Suddenly I hear the attendant's voice echoes through the trees: "Presenting Lord Arthur of House Helios!"
Arthur steps into the clearing, and for a moment, the garden seems to brighten. He isn't empty-handed. He is carrying a large, colorful bouquet of wildflowers and a beautifully wrapped box.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, Elanore," he says, his voice warm and natural. He keeps the box on the table and opens it to reveal an assortment of honey-biscuits and delicate fruit tarts—all of Elanore's favorites. "I told the royal baker that if he didn't get the crust exactly right, I'd have his head. Don't worry, I was joking... mostly."
I watch him closely. I notice how he moves—relaxed, but confident. I see the way he looks at me —not with the cold judgment of my father, but with a genuine spark of interest.
'He knows exactly what Elanore likes', I start to think, 'my fingers tracing the edge of my teacup. The flowers, the sweets, the way he speaks... he is either the most sincere man in this kingdom, or the most talented actor. I can't let these treats distract me. I need to observe him. If I trust him too quickly and he's actually working with my father, I'm finished.'
"You're very quiet today," Arthur says, tilting his head as he sat across from me. He doesn't look offended. "Usually, you'd be halfway through a biscuit by now. Is the 'new' Elanore trying to be more ladylike, or are you just trying to figure out if I've poisoned the tea?"
He laughs , a light, musical sound, but I stay sharp. I've to handle him perfectly.
I sit across from Arthur, the taste of honey-biscuits still sweet on my tongue, listening to him talk about the Royal Academy. For the first time since my accident, the weight in my chest felt a little lighter.
As I watch the way Arthur is talking to me , I feel safe. I think for a fleeting moment, that I may actually be able to master this world.
"You look peaceful, Elanore," Arthur says, his voice soft and genuinely kind.
I'm, a real smile that reached my eyes. "I think... I am, Arthur."
But after watching his innocent smile, I feel guilty for deceiving him. I keep thinking, 'Should I tell him that I don't remember anything? Will he feel disappointed? '
Noticing my intense stare, He doesn't just touch my arm; he takes my hand firmly in his. His palm feels warm, solid, and real. It feels the only thing keeping me from floating away into the void between my two lives.
"Eleanore?" he whispers, his voice thick with a sudden, sharp concern. He squeezs my fingers, leaning in so close I can see the flecks of gold in his honest eyes. "Don't worry. Whatever is heavy on your mind... I am with you. I will always be with you. You don't have to carry the weight of this family alone."
The sheer sincerity in his voice sends a shock through me. My heart, which usually feels like a cold stone in this world, begins to race—thump-thump, thump-thump—against my ribs.
I start blabbering in my mind, 'Back in my real world—my other world—there was no room for romance. There was barely room to breathe. I spent every waking hour calculating my bank balance, staring at tuition bills that felt like death sentences, and burying my face in textbooks until my eyes burned. Love was a luxury I literally couldn't afford. I was a twenty-five-year-old woman who had hardened her heart into a calculator just to survive. But here, under the soft shade of the garden, that armor is useless.'
The battle between my heart and my head becomes so loud that my lips start moving before I can stop them.
"Wait! I have to get a hold on myself, man!" I blurt out, my voice loud and sharp in the quiet place. "Stop falling for the sweetness! Focus, Sara! Focus!"
He is staring at me, his hand frozen in mid-air where he was about to touch my shoulder. His jaw has dropped, and his eyes are filled with utter, confused surprise. He looks like I just started speaking a foreign language—which, in a way, I did.
Sara?" he repeats, the name sounding strange on his tongue. "And... 'man'? Elanore, what are you saying? Get a hold of yourself?"
"Oh, no." I messed up.
I take a deep breath and immediately change the topic . I smooth my hair and forced my face into a mask of calm, noble grace, even though my heart is screaming in embarrassment.
"I... I apologize, Lord Arthur," I say, my voice suddenly smooth and formal again. I clear my throat and give him a polite, distant smile. "The 'Sara' is a... nickname from my childhood. A secret name. And as for my outburst, the Physician did say the 'accident' might cause some temporary confusion of the mind. I was simply reminding myself to stay strong for the sake of our houses."
'Get a hold of yourself!' I lecture my own brain. 'I am twenty-five years old! I have a degree, I have a life, I have lived a quarter of a century in a world of technology and independence! How am I letting a teenage boy's knight in shining armor routine make my heart flutter? I even couldn't manage to make a good excuse for my mistake. Will he really fall for that lie ?'
I am ten years older than him in spirit, I remind myself sternly. To him, I am a girl of twelve. To me, he is just a kid in a very convincing costume. But the "No" part of me—the body I'm inhabiting—isn't listening to logic. Her pulse is skyrocketing because of his kindness. I feel like a fraud on an entirely new level. It isn't just that I'm stealing her life; I'm a grown woman trapped in a child's biological reaction to her first love.
"I need to hold on," I breathe out, the words barely a whisper.
"Hold on to what?" he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion, his hand still anchored to mine.
'To my sanity,' I keep thinking, 'To the fact that I am twenty-five. To the fact that I don't belong in this fairy tale'.
I force myself to gently pull my hand back, tucking it into my lap where he can't feel it trembling. "I... I just need a moment to breathe," I say, offering a shaky, polite smile. "The sun is just very bright today."
As he looks at me with that raw, unfiltered honesty, I felt a heat start at my neck and climb rapidly to my cheeks. It isn't just a small flush; I feel like I'm glowing, a deep, hot crimson that's making my skin tingle.
'Stop it, I command myself. You are an adult. You are a scholar. You don't blush at teenagers. But this body—Eleanore's body—didn't care about my university degree or my financial trauma. It's reacting to the first genuine kindness it has ever felt. I feel so exposed. In my world, I was the girl who handled everything, the girl who never let anyone see her struggle. Now, I was a twelve-year-old girl blushing like a sunset because a boy promises to be there for me.
'But while Sara is enjoying the warmth of the sun and the scent of jasmine, she remains blissfully unaware of the eyes watching her from the high, cold windows of the palace. She doesn't see the scurrying shadows of the spies moving through the corridors.
She has no idea that her small moment of satisfaction is being recorded as a crime by her own family. As she laughs at another one of Arthur's jests, smiling at the man she thought is her only ally, while behind the palace walls, someone is setting a trap for her. '