《The Crown Prince is (not) a Puppet》 Chapter One Two knights escort me to the crown prince¡¯s drawing room, where Prince Isidor is waiting. Three palace guards take up various positions in the room around him, their presence inobtrusive but ever watchful. ¡°Greetings, your Highness,¡± I say, dipping a polite curtsy. The crown prince does not look up, but I notice an almost imperceptible flicker of confusion in his expression. Oh, now that I think about it, the original Linnea would not have bothered to address the prince in accordance with his station. In theory, the crown prince¡¯s status should be higher than mine. The reality, however, is that all governing power is shared between the four ducal households. The royal family has not held real power in over a hundred years. This crown prince is destined to grow up as a puppet monarch. Prince Isidor¡¯s discomfort around me is very apparent. He still hasn¡¯t bothered to reply to my greeting. Of the three palace guards in this room, I recognise one as belonging to the Corydalis household. He¡¯s the one watching me closely, poised to act should I voice my displeasure with the crown prince¡¯s treatment of me. I¡¯m sure that¡¯s how these meetings have gone in the past. ¡°Leave us,¡± I instruct. ¡°I would like to speak with the prince in private. You are all dismissed.¡± Even the two who are not associated with my family¡¯s house know better than to cause trouble. They do as they were instructed, closing the door and leaving the crown prince and I alone. I didn¡¯t mean it as a show of power, but Prince Isidor looks silently frustrated. His posture pretends at relaxation, but his muscles are all tense like he is bracing for a fight. Still not sure how to approach this conversation, I cross the room nervously and sit in a plush seat opposite him. Prince Isidor pointedly continues to ignore me. I wish I could just be honest with him. I wish I could tell him that I know about his secret alter-ego, and that I want to help him achieve his goals. I read all about his struggles, and I know for a fact that he will end up victorious. But there¡¯s no way he would believe that. Even someone I had a good relationship with would struggle to believe that I¡¯m not originally from this world. That I woke up one day as Linnea Corydalis, a character from a novel I read, with no clue how I got here. But the crown prince hates me. Instead of the truth, I need to give him a believable lie. Linnea, for all her self-proclaimed love toward the crown prince, was a source of constant torment in the original story. Her ¡°love¡± was more like obsession, and she viewed him as a thing that belonged to her. As an aside, it was mentioned once in the novel that her favourite hobby growing up was making grown men cry. Affection would not have exempted him from her sociopathic wiles. They¡¯ve been betrothed since early childhood too, so he¡¯s already put up with her for more than a decade. ¡°I¡¯m not here to cause you trouble,¡± I say softly. ¡°Actually, I want to offer you a deal, if¡ªif you¡¯d be amenable to that?¡± This time, finally, he looks up at me. Brilliant sapphire eyes, smouldering with barely restrained hatred, pin me in place. A shudder runs down my spine. In the flesh, Prince Isidor is more intimidating than I was expecting¡ªit really feels like he wants me dead. But then, he has probably learnt to keep his guard up at all times wherever Linnea is concerned. ¡°A deal?¡± he says flatly, arms crossed. ¡°What do I have to offer that you could not simply take for yourself? You¡¯ve never cared about permission before.¡± I wince. Goodness, this is off to a bad start. What¡¯s worse is that I can¡¯t exactly argue against him. I know how awful Linnea was. If ever she wanted something before now, she would have taken it right away¡ªbargaining would have seemed beneath her. There is no use denying the past. But if I play my cards right, I may attempt to rewrite it. The best laid plans start out with a sincere apology. ¡°I am sorry for how I¡¯ve acted, your Highness. I know you may not believe me, but I deeply regret my behaviour. I do not mean to make excuses, but it bears acknowledgement I was under immense pressure from my family. They encouraged me to treat you in a certain way, and I should have known better than to blindly obey.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. I let out a shaky, relieved breath. There, that should do it. An apology that accepts a sufficient degree of accountability while also shifting enough blame to outside influences that a sudden 180 in personality isn¡¯t so unbelievable. ¡°You¡¯re sorry?¡± he scoffs. ¡°You expect me to believe such nonsense?¡± My shoulders fall. I wasn¡¯t expecting much, but the vitriol in his voice still hurts to bear. Linnea was incredibly vocal about her affections and was not known to apologise to anyone, regardless of fault. To Prince Isidor, my words probably seem like a trick. Such a thing wouldn¡¯t even be unusual; she was fond of mind games. My apology was not enough. There¡¯s no way out now but to further the lie. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I ever felt true affection for you, your Highness.¡± I aim to keep my tone and manner humble, repentant. ¡°We were betrothed when I was only eight years old. You were the only future I ever knew¡ªthat I was ever offered. So, I tried to convince myself that I loved you. The effort nearly drove me mad. It was only recently that I realised I was making myself miserable, not to mention hurting you too.¡± He sighs, dragging a beleaguered hand over his face. He does not look convinced, but he appears too confused to argue the point any further. ¡°Fine. Say what you like. Now, what is this about a deal?¡± Yes, okay, my plan is actually working! Whether he believes me or not, I knew the crown prince would be too smart to miss an opportunity to bargain for his own gain. ¡°As you know, the royal guards are instructed to obey my orders without question. If I request it, they will ensure our privacy for the duration of this visit, and for all future meetings as well. I realize they don¡¯t extend the same courtesy to you.¡± A tendon in the crown prince¡¯s jaw tightens. I continue on quickly, ¡°I-If you agree to my proposal, I will act as your alibi. You¡¯ll still need to remain out of sight¡ªperhaps a simple disguise would work¡ªbut aside from that, you can spend those hours however you wish. No one will be looking for you. As long as you return before our scheduled meetings end, everyone will assume you¡¯ve been with me the entire time.¡± He looks incredulous. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ uncharacteristically generous of you, my lady,¡± he says, shock evident in his voice. Then, like a light going out, his expression shutters and freezes over. That cool sapphire gaze pierces me like a knife. ¡°However, I struggle to imagine you sitting patiently by yourself for multiple hours. You say you¡¯ll pretend I was with you the whole time, but I don¡¯t trust you. Why would you go so far?¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be for free, of course,¡± I clarify hurriedly. Actually, I would do it for free, but Linnea would never. ¡°I will demand something in return.¡± He eyes me warily. ¡°Very well. What is it you want?¡± Okay. I take a deep breath, clutching my fists together tight to stay my rattling nerves. Here goes nothing. Summoning all my bravery, I declare, ¡°I want to court your brother instead.¡± The crown prince embodies everything you¡¯d expect a hero to be. He is tall, broad shouldered, with defined jawline and high, sculpted cheekbones. The hours spent on sword training every day reflect in his muscular arms and chest. Sapphire irises smoulder with a deep, burning intensity. His golden-bronze hair is swept back from his face, though a few loose strands fall over his temple, adding to his rugged allure. Full, dark eyebrows and dusty pink cupids-bow lips complete the picture. I am well aware I¡¯m in the minority opinion when I say he just isn¡¯t really my type. Don¡¯t get me wrong! I loved him as a protagonist. His story was deeply engaging. But when other fans would gush about his looks and daydream about being romanced by him, I learned to stay politely quiet. They could have him if they wanted him. My preference was always for the second prince. "What?" The crown prince frowns, looking baffled. "My brother? Do you mean Florian?" "Yes," I confirm, sucking in a breath and clasping my hands tightly together. This needs to work. There are three royal children in total. Prince Isidor is the eldest, but there is also Princess Cassandra and the second prince Florian. Among the four duchies, there is a small faction levying their support for the princess to succeed the throne instead. The same is not true for Prince Florian, whose existence in the Palace is largely ignored. "That''s¡ªHave you even met him before? Where has your sudden interest come from?" "Your Highness," I say, with a rueful smile. "Do you really think my parents would approve of such a match? They only care about the potential political gain. Prince Florian will never be King, so he is worthless to them." The crown prince raises an eyebrow. "Oh? But not so worthless to you?" "No, not to me. I realise I''ve yet to spend proper time with him, but I do know about him. I like everything that I''ve heard." "What have you heard?" Hope surges in my heart. That wasn¡¯t an outright ¡®no¡¯. "Your Highness, may I take this to mean you are considering my proposal?" "I¡­ Look, I''m only trying to understand your request first. Why Florian? What is it you want from him?" "I told you. I like him." The crown prince sits silently for a moment. Then he sighs. Sitting forward, he holds out a hand to me. "To reiterate," he cautions. "You will meet with him instead of me, without letting anyone know? I get a few hours of freedom, and you get a few hours with Florian? I reach for his hand immediately and shake it. "Deal?" His eyes haven''t lost their wariness, but his voice is resigned when he replies. "Deal." Chapter Two I didn¡¯t notice it right away when I entered into the world of a book I read. I did feel a niggling sense of unease, and I often wondered why the people and places around me seemed so unfamiliar. But, if anything, I assumed it meant I was coming down with a cold. Then, one week into living as Linnea Corydalis, I remembered everything. The memories of my former life flooded in all at once. It was not a busy day, so I was in my room by the window, flipping idly through a dress catalogue when it happened. The floodgates opened, and it all came rushing back. Numbness swept over me. The catalogue slipped out of my hands and landed on the marble floor with a loud thwap! ¡°Goodness!¡± Flossie gasped. ¡°My lady, are you alright?¡± For a moment I looked at her uncomprehendingly. A young woman in a long beige dress and white lace trim apron stood beside a dresser. Like a clock ticking back to life after factory reset, I slowly recalled Flossie as being one of my maids. One of my maids? My mind turned that phrase over again, struck by its incongruity. In the real world, I lived in a sharehouse along with three other students to save money on rent. Growing up, my mum drilled into me the importance of carrying your own weight and valuing the work of others. I¡¯ve always prided myself on my ability to be self-reliant. ¡°Flossie,¡± I stammered. ¡°A-Are you being paid well?¡± The words left my lips before I had time to think better of them. Flossie¡¯s complexion whitened, her mouth twitching with discomfort. I¡¯d been in such a daze that I said out loud the first thing that came to mind. But a question like that, especially posed so point-blank, posed a mental minefield for someone in her position. The class divide between us was too vast to allow her the comfort of an honest answer. I¡¯d been careless. ¡°You don¡¯t need to answer that actually,¡± I hastened to say, discomfort pricking. ¡°On second thought, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m feeling well. You are excused, Flossie. I would like a moment to rest.¡± A brief flicker of confusion crossed her face, but she quickly smoothed her expression back to normal. ¡°Of course, my lady,¡± she said, ducking her head and dropping a polite curtsy. ¡°Would you like for me to call you a physician?¡± ¡°No, that won¡¯t be necessary. Rest is all I need.¡± ¡°Of course, my lady.¡± With a polite but emotionally distant smile, she followed my instruction and departed the room. The door closed silently behind her. With a strangled breath, I jumped from my seat and rushed to a mirror. I knew what I¡¯d find, but it still shocked me to see a stranger¡¯s face looking back at me. Linnea¡¯s black hair was thick and glossy, piled into an intricately braided updo. Her eyes were the colour of cold steel. At first glance her body appeared slender and delicate, but I could feel a firm layer of muscle supporting me. Her face was narrower than mine. The sharp angle of her chin and the severeness in her resting expression both gave off the impression of a ¡°cool beauty¡±. She looks like someone who doesn¡¯t smile much, I thought while touching my fingers to the corner of my mouth. My real body couldn¡¯t have looked like this if I tried. With my round cheeks, short stature and tendency to smile when I¡¯m uncomfortable, nobody would ever have thought to be intimidated by me. When I tried to smile now, it looked inescapably sinister. Feeling very shaky, I shuffled over to my bed¡ªLinnea¡¯s bed, my mind corrected¡ªand sank into it. Pulling the covers up to my chin self-soothingly, I consulted the facts. What I know: ¡®The Crown Prince is (not) a Puppet¡¯ is a romance fantasy novel. I don¡¯t usually read romance, but a friend recommended it to me, so I gave it a go. The novel¡¯s plot follows the main character of Crown Prince Isidor as he attempts to wrest back power from the ducal households. Though the common people of the nation believe their King holds all power, in reality, he has served as little more than a puppet figurehead for the past century. All true authority rests solely in the hands of the four ducal households. House Foltis, in the south, thrives on wealth cultivated from its expansive agricultural projects and robust trade networks.To the east, House Stannan is renowned for producing the kingdom¡¯s most formidable knights. In the west, House Merrith boasts an expansive historical archive and a prestigious university that nurtures the brightest minds in the realm. Finally, House Corydalis, the wealthiest of the four, monopolises the many gemstone mines found throughout the mountainous northern region. Whenever a new royal heir reaches adulthood, an intense power struggle ensues, as each ducal house vies for the chance to marry one of their children to the crown prince or princess. The house who successfully arranges this marriage gains an invaluable foothold within the Palace and will be best positioned to wield power over the other three in the decades to follow.