The mornings in the Arden estate were far too beautiful to be real.Sunlight spilled lazily over the garden, scattering across wild roses and glassy dew drops. Somewhere, someone was baking bread again -and the smell was pure temptation.
Solara sat on the bench, Piro sprawled across her lap like a warm loaf of fur. She sighed. "You've got it good, huh? Sleep, eat, bark at butterflies. Honestly, I envy you."
Piro opened one eye and sneezed. A dignified response, in dog language.
For the first time since she'd woken up here, Solara felt… peaceful. Which was ironic, considering she was technically living in a fictional kingdom destined for destruction.
Still, the air was cleaner. The world quieter.
And for now, that was enough.
"Solara! Breakfast!" her mother's voice floated through the open veranda.
"Coming!" she called back, brushing imaginary dust off her gown. She was still getting used to wearing dresses that could double as camping tents - beautiful, yes, but completely impractical for anyone who enjoyed breathing properly.
The dining hall smelled of honey and toast. Her father, Count Arden, was already at the table, hiding a smile behind his teacup. "I see our young lady has finally graced us with her presence."
"I was communing with nature," Solara replied solemnly, taking her seat.
"Communing," he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what we call napping in the garden now?"
Her mother laughed softly, slicing fruit with a grace Solara could only dream of. "Let her be, dear. She's only just recovered."
Right. Recovered.
The "illness." The two days of unconsciousness that had actually been… well, dimension travel via truck impact.
Not exactly the kind of thing one explains over breakfast croissants.
Solara stirred her tea, watching the ripples. Sometimes she wondered if the real Lady Solara was still out there somewhere, living her life in a world of laptops and deadlines.
Or if they'd simply… switched places.
"Are you all right, darling?" her mother asked gently.
Solara smiled, though it felt fragile. "Yes. Just thinking."
"Dangerous pastime," her father said, eyes twinkling.
"Tell me about it," she muttered.
He didn't hear the irony. Probably for the best.
Because what she was thinking about was the future or rather, the plot. The ball. The betrayal. The massacre that would end it all. She knew too much, and none of it was comforting.
If her life here really was The Fall of Esther, then she was a side character sitting quietly on the timeline of a doomed kingdom.
The butler's entrance broke her thoughts. He bowed deeply, holding an envelope sealed with crimson wax.
"Forgive me, my lord," he said. "A letter has arrived. From the Imperial Palace."
The Count's hands stilled. "The palace?"
"Yes, sir. It bears the royal crest."
Solara's pulse quickened. Oh no. Not yet. Don't tell me this is that letter.
Her father broke the seal, eyes narrowing as he read. The Countess leaned closer, tension flickering through her elegant features.
Then he looked up, voice quiet but steady. "It seems the Emperor has summoned all eligible noblewomen to the capital. The Crown Prince is to hold a three-day ball."
The world seemed to slow.
Here it comes.
"The prince's consort is to be chosen at the end," her father finished gravely.
Solara's brain promptly short-circuited.
She knew this event. Every awful detail. The moment the palace opened its gates, the game began alliances, envy, and one manipulative princess whose smile could freeze wine.
Her spoon clinked against the table.
"Darling?" her mother asked, mistaking the sound for surprise. "It's a tremendous honor! You'll have to prepare, of course —your gowns, your etiquette, your—"
"Your tolerance for nobles who talk in riddles," Solara muttered.
Her father smiled faintly. "You needn't go if you don't wish to. I won't force you into a parade of suitors."
But she knew it wasn't just any parade. It was the starting line of fate.
Declining wasn't an option — not if she wanted to change what was coming.
Outside, a gust of wind slipped through the windows, scattering rose petals across the table. They landed softly — white and red.
Solara caught one, pressing it between her fingers.
"I'll go," she said finally. "If the Empire calls, it would be rude to ignore it."
Her mother beamed. "That's my girl!"
Solara smiled faintly. "Yep. Just being polite. Nothing else. Definitely not walking into a potential death trap."
Piro barked from the floor, tail wagging. Even the dog looked skeptical.
As her parents resumed talking excitedly about gowns and carriages, Solara glanced toward the sunlight filtering through the windows. Beyond that light, beyond the mountains, waited the palace — and a boy with eyes like melted gold.
Aurelius Detrich Valen.
The Crown Prince. The tragedy's heart.
And if Solara was really inside his story… then she'd just accepted her first invitation to change it.
"Alright," she whispered to herself. "Chapter Two: Survive the royal ball without dying or causing a diplomatic scandal. Easy."