Eleanora stared at the bnk stationery before her, pen poised uncertainly above the cream-colored paper. She had already discarded three previous attempts, each one sounding either too formal or insufferably presumptuous. How did one write to a fiancé who was, in essence, a stranger—and an unwilling one at that?

  The te afternoon sun cast long shadows across her writing desk as she dipped her pen in ink once more and began again.

  Your Imperial Highness,

  I wish to express my sincere gratitude for the flowers you sent during my convalescence. They have brightened my chambers and my spirits during this difficult recovery.

  If your duties permit, I would welcome the opportunity to speak with you before the Imperial Autumn Festival. I understand you have many obligations that demand your attention, but even a brief meeting would be most appreciated.

  Your humble servant, Lady Eleanora Bckwood

  She read over the note, finding it neither too demanding nor too subservient. It was a simple request, though one the old Eleanora would never have made. Before, she would have been content with the public appearance of their engagement, caring little for actual connection with the prince.

  Sealing the letter with wax and the Bckwood family crest, she rang for a servant.

  "Please have this delivered to Prince Aldric at the imperial pace," she instructed, handing over the folded note. "Wait for a response only if one is offered immediately."

  The servant bowed and departed. Eleanora had little expectation of a swift reply—or any reply at all. According to court gossip, Prince Aldric was notoriously reserved, speaking only when necessary and granting private audiences rarely.

  With nothing to do but wait, she decided to test her physical recovery with a short walk in the gardens. Her legs felt steadier today, though occasional dizziness still pgued her when she moved too quickly.

  The Bckwood estate's gardens were among the finest in the capital, featuring exotic pnts from across the Empire and beyond. As a child, Eleanora had pyed among these paths and pavilions, though as she grew older, her interests had turned to society, politics, and advancement. Now, with Sarah's memories providing contrast, she found herself appreciating the simple beauty of the carefully tended flowers and shrubs in a way she hadn't for years.

  She paused before a rose arbor, breathing in the heady scent of te summer blooms. In her life as Sarah, she had kept a small container garden on her apartment balcony—just a few herbs and a struggling tomato pnt, but they had given her immense satisfaction. The academic in her had loved the quiet, productive moments away from lectures and papers.

  "Lady Eleanora."

  She startled at the voice, turning quickly—too quickly. A wave of dizziness struck, and she reached out to steady herself against the arbor.

  A firm hand caught her elbow, steadying her before she could stumble. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to arm you."

  When her vision cleared, she found herself looking into the face of Lord Marcus Harlow, her father's most trusted advisor and distant cousin. A man in his te thirties with shrewd eyes and a carefully neutral expression that revealed little of his thoughts.

  "Lord Harlow," she said, regaining her composure. "You startled me."

  "So it seems," he replied, releasing her arm once she was steady. "Should you be walking unaccompanied so soon after your accident? The Duke would be most displeased if you suffered another fall."

  There was something in his tone that gave her pause—a hint of something beyond mere concern. "The physician encouraged gentle exercise," she countered. "And I'm hardly in danger in my own family's garden."

  "Perhaps." His eyes studied her face with uncomfortable intensity. "How are you finding your recovery, my dy? Any... lingering effects from your fall?"

  The question seemed innocent enough, but instinct—both Eleanora's political savvy and Sarah's perceptiveness—told her to be cautious. "Only the expected ones, Lord Harlow. Occasional headaches, some dizziness. Nothing concerning."

  "And your memory? Fully intact?"

  Eleanora forced a smile. "Completely. Though I admit, I have no recollection of the fall itself."

  "Curious," he murmured. "Very curious indeed."

  "Is it?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "Dr. Mercer seemed to think it quite normal following such trauma."

  Lord Harlow's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Dr. Mercer is a competent physician, certainly. But there are some who find the circumstances of your accident... peculiar."

  A chill that had nothing to do with the pleasant afternoon breeze ran down Eleanora's spine. "Peculiar how, my lord?"

  He waved a dismissive hand. "Merely idle specution, my dy. The grand staircase has seen many a noble descend it without incident. For the daughter of Duke Bckwood to suddenly lose her footing—and with no witnesses to the event itself—well, tongues will wag."

  "Are you suggesting it wasn't an accident?" Eleanora asked directly, her patience for courtly insinuations suddenly thin.