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. That¡¯s where I come in. Linnea, the daughter of Duke and Duchess Corydalis, was betrothed to Crown Prince Isidor. They first met as young children, and continued to meet regularly at the Palace. Over the years, Linnea tormented the prince with her twisted personality and her warped idea of ¡°love¡±. After demons began to appear in the kingdom, the nobles only concerned themselves with their own safety, leaving the common folk to suffer. The Crown Prince, who had been secretly escaping the Palace to masquerade as a commoner, became a folk hero when he stepped up to protect them. With the aid of his loyal crew of commoner mercenaries, he fought against the encroaching demon forces. It was during this time of strife and battle that he fell in love with a girl named Permelia. The story ended with the Crown Prince Isidor regaining power, dissolving all of the ducal households, and breaking off his engagement with Linnea to instead marry for love. His decision to marry a commoner was doubly significant for what it represented¡ªa dissolution of unfair hierarchies and the start of a new era. As for Linnea¡­ Like the rest of her family, Linnea was stripped of her wealth and title. With her betrothal reneged, she winded up penniless and alone to later die offscreen. Her absence in the final chapters of the novel barely registered for me as a reader, but now that I¡¯m Linnea Corydalis, her future prospects filled me with dread. Was I destined to die? Stewing in my panic and uncertainty, that was when I first began concocting a plan by which to escape Linnea¡¯s miserable fated end. I can only improve my standing with Isidor so much, even with a complete personality change. He won¡¯t ever trust me. The best I can hope for is a future where he no longer actively hates me. It helps that I know exactly what he wants most in this world ¨Cfreedom. Surrounded by spies and watched constantly, he is only rarely able to escape notice long enough to slip out the Palace gates and fulfil his duties as a commoner folk hero. It''s been a few days now since the crown prince and I met at the Palace and agreed to the terms of my proposed deal. I knew he''d be willing to bargain with me if I offered him an opportunity for greater freedom. Linnea would never offer something without asking for something in return though, so I had to think of something. I wasn¡¯t lying when I said I was more interested in Prince Florian. As a character in the novel, he only made a few appearances, but I treasured each and every one. Florian was not as ambitious as his brother, nor as politically savvy as his sister. But he was kind, brave, and intensely loyal. Because he was ignored so often, he spent a lot of his youth in the library, and he grew to be very knowledgeable in a wide range of topics. His insights were even crucial in ensuring the crown prince¡¯s eventual success. And, most importantly, he was very cute. One of the biggest reasons I avoided reading romance in the past was because the love interests were always so aggressively masculine. My tastes lie in the polar opposite direction. I like cute, adorable people¡ªgender is irrelevant. The leading couple in most romance novels is always made up of a dainty little woman and a brick shithouse of a man who towers over her in stature and is absolutely yoked to the point of ridiculousness. I¡¯ve never read a romance novel with a male lead like Florian (if I had, I might''ve cultivated more of an interest in the genre). He was described as petite and delicate-looking, with a vaguely androgynous appearance and shoulder length wavy hair. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll be different when I meet him in person, but I needed an excuse to make a deal with the crown prince anyway. I¡¯m not actually expecting Florian to fall for me, but through ¡°courting¡± him, I at least stand a good chance at gaining an ally and a friend for myself. Such a feat would be impossible with Isidor. *** The Corydalis Duke and Duchess have breakfast with their children every morning. Platters of food are spread out lavishly upon a table large enough to seat a small army, but only four places are laid. I sit beside my younger brother¡ªLinnea¡¯s brother¡ªArwin, opposite our parents. For such a cutthroat family, the Corydalis'' deeply value familial bonding. As Duke Corydalis is known to say, ''the bonds forged by blood are strongest of all''. His reputation in the novel as a sadistic hedonist feels dizzyingly at odds with the doting father who sits before me now. "I''m so glad to see you looking more yourself again," the Duke tells me warmly. "Of course," the Duchess chuckles, exchanging a fond glance with her husband. "I told you she was just missing that boy of hers." It suits their interests well that their daughter was so infatuated with the crown prince. It suits me well too, because they would never suspect Linnea of doing anything to jeopardise their betrothal. "Yes, I am feeling much better. Thank you, Mother, Father." I still don''t entirely know how to talk to them. Before, when I didn''t yet remember who I was, it was confusing to feel so distant from them. Now, I am hyper aware of every interaction lest they figure out I am not who they think I am. I pick at the salad on my plate without much interest, using my fork to roll a cherry tomato back and forth. I haven''t yet gotten used to eating a full meal so early in the day. In the past, often I skipped breakfast. ¡°Did seeing the prince really make you feel better?¡± Arwin teases. Then his voice raises pitch, taking on a falsetto I can only assume is meant to imitate me. ¡°Oh, Isidor, tell me how pretty I am? Kiss my feet while you''re at it. Isido¡ª" ¡°That is enough,¡± the Duke reprimands sharply, setting his knife and fork down firmly enough to rattle the crockery. ¡°As a family, we must have each other¡¯s backs. That is the only way our house has survived. I will not have my children at odds.¡± ¡°I was only joking,¡± Arwin mumbles, kicking his feet glumly. He shoots me a pouty look. ¡°Sorry, sister.