely fitted linen tunic and breeches, a silk doublet overtop, and a thick leather belt decorated with metal and jewels that encircles his waist. Over his shoulders, a fur-lined cape made of heavy blue velvet billows out. There is no way he could have passed as a commoner dressed like this, so I assume he has a change of clothes stashed somewhere nearby.


    He walks up to the table silently, his gaze heavy and inscrutable, coming to a stop behind Florian. “You can leave now,” he says, tapping his brother on the shoulder.


    Florian startles. “Brother?” he says, craning his neck back to address the crown prince. Recalling himself, he steps out of his seat quickly to offer it to Prince Isidore. “Welcome back.”


    Glancing back, Florian gives me a polite bow and a smile so beamingly brilliant it damn near knocks the breath out of me. A lock of strawberry hair escapes from behind his ear and falls over his forehead. “Lady Linnea,” he says. “It was lovely to speak with you, as always.”


    “Florian,” Prince Isidore presses, a note of impatience in his voice.


    "Right, yes. I''m sorry, I''m going now."


    A little sheepish, Florian waves goodbye and turns to go. Further ahead, there is a small tool shed where he is instructed to hide until the crown prince and I have left the greenhouse. Unlike his siblings, Florian’s movements aren’t nearly so micromanaged, so caution beyond this would be unnecessary. Nobody will know he was here.


    With Florian gone, I turn my gaze to Prince Isidore. As always, I feel on edge in his presence. The tension between us is palpable; he does not bother to hide his animosity toward me. It makes me want to curl into myself, but instead, I keep my back straight and my composure firm.


    In the novel, Prince Isidore appeared to others as a rather cold and calculating person. He never showed his feelings openly, and his manner of speaking was blunt and to the point no matter who he spoke to. Even his closest allies struggled to know his true feelings. But even so, it is clear that he cares about his little brother. Whenever he returns to the greenhouse, the first place he looks is at Florian to see that he is okay. I guess he was truly worried I would do something cruel in his absence. That thought is deflating.


    “You still don’t believe me, do you?” I let out a sigh, unable to hide the frustration in my voice. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt him. I only want to spend time with the person I like.”


    “That is exactly what worries me,” Prince Isidore scoffs, lip curling with distaste. “I’ve seen the way you treat people you like.”


    My heart stutters, then sinks like a stone in my chest. I forgot that when he looks at me, all he sees is the same Linnea Corydalis who has tormented him for the better part of a decade. I swallow back the lump that rises in my throat, my eyes stinging all of a sudden. It really would have been nicer to be transmigrated into someone a little less hateable.


    There is not even anything I can say in my own defence, no excuse I can offer that he would believe. It occurs to me that if I made myself lie again, if I tried once more to convince him with words that I truly do not want to hurt anyone anymore, I might well start crying.


    So instead, I keep my lips clamped shut and we sit in silence for the duration it takes until guards arrive to take him away.


    An unshakeable bitterness clings to me all through the carriage ride home, weighing me down. Nearly three weeks have passed since I was transported into this world, and though I’ve taken steps to improve my survival chances, it is increasingly feeling as if there is only so much I can do to change my own fate. Living as Linnea Corydalis doesn’t just mean adopting her appearance or her home—it means inheriting her past, too. And with that comes a mountain of guilt and shame from which I can’t escape.


    Maybe… Maybe I need to be doing more?


    Repairing Linnea’s reputation seems like an impossible task compared to simply gaining the favour of one person—Prince Florian. At least then, there will be one person by Crown Prince Isidore’s side who will be willing to defend me when the time comes for his retribution. With Florian’s help, I should survive past the end of this story. But is that really all that I want? To survive?


    What if I’m stuck here forever? If I must live in this world, I want to live a life I can be proud of—or at least one I don’t have to be ashamed of.


    While I’d prefer to live a life where people don’t judge me for the actions of my predecessor, that feels unrealistic. I can’t change the past, and making up for the harm Linnea caused would take not just effort, but a great deal of grovelling and hard work. I’m still trying to accept my new role in this story, and the thought of pretending to be someone who hurt others for fun—no matter how much it’s for atonement—turns my stomach. Yet, I can’t escape the question: if I don’t make amends, will I be able to live with myself?


    The carriage rocking back in place as it pulls to a stop saves me from burrowing any deeper into this line of thought. The tinge of nausea I felt with Prince Isidore has continued to fester, and my body feels drained of all energy. I stumble as I exit the carriage, but thankfully right myself before my discomposure can be witnessed by anyone.


    “Welcome home, Lady Linnea. The Duchess has requested your presence in her study,” Benjamin, the head butler, informs me as I enter the main house.


    I just barely keep from sighing out loud. All I want is to go straight to bed. Dinner be damned; I’m exhausted. But as always, I have an image to maintain. There is no room for error in the Corydalis household.


    “I’ll be right there,” I say.


    My hands are clenched so tightly at my sides that my nails cut into the flesh of my palms, drawing blood.