  Lord Harlow looked momentarily taken aback by her bluntness before his mask of affability returned. "I suggest nothing, Lady Eleanora. I merely observe that your engagement to the Crown Prince has made you a figure of great interest—and perhaps envy—at court. Not everyone was pleased by the match."

  "Including Prince Aldric himself, if rumors are to be believed," she replied, surprising herself with her candor.

  This time, Lord Harlow's surprise seemed genuine. "A remarkably self-aware observation, my dy. Not one I would have expected from you before your... accident."

  There was a clear emphasis on the st word that left Eleanora uneasy. Did he suspect something about her changed perspective? Or was he merely fishing for information?

  "Near-death experiences have a way of crifying one's thinking," she said carefully.

  "So it seems." He studied her for another long moment before inclining his head slightly. "I should not keep you from your constitutional. The Duke has requested my presence for a meeting with the Treasury Minister. If you'll excuse me?"

  "Of course," she replied, relieved to end the strange encounter.

  As Lord Harlow walked away, Eleanora remained by the rose arbor, troubled by the conversation. The implication that her fall might not have been an accident was disturbing enough, but his interest in her memory and his noting of changes in her behavior was even more concerning. Lord Harlow was not a man who engaged in idle conversation; if he had sought her out, it was with purpose.

  She made her way back to the house, moving carefully to avoid aggravating her lingering dizziness. Perhaps it would be wise to learn more about the exact circumstances of her fall. If someone had indeed pushed her, the question was why—and whether they might try again.

  Prince Aldric's response arrived the following morning while Eleanora was taking breakfast in her chambers. The letter bore the imperial seal in blood-red wax, and the handwriting inside was precise and elegant:

  Lady Eleanora,

  I am pleased to hear of your recovery. Court obligations prevent me from calling on you at your family's estate, but if you are well enough to travel, you may attend my public audience tomorrow at the second hour after noon. I allocate fifteen minutes for each petitioner.

  HRH Prince Aldric

  The note was barely more than a formal acknowledgment of her request, and the offer of a public audience rather than a private meeting was telling. Prince Aldric was maintaining his distance, treating her as he would any noble seeking his attention rather than as his future wife.

  Still, it was an opportunity she hadn't expected. Public audience or not, it would be her first chance to see the prince since her memories had returned.

  "Good news, my dy?" Meredith asked, noting Eleanora's expression as she studied the letter.

  "Prince Aldric has granted me an audience tomorrow," Eleanora replied, carefully refolding the note.

  "How wonderful!" Meredith excimed. "Your first public appearance together since the engagement was announced. We must select the perfect gown."

  Eleanora suppressed a sigh. Before her fall, she would have obsessed over such details, viewing every interaction with the prince as an opportunity to dispy her beauty and worth. Now, such concerns seemed petty compared to her desire to actually understand the man she was promised to.

  "The blue silk, I think," she said, naming one of her more modest gowns. "With minimal jewelry. This isn't a ball or formal presentation."

  Meredith looked surprised but nodded. "As you wish, my dy. Shall I inform the Duke and Duchess of your pns?"

  "Please do. I expect my father will want to discuss how I should conduct myself."

  And indeed, barely an hour ter, the Duke strode into her sitting room without so much as a knock, his face tight with what Eleanora recognized as his 'strategic expression.'

  "So, the prince has summoned you to a public audience," he said without preamble. "Not ideal, but workable."

  "He didn't summon me, Father," Eleanora corrected gently. "I requested to see him, and this was his response."

  The Duke waved away this distinction. "The important thing is that you'll be seen at the pace before the festival. It will quell any rumors about your recovery or the stability of the engagement." He paced before the firepce, his mind clearly racing with calcutions. "You'll need to be perfect. Demure but confident. Respectful but not subservient. Remember, you are to be his empress one day."

  "I merely wish to speak with him," Eleanora said, finding her father's plotting suddenly distasteful. "To thank him for his concern during my recovery."

  "Of course, of course," her father agreed distractedly. "But don't waste this opportunity. Public audiences are attended by lesser nobles, foreign dignitaries, even wealthy merchants. All eyes will be upon you, assessing your fitness as the prince's chosen bride. Your deportment must be impeccable."

  Eleanora bit back a retort about being more than a political pawn. Her father wouldn't understand the change in her perspective, and expining it was impossible without revealing the truth of her dual memories.