¡± My heart warms at the sight of his half-hearted contrition. As a former only child, I cannot help but find his antics endlessly endearing. Arwin is seven years younger than Linnea. At only ten, he is a child. In my world, he would have been allowed to act his age. Here though, children are expected to grow up early. ¡°Our Linn knows her duty,¡± the Duchess says sternly. The food on her plate looks barely touched, and she appears to be eating her rice one grain at a time. Still, there is fondness in her expression when she looks at me. Fondness, and weighty expectation. "You must remember to keep an eye on the prince always. If he does anything suspicious, report it to me at once." I force myself to return her smile, a chill skittering down my spine. "Yes, Mother. I will." "I''m glad that you and your fiance get along so well." The Duchess sighs. "But do not let your feelings for him cloud your judgment. The prince is a tool to be used, nothing more." "Yes, Mother." Chapter Three The crown prince and I decided to meet outside the royal gardens. As I walk to meet him, I see he is once again accompanied by his ensemble of guards. Spies; one from each ducal house. After I dismiss them, we make our way jointly through the flower fields and up toward the garden centre, where a large domed greenhouse awaits. Enclosed by thick glass, the greenhouse¡¯s interior is bright and vibrant. Fruit trees line the outermost row of this covered garden. Concentric semi-circles of differently coloured flowers are laid out in a walkable pattern that leads inward. In the centre of the greenhouse is an open area, its floor paved with geometrically patterned marble tiles. This is where we will rendezvous with the second prince. The crown prince and I discussed a few different potential meeting places, but ultimately we decided upon here. The greenhouse is large enough that any conversation inside would not be overheard from outside, and it offers a convenient number of secret escape routes for the Prince Isidore to use when he makes his egress. At a small tea table set up in the middle of the space sits Prince Florian. The second prince is a young man with a youthful, somewhat androgynous appearance. His skin is smooth and fair, save for his nose bridge, which is dotted by faint, barely-there freckles. He has his brother¡¯s high cheekbones and defined jaw, but the apples of his cheeks are rounder¡ªsoft and rosy. An open-hearted smile presses dimples into his face. Prince Florian wears a light-coloured tunic with wide sleeves that taper below the elbow, adorned with gold-embroidered flounces at the wrists, shoulders, and half-sleeves. Over it, he has a plush velvet vest with a pale pink silk lining, white trim, and a stiff gold lapel. A heavy, fur-lined coat in a soft sage green, trimmed with pale pink silk and detailed with gold embroidery, is folded gracefully on the chair next to him. Around his neck is a patterned silk cravat, also in pastel tones. The pink and gold accents in his outfit bring out the warmth in his medium-length, wavy hair, which fades from light bronze at the roots to strawberry blonde at the tips. His overall appearance radiates softness. His large, round eyes, framed by long lashes, gleam with the same intense sapphire hue as his brother''s¡ªbut instead of smouldering, they sparkle. Prince Florian is handsome, but I believe the word ¡®beautiful¡¯ suits him better. Seeing him for the first time, after only reading about him, has me instantly giddy. He''s just as lovely as the novel described. Even his posture is perfect and proper, straight-backed with hands folded. It''s just... he''s so cute. The sound of the crown prince pointedly clearing his throat pulls me back to my senses and I take a deep, gathering breath. This isn¡¯t a dream. This is real. If all goes to plan, I¡¯ll have many opportunities in the coming future to win Florian over, but I¡¯ll never get another shot at a good first impression. ¡°This is Lady Linnea,¡± Prince Isidor says, with a lazy gesture. ¡°Lady Linnea, this is my younger brother, Prince Florian.¡± ¡°I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,¡± I greet, tipping my head forward slightly but refraining from a full curtsy. In a regular monarchic hierarchy, a duke¡¯s daughter would be expected to show deference to a son of the King. It would be too far outside Linnea¡¯s character to do that, so a nod will have to suffice. As if he¡¯s been waiting for this cue, Florian jumps to his feet and bows his head to me. ¡°L-Likewise, My Lady.¡± He blushes. ¡°It is an honour to meet you also.¡± ¡°An honour?¡± Prince Isidor scoffs under his breath. Florian wilts, clutching his hands tightly together. ¡°The honour is all mine,¡± I step in, smiling as gently as this face can manage. It feels like I¡¯m approaching a frightened bunny. ¡°No need to be nervous. I¡¯m glad we finally have the chance to meet in person.¡± ¡°O-Oh.¡± Florian¡¯s gaze flits between his brother and me. He bites down on his lip and looks down, like he has something he wants to say but isn¡¯t sure how. ¡°Isi¡ªI mean, the crown prince told me that you asked about me?¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s true.¡± I nod enthusiastically. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to meet you.¡± You were even my favourite character. ¡°But¡­¡± Florian fidgets, a blush colouring his cheeks. ¡°A-Aren¡¯t the two of you engaged?¡± Ah, Prince Isidore didn¡¯t explain it yet. What was Florian told then? What does he think he is here to do? Unease souring in my stomach, I open my mouth to explain, but Prince Isidore is faster.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°I told you before, Florian,¡± he scowls. ¡°The engagement means nothing to me. I will never marry her.¡± I can¡¯t help but bristle. Can¡¯t he be a bit kinder with his words? The blatant disgust in his voice at the mere thought of marriage to me is difficult to not take personally. He¡¯s not talking about me, not really, I try to comfort myself. He doesn¡¯t know the real me. ¡°The crown prince is correct,¡± I affirm. ¡°I do not intend on marrying him either.¡± Like a flower unfurling, Florian¡¯s shoulders relax their tension and his face turns back to me. There is a silent question in his glittery blue eyes: What do you want with me? If I were in possession of Linnea¡¯s boundless self-confidence, it would be easy to speak the correct words and tell him that I am here because I like him. The entitled duke¡¯s daughter that she was, she would have been honest and declared her intentions with pride. My own confidence proves elusive now I¡¯m facing the second prince himself. Beyond the simpler concerns of my one-sided affection for him, I am also inescapably aware that Prince Florian must be my lifeboat. The original Linnea did not survive this narrative, but I must. I need allies. I need to make a good impression. I need to say something. "If it were my choice, I would have chosen you over your brother." The words that leave my mouth come out smoother than I expect. They betray none of my nervousness. Often, when I hear myself speak, I still feel that I¡¯m listening to the voice of a stranger. Today, I am glad for it. I shrug on Linnea Corydalis¡¯ pride like a suit of armour, costume that it might be. Prince Florian¡¯s face flushes bright red, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, his lips move soundlessly, as if searching for words that will not come. His hands shift, then pause, hovering awkwardly before him. As he fumbles, his foot catches on a table leg and the crockery clinks together in place. It seems I am not the only one feeling nervous. Prince Isidore groans, shaking his head as if dismissing this whole affair. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve done my part,¡± he announces, stepping away. ¡°I trust you will remember our deal, Lady Linnea. Don¡¯t leave this room until I return. Three hours¨Cthat is what we both agreed on.¡± His gaze locks solemnly onto mine as he speaks, an unspoken warning. ¡°I remember,¡± I reply. ¡°Three hours. And then you will meet us back here.¡± Prince Isidore gives a short nod. After a beat, he adds, in a voice pitched low enough for only me to hear it, ¡°Do not do anything to hurt Florian.¡± With that, he turns on his heel and walks away. Unsettled, I glance back at Prince Florian. His shoulders flinch slightly. He hasn¡¯t sat down yet. I suppose he is waiting for me to join him at the table. The silence between us feels heavier now that it is only the two of us. Self-consciously, I move to take the seat opposite him. I wonder who arranged the table¨Csurely Prince Isidore would have preferred as few servants as possible to be involved in this charade. The spread is appropriately lavish. A crystal jug filled with fruit tea sits beside a pair of delicate bone China teacups, and a multi-tiered tower overflows with tea fare: cookies, sliced fruit, sweet mochi, cheese and crackers, and mini sandwiches. I clear my throat. ¡°Please sit down?¡± He drops back into his seat, the movement jerky. With effort, he straightens his back and meets my gaze head on, resuming the perfect posture he had on my arrival. The brightness of his smile has dimmed since then, nervousness keeping it from properly reaching his eyes. Looking closely, I notice the faintest tremor in his hands. A cold knot tightens in my chest. The sight of him so uneasy around me makes me feel sick to my stomach. So much for a good impression. Whatever rumours Prince Florian has heard about me in the Palace, they must be worse than I imagined. He looks at me expectantly, tilting his head in silent curiosity. Heat prickles the back of my neck. I liked his character so much, but now he''s sitting here, right in front of me, I don¡¯t know how to talk to him like a person. I can¡¯t let on that I know too much about him already, so I need to choose my words carefully. "Um, Prince Florian," I say, scrambling for a good conversation starter. Do I start with small talk? Or should I get straight to the point? My head starts to spin. "How are you?" "I''m well. Thank you, My Lady. Are you¡­ also well?" "Yes, thank you." I suppress a wince. Maybe straightforwardness is the best approach, after all? Small talk feels excruciatingly awkward. Besides, we can''t both be a mess. Someone has to take control of this conversation. "Did your brother explain to you what this is?" "You¡­" he pauses, looking down. "Well, you said you l-like me, right?" Honest. Just be honest. I can do this. "I know this is our first time meeting, but I''ve heard so much about you. I know that you''re smart, kind, and earnest. I know you love to read, and I know how much you love your family. Please do not feel pressured by my confession. I asked to meet with you because I wanted a chance to talk. I don''t expect anything more." He looks even more baffled now. "I thought¡ª" he mumbles. Chewing his lip, he glances back up. Sapphire eyes, full of trembling warmth, curtained by doll-like eyelashes. "You really just want to talk to me?" "Yes," I say in a breath. "That is all I ask. Will you be my friend?" When I look at him, a part of me still sees a cute, timid bunny. Yet, as his composure settles and a fraction of that timidness ebbs away, it is replaced by a quiet strength. The image I hold of him¡ªhalf fictional character, half fragile creature¡ªfractures and shifts. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if I am glimpsing the man he will one day become. Still warm, still kind, but with a virtuous resilience about him¡ªa strength that is unlike his brother''s fiery passion, but rather like the deep, unyielding roots of an ancient tree that has weathered countless storms and survived. "Your actions confuse me," he admits. "I cannot claim to understand your reasoning. But if it is a friend you want, I think¡­ I can be that." My heart lightens, relief filling me. "Thank you." After that, conversation comes more naturally. Prince Florian tries to be as deferential and polite as possible, letting me steer the conversation. But I did not come here to hear myself talk. I ask him about himself and watch fondly as he speaks. Chapter Four 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¡ª¡°you can call me Florian, if you like¡±¡ªtells 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¡ªshe¡¯s an apprentice chef¡ªalways 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¡ª¡± 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¡ªit 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¡ªPrince 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¡ªor 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¡ªno matter how much it¡¯s for atonement¡ªturns 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. Chapter Five The Corydalis estate is sprawling, comparable in size to a modern-day hotel or museum. Gradually, I''ve come to learn how to navigate its endless halls with enough efficiency to get by. It helps that servants are everywhere, ready at a moment''s notice to guide me wherever I should like to go. That said, it has been a challenge keeping my own impulse towards over-politeness in check when interacting with them. In a world like this, where hierarchy runs deep, I can¡¯t afford to show too much of myself. The original Linnea would have been accustomed to constant attendance, but I am decidedly not. I worked hospitality in a tourist town, so I know firsthand how awful and dehumanising service work can be. I can only imagine how much worse it must be to work under actual nobility. But no matter how much sympathy I feel for them, I cannot risk letting it show. The farther I stray from the original Linnea''s behaviour, the more danger that someone might realise I am not her. I still don¡¯t know what happened to Linnea after I woke up in her body. My thoughts inevitably linger there as I make my way toward the Duchess'' study. I am not her daughter; I am an imposter. Sometimes, the guilt of pretending to be someone else¡ªsomeone who was loved¡ªthreatens to overwhelm me. But there¡¯s no other