I paced the length of my chamber, bare feet whispering against the cold stone floor as thoughts spun through my mind like a storm with no end. Marriage to the crown prince loomed over me like a noose, tightening with every breath, every heartbeat. I needed a way out. Any way out?
Run away. Disappear into the forests beyond the palace walls. Reinvent myself in a quiet village where no one knew my name or my face. Or maybe—just maybe—I could find a way back to my world. Back to where glowing screens and late-night ramen still existed. But here… here there was nothing. No phone. No internet. No television. Just silence, draped over me like a second skin. And boredom, thick and suffocating, like fog that wouldn't lift.
I sighed and flopped onto the narrow bed, eyes fixed on the wooden beams above. My thoughts were exhausting me. Tiring me in a way sleep couldn't fix.
Then, without warning, a sharp pain curled in my lower abdomen, quick and sudden. I winced, pressing a hand to my stomach.
What now?
Suddenly, my eyes caught a tiny crimson spot blooming on the pristine white bedsheet.
No.
A cold wave of horror washed over me. I lifted the blanket and stared. Blood. The truth crashed into me with mortifying clarity—I had my period.
My first period in this new body.
"This is the worst," I muttered, panic rising in my throat. The realization hit like a slap. No pads. No tampons. No familiar packaging. Just blood and helplessness.
"I hate this world!" I screamed, half in despair, half in frustration, my voice echoing through the chamber like a battle cry of defeat.
A loud creak cut through my anguish as the massive twelve-foot door swung open. A young maid stepped in, her brown hair neatly braided, her crisp uniform a blur as she hurried toward me.
"What's wrong, m'lady? Is something the matter?" Her voice was gentle but edged with concern.
Then her eyes dropped to the bed.
A beat of silence.
Her cheeks flushed. Without another word, she turned on her heel and bolted from the room. Moments later, she returned—this time with a small battalion of maids behind her, whispering urgently among themselves, arms full of unfamiliar linens and bundles of cloth.
And all I could do was sit there, wishing the bed would swallow me whole.
Later, after the chaos had quieted and I was no longer bleeding on royal sheets, the maids helped me into a fresh gown—long, puffy, and heavier than anything I'd ever worn in my life. Layers of silk and lace swirled around my ankles as I moved, every step a chore, every rustle a reminder that I didn't belong here.
Boredom crept in like a shadow. With no screens to scroll, no music to blast, and no escape from my own thoughts, I wandered the halls in search of something—anything—to distract me.
That's when I stumbled upon it.
A vast hall stretched before me, its high ceilings echoing with silence. Lining the walls were grand, oil-painted portraits, gilded frames catching the golden afternoon light. Faces stared down at me—elegant, noble, aloof—each one bearing the unmistakable mark of the Hartwell bloodline.
Then my eyes caught her.
A woman seated gracefully in a velvet chair, blonde hair braided and pinned with delicate pearls. Her expression was calm, almost regal, but her grey eyes… they radiated a kindness that reached straight through the canvas and wrapped around my chest.
Standing behind her, with one hand resting protectively on her shoulder, was a man with soft pink hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen—eyes that mirrored Julian's… and mine.
My breath caught.
These weren't just any portraits.
This was them.
Lily's parents.
Charlotte Hartwell and Asher Hartwell, immortalized together in paint, serene, poised, and impossibly beautiful. The realization struck me like lightning, sudden and undeniable.
I stood frozen, caught between awe and heartache, staring into the eyes of the past, the look of their love—and, somehow, into the eyes of my reflection.
I stood in front of the portrait, heart still caught in the quiet pull of those painted eyes, when a question surfaced in my mind—soft at first, then sharp and unrelenting.
Why did they die?
The answer crept in like a shadow from the corners of my memory. And when it hit me, it hit hard.
They weren't mourned heroes. They weren't lost to illness or war.
Charlotte Hartwell and Asher Hartwell were executed publicly, and with no mercy. Their names, once draped in reverence, had become synonymous with disgrace.
The charges were horrifying.
Human trafficking. Exploiting children for power and profit within the kingdom of Althera. Betrayal at its most personal—corrupting the very people they were sworn to protect.
They had been banished from their homeland, stripped of title, honor, and protection. And in Althera, justice came with a blade.
It was their downfall that shifted the tides of legacy.
With no surviving siblings, no aunts or uncles to inherit the estate, the weight of the Hartwell name fell to Julian, the only son of Asher Hartwell. He hadn't earned it through ceremony or choice, but through tragedy. Through the ashes of his parents' sins.
That's how he became a duke.
A title passed not with pride, but with blood.
Suddenly, a tear slid down my cheek, unbidden.
I thought of Julian—the boy who became a duke at just fourteen years old. The boy who stood in the ruins of his family's disgrace and still found the strength to take care of his little sister, only ten at the time. A child raising a child, carrying the weight of a fallen legacy with a dignity no one his age should have to possess.
The image of him—so composed now, so cold to the world—struck me differently in that moment. Not as a noble or a duke, but as a boy who had no choice but to grow up too fast.
And my heart ached for him.
I felt something shift inside me then—a quiet resolve. I would stay by Julian's side. If I could do anything to ease that burden, even a little, I would.
Back in my old life, in the modern world, I used to envy siblings like that—older brothers who stood between their younger siblings and the storms of life. I used to wish I had someone like that to protect me from him. From our father. Someone who would step in, take the blame, take the punishment, just to keep me safe.
But I never had that.
No one ever shielded me.
And maybe that's why my heart cracked for Julian.
Because now, for once, maybe I could be the one to shield him.