  "I understand the importance of appearances, Father," she said instead. "I won't embarrass our family."

  "It's not just about avoiding embarrassment," the Duke insisted, finally stopping his pacing to face her. "It's about consolidating our position. The engagement is secured, yes, but until the formal announcement at the festival and the wedding thereafter, nothing is truly certain. The Emperor himself still has the authority to dissolve the match if he deems it unsuitable."

  This was true, and Eleanora knew it. The Emperor's dislike of his son was well-known, extending to interference in nearly every aspect of the prince's life. If he decided that Eleanora was an unworthy bride for the future emperor, even her father's considerable influence might not be enough to save the engagement.

  "I'll be everything a future empress should be," she promised, though the words felt hollow in her mouth.

  The Duke studied her for a moment, his politician's intuition sensing something amiss. "Is there something troubling you, Eleanora? You've seemed... different since your accident."

  For a brief moment, she considered confiding in him—not about her past life as Sarah, but about her changing perspective on the engagement, on Prince Aldric as a person rather than a prize. But the calcuting look in her father's eyes dissuaded her. The Duke saw her marriage as the culmination of his political ambitions, the ultimate triumph of House Bckwood. Her personal feelings or moral qualms would be irrelevant to him.

  "I'm just nervous about seeing the prince again," she said instead. "After coming so close to death, everything feels more... consequential."

  This seemed to satisfy him. "Understandable. But remember who you are—a Bckwood, with centuries of noble blood in your veins. You were born for greatness, Eleanora. This engagement is merely your destiny manifesting."

  After her father left, Eleanora sat by the window, watching clouds drift across the autumn sky. How strange to hear such pronouncements now, with Sarah's democratic values providing contrast to the rigid hierarchy Eleanora had been raised to revere. The concept of being "born for greatness" simply because of her family name seemed absurd when viewed through the lens of her past life, where merit and effort determined one's path.

  Yet here she was, engaged to a prince she barely knew, preparing to become empress of a vast empire—all because of her bloodline and her father's political maneuvering coupled with her own wishes of becoming the highest-ranking woman in the empire.

  And tomorrow, she would face Prince Aldric for the first time since gaining her new perspective. Fifteen minutes to make an impression on a man who had been forced into their engagement and who, if rumors were true, had every reason to resent her.

  It would be the first real test of her new self—the woman who carried both Eleanora's aristocratic upbringing and Sarah's compassionate worldview. She only hoped she was equal to the challenge.

  The Imperial Pace loomed over the capital city like a mountain of gleaming white stone. Its central dome, covered in gold leaf, caught the midday sun and reflected it back like a second sun in the sky. Massive wings extended from the central structure, housing everything from the treasury to the imperial library, while the famed Crystal Gallery connected the formal gardens to the grand ballroom where the festival would soon be held.

  Eleanora's carriage passed through three separate checkpoints before arriving at the Petitioner's Entrance, a retively modest doorway where those granted an audience with the prince or other high officials would enter. Her father had offered to accompany her, but she had insisted on going alone, needing time to gather her thoughts before the audience.

  A pace official met her at the entrance, bowing with the precise degree of respect accorded to the daughter of a duke. "Lady Bckwood, welcome. Prince Aldric's public audience is already underway. If you would follow me, please."

  He led her through a series of corridors adorned with paintings of imperial victories and ancestral portraits. Eleanora had visited the pace many times before, but now, seeing it with Sarah's eyes as well as her own, she was struck anew by its ostentatious wealth. Gold and crystal adorned every surface, and priceless artifacts from across the Empire were dispyed as casually as common pottery might be in a merchant's home.

  "Wait here, please," the official instructed, stopping before a set of imposing double doors. "You will be announced when the prince is ready to receive you."

  Eleanora nodded, smoothing the skirts of her blue silk gown with suddenly nervous hands. What would she say to Prince Aldric? How could she begin to bridge the gap between them without revealing the profound change in her perspective?

  The doors opened, and a herald stepped forward. "Lady Eleanora Bckwood," he announced, his voice carrying across what Eleanora knew would be the Small Audience Chamber, used for the prince's weekly public court.

  Taking a deep breath, she entered, keeping her steps measured and her posture perfect as she'd been trained to do since childhood. The chamber was impressive but not overwhelming, designed to project authority while still allowing for conversation. A small crowd of nobles, officials, and petitioners lined the sides of the room, their curious gazes following her progress toward the dais.

