Okay. Okay. Think, Emily.
I stood there in the rain, watching Duke Lucien's retreating figure disappear into the darkness like some kind of emotionally constipated phantom
Think.
The memories were coming back now, not my memories, but hers. Roxanne's. They felt like watching a movie through a foggy window, distant but slowly sharpening into focus.
The slave house. The stench of unwashed bodies and despair. A man, fat, greasy, with hands that grabbed too freely, leering down at her.
"You'll fetch a fine price, girl. Or maybe... I'll keep you for myself."
And then: my foot. His shin. A very satisfying crack.
The chaos that followed, guards shouting, chains rattling, and somehow somehow, I had made it through a broken window and into the forest. This forest. The one that bordered between the palace grounds and the noble district, a thin strip of wilderness separating the empire's elite from the common town below.
I had been running for...how long? Hours?
Focus, Emily. FOCUS.
If this was really the book, which absolutely made no sense since I deadass died, the Duke's face, the chains, everything suggested it absolutely was, then I knew exactly what happened next in the original timeline:
Roxanne gets recaptured by the slavers. Sold to a noble who treats her like dirt. Eventually discovered by Arabella, who manipulates her into the palace as a "lost cousin," only to frame her for every crime imaginable.
Execution by beheading. The end.
Yeah, no. Not happening.
I looked at the direction the Duke had gone.
Then at the darkness behind me, where the slave traders were probably regrouping.
If I stay here, I get captured again.
If I follow him...
What? Get rejected? Humiliated? At least I wouldn't be in chains.
And if this really was the book, then Duke Lucien Asterion was my only shot at changing this death flag of a storyline.
I have to survive this.
I didn't know how I had ended up here, reincarnation? Transmigration? A really bad fever dream?, but I knew one thing:
I was not dying. Especially not by execution. Roxanne was NOT going to die.
Move, Emily. MOVE.
I hitched up my soaking dress and ran after him.
Wait! Please wait!"
The Duke didn't even slow down.
"My name is Emi—Roxanne!" I called out, nearly tripping over a root. "Thank you for saving me back there! I just wanted to—
Nothing. Not even a glance.
I kept following, stumbling through the mud, my chained ankle screaming in protest. "I know you probably think I'm some random runaway slave, but I swear I'm not—well, I am, but it's not what you—why did you even save me if you were just going to—"
Still nothing.
Is this man actually made of ice?
Oh wait, yeah he is.
We emerged into a clearing, and I stopped short.
There, standing beneath a tree like something out of a dark fantasy oil painting, was the most massive horse I had ever seen. Black as midnight, muscles rippling under its coat, with eyes that looked far too intelligent for comfort.
Maximov.
I remembered from the book.
The Duke's legendary warhorse. Famously temperamental. Rumored to have bitten off a stable boy's finger once.
Duke Lucien approached the horse slowly, and after gently rubbing its head, he reached for the reins.
I stumbled forward. "Wait! Please!"
He mounted in one fluid motion, settling into the saddle like he belonged there.
No. No no no!
"If I go back, they'll beat me!" The words burst out of me without warning. I hated that I had to plead with the bastard that had gotten Roxanne, and by extension, ME, killed. But I didn't have much of a choice at the moment. "Please, I can't—I'll do anything, just please don't leave me here—"
The Duke looked down at me, and even the horse looked as though it was glaring at me.
It was the first time he had actually looked at me since pulling me behind that tree. His gray eyes were cold, assessing, the kind of gaze that could strip away lies and excuses.
"What did you do?" His voice was flat.
I swallowed hard. "I... I kicked a man. Because he wanted to force me into having his children."
The words hung in the air between us.
In the book, Duke Lucien Asterion was cold. Ruthlessly cold. The kind of man who executed people without blinking, who valued duty and honor above all else, who wouldn't spare a second glance at some muddy runaway slave...
His eyes widened.
Just barely. Just enough for me to notice.
"Wait."
I blinked. Wait? Did he just say—
He dismounted, striding toward me with a sudden purpose.
"Your hair."
"My—what?"
I reached up instinctively, fingers tangling in the wet strands plastered to my face.
And froze.
The black was coming off.
Literally coming off, washing away in inky rivulets down my hands, staining my fingers like I had dipped them in paint.
Oh....