choice. I don¡¯t know how to leave. For now, I¡¯m trapped in this body, in this life. All I can do is try my best to survive. Benjamin opens the door to Duchess Corydalis'' study for me, and I step through. My earlier fatigue is not gone, but the rapid onset of guilt-fuelled adrenaline has reignited my alertness. I''ve been avoiding Linnea''s parents as much as possible. "Mother," I greet her, swallowing the tightness in my throat. "You asked for me?" The Duchess sits at her desk, her head bent over an array of loose papers before my arrival catches her attention. The study is lined from wall to wall with books. Warm afternoon light spills through a large eastern window, casting her in a glowing aura. Her brow unfurrows and her affect shifts, becoming a little softer, as her eyes find me. "Linn, darling," she says, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She waves me in. "Come on and sit. I won¡¯t keep you long." Benjamin nods, closing the door behind me so there is privacy. I cross to the chair opposite the Duchess''s desk, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I sit, folding my hands tightly in my lap, trying to calm the thudding in my chest. The Duchess''s gaze, sharp but warm, settles on me. "You look tired, dear," the Duchess says, eyes softening with concern. "Is everything alright?" "I am a little tired," I admit, with a small shrug. ¡°I¡¯m okay through. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡± She studies me a moment longer, her gaze inscrutable. Her lips press together. "Hmm, if you say so." Her tone shifts, becoming more businesslike. "I called you here to remind you about the princess¡¯s ball next week. The butler mentioned that you haven¡¯t yet ordered a new dress for the event. Surely, you didn¡¯t forget?" I freeze, ice lancing through my veins. At no point, from the moment I first woke up in this world, has anyone mentioned anything to me about a ball. ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t forget,¡± I say, swallowing. ¡°I just¡­ thought I would wear one of the dresses I already own.¡± The Duchess affixes me with a look of startled disbelief. She exhales sharply through pursed lips. ¡°Linn,¡± she says, sounding hard done by. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. Of course you will wear something new. Do you want people to think we are poor?¡± ¡°N-No, Mother.¡± Leaning heavily back against her chair, she sighs and shakes her head. When she regards me now, it is with something between condescension and concern. My shoulders twitch with the effort of not shrinking under her gaze. ¡°Honestly, you have been acting so strangely. You¡¯ve always enjoyed social events, and I know how much you love new things. Has something happened that I don¡¯t know about? Are you sure you¡¯re alright? Sweat pricks the back of my neck as my pulse quickens. I clasp my hands more tightly in my lap to hide their trembling. How would Linnea have answered? What response can I give that will mollify the Duchess? In the novel, all Linnea ever seemed to care about was her beloved Prince Isidore. It occurs to me that even after three weeks in her body, I still don¡¯t know very much about her beyond the superficial. She must have had other things she cared about? I wonder if I will ever be able to slip perfectly into Linnea¡¯s life smoothly, or if I will always feel like a stranger to myself, constantly terrified someone will see through the cracks in my disguise.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I am very sorry, Mother,¡± I say in a small voice. ¡°As I said, I¡¯m simply tired. I¡¯ll feel better after some rest. Thank you for reminding me of the ball. I¡¯ll get a new dress.¡± ¡°Linn,¡± the Duchess sighs, the corner of her mouth wobbling slightly. She reaches across the desk to me, her hand hovering near mine. I place my hand in hers, my movements clumsy and unsure. Closing her fingers around mine, she gives me a comforting little squeeze. It is such a little thing. But the small affection feels so genuinely maternal that it nearly breaks me. The Corydalis family was full of awful people in the novel; they made for compelling antagonists. The Duchess was no exception. She was conniving, ruthless, and utterly unrepentant in her villainy. The person holding my hand now cannot be so easily categorised. Duchess Julianna Corydalis. She is not only a character in a book. She is a person. A mother; Linnea¡¯s mother. Guilt rises like bile in my throat. ¡°You know, Linn,¡± the Duchess says gently. ¡°Your father and I may often be busy, but we will always make time for you when you need us. You are an exceptionally capable young woman. One day, I know you will make an excellent Queen. But most importantly, you are a Corydalis. We do not make ourselves small, and we do not accept any less than perfect. I trust you will not disappoint me.¡± The soft warmth of her hand around mine feels unbearable. As much as I would have appreciated some comfort today, as much as it cracks my heart open to sit here and pretend I am this woman¡¯s daughter, I know her comfort is not mine to receive. ¡°Yes, Mother.¡± I force my lips into a smile. ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Glad to hear it. Remember, there are only two years left until Isidore officially ascends the throne, and even less time before the two of you are married. Until then, your every move will be scrutinized by those who wish to tear you down and weaken this duchy. You cannot give them anything to use against you.¡± ¡°I know, Mother. I won¡¯t let you down.¡± The Duchess lets go of my hand, sighing ruefully. ¡°I know you won¡¯t,¡± she says. ¡°I see that you are tired, Linn. I don¡¯t say these things to burden you unnecessarily. You may retire to your room now if you like.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, standing up on shaky legs. Each step back to my room is dogged with leaden exhaustion. I feel weary, down to my bones. Every inch of me aches for sleep, a reprieve from reality. I don''t think I let myself think too closely about Linnea¡ªand the life I stole from her¡ªbecause I knew on some level that it was too heavy a weight to bear. I''m sick and tired of pretending. I''m so weary and unattentive that I nearly run right into Arwin when he and I round the same corner. He skids to a stop faster than me, averting our collision with an easy laugh. It looks like he''s come from the library. Three books are clutched to his chest; their titles elaborate and scientific-looking beyond anything a child in my world would have been expected to read. My heart pangs at the sight of him, and I feel a rush of tears behind my eyes and in my throat. Wouldn''t that be unforgivably pathetic though, if I held my composure around the Duchess only long enough to break down in front of a ten-year-old? No, I refuse. I clench my fists together, sucking in a deep gathering breath. The door to my room is visible to me from here, across this hall. I can put on a brave face for at least a moment more. "You look like you''re