Marriage.
The word echoed—sharp, foreign—like an unexpected slap to the face.
I blinked once, then again, my fingers curling slightly against the velvet seat of the carriage as I turned my gaze to Lyle. His face, though carefully neutral, gave away the weight behind his words. But I could not form a response immediately. The statement sat in the air, heavy and absurd.
Marriage… to the Grand Duke?
I stared at him, lips parting slightly, but no sound came out.
Lyle continued, gently, as if trying not to jolt me. "There was a time I went to His Majesty's office… I overheard him speaking to the Chancellor. The House of Dewei had sent a proposal. They requested the second Princess' hand in marriage—for the Grand Duke."
I remained silent, but my heartbeat grew louder, thudding in my ears like war drums.
This… This was not supposed to happen.
In the original story, Madeleine had no romance. No political engagement. Her future had been sealed with mockery and disgrace, not with marriage proposals from one of the most powerful houses in the Empire. Was this change the result of my arrival in her body? Or was it something she herself set into motion before her fall?
Or worse… is it something the Empire concocted for me?
I felt my lips curl downward into a faint frown as I slowly lowered my gaze, watching the sunlight flicker through the window onto the rich fabric of my skirt. "That does not make sense," I murmured, mostly to myself. "Why me?"
"Perhaps…" Lyle began carefully, "they see value in you."
I nearly scoffed.
Value? When all they would all ever done was whisper lies and pull strings to turn the court against me? When they let the title of 'villainess' rot into my name like a parasite?
"If they wanted value, they should have chosen Laura," I said, voice quieter now. There was no bitterness, only observation. "She was their golden child. Unstained, obedient, beloved by nobles and commoners alike."
His silence said everything.
My eyes drifted shut, and I leaned against the cushioned side of the carriage, the motion rocking me gently. Behind my eyelids, flashes of the vision returned—the cruel blade, the cold cell, the thunderous sound of the crowd screaming for Madeleine's death. I gripped the edge of my seat tightly, as if I could claw myself back into the present.
If this marriage was truly in motion… why? Why twist the fate further?
Lyle's voice broke through my thoughts. "The only time you met was last year—during Foundation Day. You told me you did not remember meeting him."
My breath hitched slightly.
Foundation Day?
That… That was not part of the book.
I frowned deeper, now truly unsettled. Did she meet him secretly? Did Madeleine and the Grand Duke share a moment—one I had no memory of?
No. Not me. Her.
My pulse quickened, a chill crawling down the back of my neck like cold fingers. My body knew things I did not. There were memories—buried, locked away—that might still influence me. I was living in a vessel with history I could not touch.
This was dangerous.
"I need to remember," I murmured.
"What was that, my lady?" Lyle asked gently.
I opened my eyes. "Nothing," I replied smoothly, voice devoid of emotion. "Forget it."
He hesitated, as if wanting to pry. But he did nott. He rarely ever did, not when I wore this mask well enough.
Still, I could feel his gaze on me—searching, perhaps. Wondering.
I turned away from him, letting my hair shield my face. The Madeleine he knew was not someone who trembled at dreams or hesitated at names. But I was not Madeleine.
I was Adeline in her body.
And I had to play her perfectly.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. A silence not born from comfort—but calculation.
When the carriage slowed to a stop before the great gates of the Luxemburg estate, I forced my breathing to steady.
Even from this distance, the manor was… overwhelming. Sprawling, magnificent. The gates, wrought from intricate iron vines and roses, groaned softly as they opened. The gravel path shimmered under the afternoon sun, flanked by ancient hedges trimmed with obsessive precision. Stone angels and forgotten war heroes watched from marble pedestals among the rose gardens.
It was a place that reeked of legacy and judgment.
Lyle stepped out first, murmuring something to the guards before turning to offer his hand to me.
I hesitated.
Not visibly—but inwardly, I paused. My hand hovered above his.
This place… it frightened me more than I had expected.
Still, I let my fingers rest in his palm and stepped out. My shoes crunched against the gravel, the sound far too loud in the still air.
And then I saw them.
A small cluster of servants lined the walkway, heads bowed low in practiced reverence. At the center of them stood two figures I recognized from the old portraits in the palace's forgotten wings.
