After speaking with the Duke about the Empress's invitation, Denova felt something loosen in her chest. A quiet fragile relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto. At least, outwardly, everything seemed settled. The Duke had agreed, after all. He'd even smiled and told her she should go.
What Denova did not see was the hesitation behind that smile.
Duke Elarion, for his part, had agreed only after a long pause. One he disguised by adjusting his gloves and glancing toward the window. He knew attention was dangerous. Especially royal attention. Especially when it involved someone as unguarded, as kind, and as visible as Denova.
And there was the prince.
The Duke hated how easily that thought surfaced.
Unlike him, the crown prince carried no curse. No ticking clock. No invisible chain pulling him toward a fate written in blood and bargains. The prince could pursue Denova freely, openly, even selfishly if he wished. Elarion could do nothing but stand aside and pretend that didn't hollow him out.
Denova, blissfully unaware of this internal war, saw the invitation as something hopeful.
"Being close to the royal family might not be so bad," she thought as she walked back to her room, excitement blooming quietly. Not only would her designs finally be recognized, but the palace library, vast, ancient, and rumored to contain texts lost everywhere else would finally be within reach.
If answers existed anywhere, they would be there.
Answers about soul exchange, about crossing worlds, about consequences.
And maybe….just maybe…..answers about him.
She couldn't understand it. Duke Elarion had confessed that he had loved her even before this life. And yet now, he kept stepping back, placing invisible distance between them as if closeness itself were dangerous.
She wasn't even in love with him. At least… she didn't think she was.
But the sudden withdrawal didn't make sense.
There was always a wall between them. A careful one. He made sure she was comfortable, safe, heard. He never refused her. Never raised his voice. Always considered her feelings before his own.
And yet he never crossed that line. Except that night under the willow.
Denova wanted to know why.
She needed to.
In the week leading up to her scheduled meeting with the Empress, the Duke was rarely seen at the manor.
Disguised in common cloaks, he and his men spent their days buried deep within the Temple's forbidden library, reading every scroll and scripture that so much as whispered the name Lord Velios Morvane. A month passed like this, dust-stained hands, tired eyes, and hope thinning with every page.
He was searching for anything.
A reversal.
A loophole.
A cruel joke the devil had overlooked.
Since the day Pillyse now Denova had appeared in this world, the Duke had been desperate. Not just to save himself, but to spare her. He wanted to stand beside her freely. But selfishness, he knew, would only lead to a sharper kind of pain later.
Two days before the palace meeting, he finally returned to the manor.
Denova had been waiting.
She already had her dress prepared, simple, elegant, and unmistakably hers. When she saw him enter the hall, travel worn but composed, her face lit up.
"You're back," she said, relief clear in her voice.
"I said I would be," he replied gently. "And I'm sorry I couldn't spend the week with you."
"I know," she smiled. "Business trips tend to take a lot of time."
He almost laughed at that. If only she knew.
The palace gates opened with solemn ceremony and reverence, their iron hinges groaning softly as if acknowledging the weight of history that passed through them. Sunlight spilled across the marble courtyard, glinting off polished armor and embroidered banners that fluttered in the breeze. Denova felt suddenly aware of every step she took, every breath she drew, as though the palace itself were quietly assessing her worth.
After the formal greetings were exchanged with the Emperor and Empress, bows perfectly timed, words carefully chosen. Denova was gently guided into the palace gardens by Her Majesty herself. The Empress walked with unhurried grace, her presence commanding without effort, as though the roses parted willingly at her approach.
She wasted no time.
"Tell me," the Empress said, her gaze lingering appreciatively on Denova's gown, eyes sharp but curious rather than unkind, "who designed this?"
Denova's steps faltered for half a heartbeat. She glanced down at the dress as if seeing it anew, then back up.
"I did, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice steady despite the sudden flutter in her chest.
The Empress stopped walking.
"You?" she repeated, brows lifting, surprise unmistakable.
Denova nodded, heat creeping into her cheeks. "Living alone in Ravenscroft Manor for so long… I needed hobbies," she admitted with a small, self-conscious smile. "Clothing leaves an impression. Sometimes, it speaks before we do…..before we even realize we're being heard."
The Empress studied her then truly studied her. Not merely the cut of the dress or the confidence in her posture, but the quiet intelligence behind her eyes. It was the sort of scrutiny that made lesser courtiers wilt.
"And the Duke?" the Empress asked casually, as though inquiring about the weather. "Is there something more between you and Duke Elarion?"
Denova's heart skipped, then steadied.
She remembered his voice, low and sincere Be happy. Even if it's not with me.
So she answered honestly.
"We're friends," she said. "We met through books."
"Books," the Empress echoed, lips curving with faint amusement.
"He never judges, he's truly kind, and very respecful." Denova continued softly, unaware of how genuine she sounded. "He listens to everything….. Truly listens. He's such a good listener that's why we get along so well."
The Empress smiled, telling her about her interest in her designs, but there was something knowing in it, something unconvinced.