gonna cry," Arwin observes. "Are you?" "Don''t be ridiculous," I snap, shaken by his childlike candidness. "What do your tutors have you reading today?" I ask, mostly to distract him from probing deeper. Arwin''s face twists in a petulant grimace. "Magic theory," he scoffs like the words themself are of personal offence. "But I don''t care about magic. It''s dumb. I''m gonna be a knight!" His eyes light up. "Hey, Linn, you should come watch me train tomorrow. I''m really good now, you should see!" My answering smile is distant, distracted. It becomes difficult to focus on what he is saying once my interest latches onto the mention of ''magic''. I feel like my legs have just been knocked out from under me. Magic... I cannot believe I forgot about the existence of magic in this world. The last few weeks, I''ve been preoccupied with worries about politics, my doomed engagement, and the Palace''s many judging eyes. This is a romance fantasy novel, for goodness sake. Crown Prince Isidore did not use magic, but he allied himself with the Witch''s Tower and worked with many of its users. Magic was incidental to the larger narrative, so its intricate workings weren''t described. But if Arwin is capable of learning, maybe I can too? Forethought kicks in just in time to stop me from asking him where in the library he found those books. I have no idea if the original Linnea knew how to use magic. If she did, it didn''t come up. Just in case, I can''t risk looking clueless. "You aren''t even listening to me," Arwin whines. Chastened, I return my attention to him. "Sorry," I smile apologetically. "I was listening, really. I''ll come and watch you train tomorrow. I promise." He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet dubiously, but I can see the glint of excitement in his eyes. The original Linnea didn''t like her little brother, so she probably never bothered to pay as much attention to him as I''ve been. "I''m going to get some rest now," I tell him before he can start talking again. My bedroom door is calling me. "Study hard, kiddo." I gently pat him on the head as I walk by. Even though his face scrunches up in indignation at being treated so childishly, he doesn''t push me away. Once I''m finally alone again, I climb right into bed. Half-formed plans of changing out of my day clothes dissolve into mist as exhaustion overtakes me and I fall into a fitful, bodiless sleep. Chapter Six "Oh, I like this one!" Flossy says, clapping her hands together excitably. I turn my head over my shoulder, examining myself in the full-body mirror as the seamstress¡¯ assistant fiddles with the hemline of the dress I am currently trying on. Shopping as a noble is an activity that more often than not does not require one to leave their home, as I¡¯ve learned. Miss Chantrea is the seamstress most commonly employed by house Corydalis. She and her assistant arrived early this morning with an array of fabrics, sample books, and a sliding rack of try-on designs all for my perusal. The dress I am currently wearing is black and features an embroidered velvet open-front bodice and pearl-studded stomacher, with a wide, multi-layered skirt. The neckline is low enough to reveal a few millimetres of lace-lined chemise underneath. The sleeves are bell-shaped, cinching tightly at the wrist, and have purposeful slashes at the elbows to showcase white ruffle padding underneath. The young woman staring back at me from the mirror looks elegant in this dress, yes. But she also looks even more of a stranger than usual. Most dresses in this world are so elaborate that they require an extra person to help put them on. There are multiple layers of underclothing involved. First are the stays, chemise, and corselet, followed by a minimum of two petticoats (more for larger skirted dresses), an underdress, and only then the gown itself. An overgrown may be added on top of this. In colder months, it is common to wear a surcoat and cloak too. When I first encountered a corset in this world, I assumed it would be the worst of my clothing-related worries. They seemed like they would be painful to wear every day. But honestly, it¡¯s more comfortable than a modern-day bra. The endless layering is what gets tedious. That said, I suppose it is pretty cool having all tailored clothing. Everything I own now fits me perfectly. ¡°Hmm,¡± I frown, fluffing the skirt exploratorily. The tulle in my four petticoats puffs out like a cloud. I can only imagine myself knocking over everything in sight. ¡°Must they all be so¡­ puffy?¡± I lament. ¡°Miss Chantrea, do you not have any dresses with a slimmer design?¡± "This is the most popular style in current fashion. I can assure you that you would be the envy of everyone''s eye in this design," Miss Chantrea explains. She taps a pencil thoughtfully against her chin. Flicking through her design book, her gaze alights on something. "Ah, but perhaps this is more in line with the lady''s wishes?" She turns her book towards me to show me the design. I step down from my little raised platform to take a closer look. Immediately, I notice that this dress has a slimmer silhouette. It requires only one petticoat made of brocade. The gown itself is lilac-coloured velvet, featuring a sweetheart neckline and hanging sleeves that are open to the shoulder and secured at the elbows with pink ribbon. The colour is much softer in tone than anything else I¡¯ve been shown today, which I take to mean the original Linnea preferred a darker colour palette. The powder pink ribbon detailing reminds me of Florian, and because of that I decide this is definitely the dress I want. ¡°This one,¡± I confirm. ¡°I¡¯d like you to make this dress for me.¡± Flossy moves closer to also sneak a glance at the design. ¡°Are you certain, my lady?¡± she asks me, her tone cautious. ¡°Of course, you will look enchanting in anything, but¡­ this is very different to what you usually wear?¡± Briefly, uncertainty spikes under my ribcage. Maybe Flossy is right? I resolved to not stray too far from Linnea¡¯s established personality and behaviour. Perhaps it would be simpler¡ªsafer¡ªto just wear whatever I am recommended? It¡¯s just one thing, though. Surely the Linnea of the past also changed her mind from time to time. Who''s to say she wouldn''t have developed an interest in a different fashion style on her own? I spend so much time pretending. Let this be at least one decision I make as myself. ¡°I like this one,¡± I repeat more firmly. Flossy, adaptable and clever as always, quickly switches tune. ¡°It does have a very elegant shape,¡± she says, as if the thought just occurred to her. ¡°I imagine everyone will want one just like it after you make your appearance at the Princess¡¯ ball.