  And there, seated on a chair of dark wood inid with gold and ivory, was Prince Aldric.

  Eleanora had seen him many times before, of course. Had danced with him at balls, conversed at state dinners, even walked with him in the pace gardens on the day their engagement had been privately agreed upon. But now, with her dual perspective, it was like seeing him for the first time.

  He was undeniably handsome—tall and lean, with the cssic imperial features of high cheekbones and a strong jaw. His hair was dark as midnight, worn longer than was fashionable at court, reaching just past his colr. But it was his eyes that caught and held her attention—a striking amber color, almost golden in the right light, currently regarding her with cool detachment.

  As she reached the appropriate distance from the dais, Eleanora sank into a deep, formal curtsy. "Your Imperial Highness," she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered as protocol demanded.

  "Lady Eleanora," he replied, his voice deeper than she remembered, with a crisp precision to each sylble. "You may rise."

  She straightened, finally meeting his gaze directly. There was no warmth in his expression, no hint of pleasure at seeing his fiancée. But neither was there animosity—merely a careful neutrality that revealed nothing of his thoughts.

  "I am gratified to see you recovered from your accident," he said, the words perfectly correct but devoid of genuine emotion. "The imperial court would have been diminished by your absence from the upcoming festival."

  "You are too kind, Your Highness," she replied automatically. Then, gathering her courage, she added, "I wished to thank you personally for your thoughtful gift of flowers during my convalescence. They brought beauty to difficult days."

  Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps, at her sincerity. "It was the proper gesture," he said after a moment, and she thought she detected a hint of discomfort in his tone.

  Of course—he probably hadn't selected the flowers himself or even thought much about the gesture. It would have been handled by his staff, a routine courtesy to his injured fiancée.

  An awkward silence stretched between them, witnessed by dozens of curious courtiers. Eleanora knew she should say something else, something properly gracious and formal, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself studying the prince's face, noting the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. He looked tired, she realized. And perhaps something more—unhappy.

  "Is there something else, Lady Eleanora?" he asked, a note of impatience entering his voice as her silence extended.

  "Forgive me, Your Highness," she said quickly. "I simply..." She hesitated, then decided to risk honesty. "I have been reflecting a great deal since my accident. About life. About what matters most."

  His expression shifted from impatience to wariness. "Near-death experiences often prompt such reflections, I'm told."

  "Yes." She paused, aware of the watching courtiers, the listening ears eager for gossip. This was hardly the private conversation she had hoped for. "I had hoped we might speak more personally before the festival, but I understand your many obligations make that difficult."

  Prince Aldric studied her for a long moment, his amber eyes searching her face as if looking for some hidden motive. "My schedule is indeed full," he said finally. "However, I will be riding in the imperial forest tomorrow morning. Should you wish to join me, I depart at dawn from the East Gate."

  A collective murmur rippled through the chamber. An invitation to ride with the prince—privately—was unexpected and would set tongues wagging throughout the court. Eleanora herself was momentarily startled by the offer.

  "I would be honored, Your Highness," she replied, dropping into another curtsy to hide her surprise. "Dawn at the East Gate."

  He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. "Until tomorrow, then. Good day, Lady Eleanora."

  It was a dismissal, clear and final. Eleanora backed away from the dais as protocol required, then turned and made her way out of the chamber, feeling the weight of curious stares following her exit.

  Only when she was safely back in her carriage did she allow herself to process what had just happened. Prince Aldric, known for his aloofness and privacy, had invited her to ride with him—alone. It was an unprecedented opportunity to speak with him away from the watchful eyes of the court.

  But what had prompted the invitation? Had he seen something different in her approach? Or did he have his own reasons for wanting a private conversation before their engagement was formally announced to the Empire?

  Whatever his motives, tomorrow morning would bring her first real chance to know the man she was betrothed to—the man who, until her accident, she had viewed merely as a stepping stone to the power and position she craved.

  Now, with her dual perspective, she saw him differently—as a person trapped in his own web of obligations and expectations, perhaps even more tightly bound than she was.

  "I hope you'll actually talk to me, Prince Aldric," she murmured to herself as the carriage rolled toward home. "Because I think we may have more in common than either of us realized."