Across the garden path, Duke Elarion stood unnaturally still. To an untrained eye, he looked composed merely another noble enjoying the palace gardens. But anyone who truly knew him would have noticed the tension coiled beneath that calm, the way his shoulders were set just a little too tight, his jaw clenched as if restraining words he refused to speak aloud.
His gaze drifted, again and again, toward the western wing, toward the prince's chambers.
And as if summoned by that very thought, movement caught his attention.
The crown prince had just emerged from the shaded corridor, his expression brightening the moment his eyes found Denova seated beside the Empress. A smile curved onto his lips, warm and unmistakably eager, and without hesitation, he adjusted his stride, clearly intending to approach.
Duke Elarion exhaled slowly.
Absolutely not.
He stepped forward just as the prince took his first step down the garden path.
"Your Highness," Elarion said smoothly, intercepting him with impeccable timing, "have you recovered from the council's discussion this morning? I imagine even you must find the treasury debates… exhausting."
The prince blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Ah...greetings Duke Elarion."
"Speaking of the treasury," the Duke continued without missing a beat, falling effortlessly into step beside him. "I've been meaning to ask your opinion on the northern trade routes. There's been a noticeable delay in shipments this quarter. Curious, isn't it?"
The prince cast a glance past Elarion's shoulder straight toward Denova.
"Yes, well...."
"And then there's the border fortifications," Elarion added, steering them subtly but firmly away from the Empress's table. "Have you heard the latest reports? Apparently, the eastern watchtower requires immediate reinforcement. Poor planning, if you ask me."
The prince frowned slightly, suspicion flickering across his face. "Duke… are you trying to distract me?"
Elarion offered him a polite smile, flawless, courteous, and entirely unrepentant.
"Of course not," he replied evenly. "I merely assumed matters of state would interest the future Emperor."
The prince gave a soft huff of amusement. "They do. But not this much."
His eyes flicked back to Denova once more, and the warmth in his expression deepened.
Elarion noticed.
"She seems engaged in conversation with Her Majesty," the Duke added calmly, though his fingers flexed slightly behind his back. "Interrupting might be… discourteous."
The prince tilted his head. "Since when have you been so concerned with courtesy?"
"Since it became necessary," Elarion answered without hesitation.
That earned him a sharp look.
Across the garden, the Empress watched the exchange over the rim of her teacup, her expression thoughtful, amused, and far too observant. She had raised a son to read between words, after all, and she had learned to do the same herself.
Interesting, she thought.
If they were truly "just friends," the Duke would not be standing there like a knight guarding a treasure he refused to claim.
The prince, however, was not so easily deterred.
"You know," he said lightly, "I heard Lady Denova designed that gown herself."
"So I've been told," Elarion replied.
"I thought I might compliment her," the prince added, taking a step forward.
Elarion stepped with him.
Perfectly in sync.
"Later," the Duke said quietly. "When Her Majesty is finished."
The prince laughed softly, though his eyes remained sharp. "You're unusually protective today, Duke." Elarion met his gaze, unwavering.
From her seat beside the Empress, Denova felt a strange prickle along her spine, as though she were being watched. She resisted the urge to turn around, focusing instead on Her Majesty's words, unaware of the show behind her. And the Empress, watching it all unfold, smiled to herself.
Friends, indeed.
"Friends," the Empress thought. How very curious.
Still, the conversation flowed easily after that. The Empress spoke of fabrics, of upcoming celebrations, of her interest in commissioning Denova for the Harvest Festival, and the empress birthday celebration. Denova answered with quiet confidence, surprised by how naturally the words came to her.
By the time the meeting ended, she realized somewhat incredulously that it had gone far better than she had imagined.
As she exited the garden, escorted by one of the Empress's maids, a familiar figure stepped into her path.
"You're done?" Duke Elarion asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Denova blinked in surprise. "You waited?"
"I said I would," he replied simply.
The ride back to the manor passed in a comfortable silence, broken only when the Duke asked her to follow him somewhere first. When they reached the southern garden, Denova stopped short.
A small pond lay nestled among flowering shrubs, its surface reflecting the sky like polished glass. At the far end stood a quiet house modest, warm, inviting, as though it had been waiting for her all along.
"This," the Duke said, clearing his throat, "is yours."
Inside, sunlight spilled over drafting tables, bolts of fabric, shelves of tools, and everything she would need.
"I thought," he added awkwardly, "you might need a place to work. Somewhere quiet."
Denova didn't say a word.
She turned and hugged him instead, tightly, sudden, full of unfiltered joy.
"De…..nova" he started, thoroughly startled.
"I'm sorry!" she laughed, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "I just want to thank you."
He smiled, though his chest ached.
Watching her happiness was dangerous. Loving her quietly was worse.
As Denova explored the space, touching fabrics and laughing softly to herself, the Duke stood at the doorway and wondered.
If the curse had never existed…
Would they have met like this?
Or at all?
And for the first time in a long while, the question frightened him more than any answer ever could.