The Bckwood manor buzzed with activity as servants hurried through corridors, carrying bolts of fabric, flower arrangements, and ornate jewelry boxes. With four days remaining until the Imperial Autumn Festival, Lady Eleanora's chambers had transformed into what resembled a small couturier's workshop.

  Eleanora stood patiently on a raised ptform as Madame Rochelle, the capital's most sought-after dressmaker, circled her with critical eyes. Three seamstresses knelt at the hem of an eborate gown, adjusting the cascade of gold-embroidered maple leaves that adorned the skirt's burgundy silk.

  "A quarter inch higher on the left side," Madame Rochelle instructed, her accent thick with the inflections of the Eastern Provinces. "The fall must appear natural, as if autumn itself has blessed Lady Eleanora."

  The old Eleanora had commissioned this dress months ago, with explicit instructions that it should outshine every other dy's attire without appearing to try. Now, as Eleanora gazed at her reflection, she saw the calcution behind every design choice—the neckline cut to suggest virtue while dispying just enough to capture attention, the waistline tailored to emphasize her slender figure, the color selected to complement Prince Aldric's traditional festival garb.

  "Is everything to your satisfaction, my dy?" Madame Rochelle asked, noticing her frown.

  "The craftsmanship is exquisite," Eleanora replied diplomatically. "I simply wonder if it might be... a bit much?"

  The dressmaker's eyebrows shot up in arm. "But my dy, this is your engagement announcement! The entire imperial court will be watching. You were most insistent that the gown make a statement worthy of a future queen."

  Eleanora sighed. "Yes, I imagine I was."

  Her mother, Lady Vivienne Bckwood, looked up from where she was inspecting jewelry options with Eleanora's dy's maid. "Darling, are you feeling unwell again? You've been saying the strangest things since your accident."

  "I'm quite well, Mother," Eleanora assured her. "Perhaps the fall simply gave me a new perspective on... certain priorities."

  Lady Vivienne approached, her eternally perfect posture making her appear taller than her modest height. She adjusted one of the silk flowers in Eleanora's carefully arranged hair.

  "Perspective is all well and good, my dear, but timing is everything. The festival is not the moment to suddenly embrace modesty. The court expects splendor, particurly from the future Crown Princess."

  There was truth in her mother's words, Eleanora had to admit. The Imperial Court operated by its own rigid rules, and her sudden transformation would raise more suspicion than admiration if handled poorly.

  "Of course, Mother," she conceded. "The gown is perfect as designed."

  Lady Vivienne studied her daughter's face with shrewd eyes that missed little. "You rode with Prince Aldric three days ago. You've been unusually reflective since then."

  It hadn't been just one ride. After that first morning by the stream, Eleanora and Prince Aldric had managed two more brief, private meetings—once in the pace library under the pretext of discussing music for the festival, and once more in the royal gardens where they'd walked among autumn blooms while speaking of books they had read.

  Each encounter had revealed more yers to the man behind the crown—his dry wit, his unexpected knowledge of poetry, his genuine concern for the kingdom's poorest citizens. Eleanora had begun to feel something dangerously close to real affection for him, something entirely different from the triumph she had once felt at securing his hand.

  "We've been... getting to know each other better," Eleanora said carefully.

  "Well, that's certainly wise before an official announcement," her mother replied, though her tone suggested she found the timing odd. "Just ensure these new conversations don't include any st-minute doubts. Your father has already begun expanding our shipping fleet in anticipation of the royal contract."

  The reminder of the political and economic implications behind their match nded like a weight on Eleanora's shoulders. This wasn't simply about her personal redemption or even her retionship with Aldric. Entire livelihoods depended on this alliance.

  After the fitting concluded and her chambers cleared of seamstresses and servants, Eleanora sat at her writing desk, pulling out a sheet of cream-colored stationery. Her hand hovered over the paper as she considered what to write to Prince Aldric. Their st conversation in the garden had ended with a promise to meet once more before the festival, but the pace had sent word that the prince was occupied with urgent diplomatic matters.