¡± I still don¡¯t really know how to interact with Flossy. We can¡¯t be friends, not only because she is employed by my family, but also because this hierarchical society doesn¡¯t consider us equals. As a lady-in-waiting to a duke¡¯s daughter, her position is more prestigious than that of a typical maid, which means she isn¡¯t a commoner. I believe Flossy is of minor nobility, perhaps the daughter of a baron or a viscount? Even that divide is too vast to cross, however. The quick turns she is able to manifest whenever she notices popular opinion shifting slightly outside her favour tells me more than I wish to know about how much of a hair-trigger the original Linnea lived on. I can¡¯t be myself around her, but I don¡¯t wish to emulate Linnea either. Miss Chantrea¡¯s eyes become big. ¡°That is a fascinating thought, Flossy,¡± she says slowly. ¡°Lady Linnea is indeed in an ideal position to become a trendsetter, especially in my dress.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. After that, Miss Chantrea prepares a quote. The prospect of fame and honour has ignited a fervent enthusiasm in her that puts a bounce in her step as we part ways. The numbers on the page she handed me mean absolutely nothing to me. But I suspect the amount of zeros qualifies this as a luxurious expenditure. The Corydalis¡¯ finances are managed by the Chancellor, Sir Morris. When I present Miss Chantrea¡¯s quote to him, he does not so much as bat an eye at the price. So perhaps it isn¡¯t as large a number as I thought? Or, more likely, the Corydalis family is just that wealthy. ¡°Ah, before I forget,¡± I turn to Flossy. ¡°Could you send Prince Isidore a letter informing him of my choice of attire for the ball? It would be best if he could select an outfit that compliments mine.¡± ¡°Of course, my lady,¡± Flossy responds, dutiful and emotionless as ever. Once the hour reaches late morning, my lessons begin. At this age, the curriculum mostly primarily focuses on social training, courtly etiquette, marriage preparation, and household estate management skills¡ªwith the aim of arming me with the skills I will need to survive in the turbulent Palace social scene. After lunch comes a period called ¡°project hour¡±, during which I am expected to engage in some kind of creative hobby. Embroidery turned out to be more enjoyable than I expected, so I usually choose that. My schedule becomes blissfully free in the afternoon, finally allowing me to do what I want. Usually, my lessons aren¡¯t too taxing. Today though, all I have been able to think about is rushing straight to the library to look for books on magic. I had found the library exceedingly helpful in the first few days adjusting to being Linnea. I was able to gather a decent-ish foundation of knowledge about the history of this kingdom and its major social norms. After that, I looked around for novels¡ªonly to find a depressing lack of fictional works. In total, there were four novels in the entire library¡ªthree intended for children and one startlingly raunchy romance novel. None piqued my interest. Did Linnea visit the library? Perhaps she also liked to read? These are questions I know I will probably never learn the answers to. ¡°Aha!¡± I exclaim, coming upon a section marked ¡®Magical Theory¡¯. I scan the titles eagerly, looking for phrases like ¡®beginners guide to¡­¡¯ or ¡®the basics of¡­¡¯. After I pick out a few titles that seem promising, I plop myself down at a reading table and begin to read. In this world, magic is categorized into five main types: elemental, healing, offensive, enchantment, and abjuration. It is more common for individuals to specialize in one specific school of magic rather than being a jack of all trades. The ability to harness magic is inherent and depends on how much aether a person possesses. However, those with limited aether can supplement their magical abilities through various means, such as summoning demon familiars, forming warlock pacts, or using magical stones. It is also technically possible to steal magic from another person, though this practice is highly frowned upon and is no longer commonly taught in this day and age. Most regular people do not have sufficient aether to learn magic and find any use in it. While those with large amounts of natural aether often choose to devote their lives to the cultivation and perfection of their magical practice at a place called the Witch¡¯s Tower. The Witch¡¯s Tower is technically a kind of scholars¡¯ guild. It is notable as one of the very few independent organisations not beholden to imperial jurisdiction. They are incredibly secretive and difficult to intercept. This term is actually one I already know. In the novel, Prince Isidore (while under his commoner mercenary alias) successfully allied his group of rebels with the Witch''s Tower. My eyes are glazing over at this point, sliding over the words so that I have to reread certain passages two or three times. As interesting as the content is, it is still a lot of reading to do in one sitting. The last time I did this much non-fiction reading it was because I was cramming for a test. The evening begins to pull the sun down toward the horizon as I am flipping through the pages of the third book. Golden light floods the space. This book seems more practical. As the hour creeps closer to dinner¡ªwhen I must leave to join my family in the dining hall¡ªI feel a sharpening edge of frustration. Before I run out of time, I am determined to find a passage that mentions how one is to know how much aether they possess. I cannot help but hold my breath and cross my fingers in ardent hope that Linnea might have enough natural aether to allow me to learn magic. The light dips lower and lower. I am skimming through pages so quickly that I nearly miss the page on aether. Flicking back, I suck in a bated breath. ¡®Aether is an element of the natural world, present in varying concentrations within all living things. For those with very little aether, magic will prove difficult to learn. Likewise, those born with a higher concentration of natural aether typically find it much easier. To measure the amount of aether naturally present in a person''s body, a qualified practitioner may perform a level reading. If this is not feasible, an alternative method can be performed using a silver dish, a drop of the person''s blood, two spoonfuls of water, and moonlight. To conduct the test, mix the blood and water in the silver dish and then hold the dish directly under moonlight. If there is a sufficient amount of aether, the surface of the mixture will exhibit a shade of gold. A more vibrant shade of gold indicates a higher concentration of aether present in the blood. To further test aptitude in¡ª'' "My Lady," a voice calls. Darn. I reluctantly pull my attention from the words on the page to the young maid at the library''s entrance. I don¡¯t know this girl''s name. I wonder if she is new? She does not look much older than Arwin. It really is heartbreaking how short a childhood the children in this world are allowed. Her posture is rigid and anxious, and she clasps her hands together with a white knuckled grip. "Your presence is requested at the dining table." Casting my pile of books a last longing gaze, I sigh. "Yes, I''m coming." I have what I need now, anyway. Tonight, as soon as I am alone, I''ll know what to do.