The Archduke and Archduchess of Luxemburg.
Madeleine's maternal grandparents.
The parents of the late Empress.
The Archduke stood tall despite his age—his posture still regal, his expression unreadable. But his hair, burgundy like wine, and those flame-kissed eyes—faintly like mine—struck a chord in my chest. The Archduchess beside him bore gentle features and violet-gray hair pulled into a soft braid, her eyes watery but warm.
They did not hesitate.
They stepped forward and embraced me.
Tightly. Desperately.
I froze.
I did not know what to do.
They held me like I was someone precious. Like someone they loved. Like someone they had long mourned.
Was this what Madeleine had longed for all her life?
My hands, almost on their own, lifted and grasped the Archduchess's sleeves.
It was warm. That was the first thing I noticed.
Warm, gentle, and steady.
Unlike the sterile, cold affection I received at the palace.
My throat closed up.
"I-Is this a dream?" I whispered.
"No," the Archduchess murmured, stroking my hair. "You are home, my sweet girl."
And just like that—my eyes burned.
It was not mine to cry over. This grief was not mine. These arms were not mine to find comfort in.
But the emotion was.
It broke through the cracks, flooded into the hollowed parts of me, and shattered every wall I had built. For a moment, I let myself be small. Let myself lean against her and imagine, even just for a second, that this love belonged to me.
But it did not last.
A voice cleared behind me.
The Archduke. Stern. Direct.
He pulled back slightly, though his gaze was still soft. "Tell us. What happened? Why were you alone with a marquis in his carriage? Were you followed?"
I swallowed, standing straighter.
"I needed to leave," I said calmly. "There are things happening in the palace I can no longer ignore."
He did not interrupt.
I took a breath. "I had a dream. A recurring one. I was imprisoned—then executed. They said I poisoned Laura. They all believed it. I… I died."
They stiffened.
"Dreams are dreams, child—" the Archduchess began, but I shook my head.
"I saw it again. Not in sleep. At the temple. It was not a dream—it was an oracle."
The silence turned colder.
"I lived in that dream," I said, trembling now. "I remember the sound of the blade. The cold of the chains. The hunger. The shame. No one believed me. I want to live. I would not die like that. Not for something I did not do."
Tears stung my eyes again—but this time, I let them fall.
The Archduchess reached for me again, but the Archduke raised his hand.
"What do you plan to do?" he asked gravely. "You know Dashiel must be looking for you."
He did not call him His Majesty—just Dashiel. There was tension between them. And I was right.
I met the Archduke's gaze, the fire in mine impossible to mask. "I want them to pay. For what they have done. I want them imprisoned. Tortured. I want them to feel the same pain I felt when the guillotine kissed my throat."
The images haunted me still—so vivid, so horrifying. Screams, steel, blood. The snapping silence as my head was severed. Every night, I relived it. Woke with my heart hammering and my breath stolen.
"I… I cannot go through that again," I whispered, tears clinging to my lashes. "My life in that prison was cold. Cruel. I do not want it to become real."
I let myself cry again—subtly, pitifully. Not too much. Just enough.
My grandmother pulled me close again.
"Of course we will not let that happen. After losing your mother, we could not bear another loss. We will not lose you too."
But her words felt hollow.
If they truly feared losing Madeleine, where were they? Where were they when she was branded a murderer? Where were they when she rotted in a cell until her final breath?
They never showed up. Not once.
I swallowed my fury, wiped the tears, and turned once again to the Archduke.
The Archduke studied me for a long time.
Then—he smiled.
A slow, tired, familiar smile. The kind passed down through blood.
"You are your mother's daughter."
He stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You may call me Grandfather," he said. "And I will make sure the crown is yours. No matter what it takes."
I smiled, slow and deliberate.
The first piece of my plan had fallen into place.
If I played my cards right, soon, I would stand before Laura—before the rest of them—while they lived in the illusion of safety and luxury.
And I would be their nightmare.
Without warning, without mercy—I would take everything.
And make it mine.
Something in me—something dark and hungry—stirred at those words.
Power.
It was mine now.
Let them think they are safe.
Let them laugh behind their fans and whisper behind silk curtains.
I will burn them all from their thrones.
And I will smile as I do it.
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