  A light knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.

  "Enter," she called, expecting Beatrice with afternoon tea.

  Instead, her younger sister Henrietta slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. At sixteen, Henrietta was everything Eleanora had never been—genuinely kind, more interested in books than status, and blessed with an artistic talent that their parents rgely ignored in favor of finding her a suitable match.

  "You look exhausted," Henrietta observed, settling into a chair across from Eleanora. "Mother has the entire household in an uproar over your festival debut."

  "As future Crown Princess, apparently I cannot afford a single mispced curl," Eleanora replied with a wry smile.

  Henrietta leaned forward, lowering her voice despite the empty room. "Is it true what they're saying about Lord Harlow? That he's been banned from court until after the festival?"

  Eleanora's pen cttered against the inkwell. "What? No one has told me anything about that."

  "I overheard Father speaking with Commander Reed of the Royal Guard. Apparently, there was some evidence that Lord Harlow might have... interfered with your safety. The prince ordered an investigation conducted quietly."

  The memory of Lord Harlow's veiled comments in the garden fshed through Eleanora's mind. Accidents have a way of changing trajectories...

  "Ellie," Henrietta continued, using the childhood nickname that only she still employed, "were you pushed?"

  "I don't remember," Eleanora admitted. "Everything before the fall is clear in my memory, but the moment itself is just... darkness." She didn't add that those clear memories included two different lifetimes, a complication no one else could possibly understand.

  Henrietta's expression turned solemn. "You should be careful. Lord Harlow isn't the only one who might resent your position. Lady Cecilia Rothford has been telling anyone who'll listen that your engagement is premature and that the prince might still change his mind before the official announcement."

  Lady Cecilia—once a friend and ally in Eleanora's social climbing, now apparently a rival. The old Eleanora would have immediately plotted some devastating social revenge. The new Eleanora merely felt tired at the prospect of such games.

  "Let her talk," Eleanora said. "The prince will make his own decisions."

  Henrietta's eyebrows rose in surprise. "That's... not what you would have said before. You would have already pnned to have her seated beside the ambassador with the unfortunate breath condition at the banquet."

  Eleanora ughed despite herself. "Was I really so petty?"

  "Calcuting, Mother called it. Effective, Father said." Henrietta shrugged. "Frightening, was my private assessment."

  "And now?"

  "Now you're..." Henrietta tilted her head, considering. "Softer around the edges. But stronger in the center, somehow. It's as if you finally decided what matters to you, beyond just winning."

  The observation struck uncomfortably close to the truth. Before Eleanora could respond, another knock came at the door, this one more authoritative.

  Lady Vivienne entered without waiting for acknowledgment, followed by two servants carrying velvet-lined boxes.

  "Henrietta, there you are. You should be with Madame Rochelle for your own fitting." She dismissed her younger daughter with a wave before turning to Eleanora. "The royal jeweler has sent several options for your festival ensemble. The prince wishes you to select whichever pleases you most."

  The servants opened the boxes to reveal a collection that made even Eleanora—accustomed as she was to luxury—catch her breath. Nestled on bck velvet y tiaras, neckces, and earrings crafted of gold and precious gems, each piece more exquisite than the st.

  "These are from the royal collection," Lady Vivienne whispered, awed despite her usual composure. "To loan such pieces before the official announcement... the prince must be quite certain of his choice."

  Eleanora approached the dispy, her fingers hovering over a particurly ornate tiara festooned with rubies and diamonds. It was exactly the sort of piece the old Eleanora would have coveted—ostentatious, unmistakably royal, impossible to ignore.

  Her hand moved past it to a simpler design—an elegant circlet of gold leaves interspersed with small amber stones that caught the light like drops of honey.

  "This one," she said softly.

  Lady Vivienne frowned. "But surely the ruby tiara would make a more suitable statement? It's clearly the most valuable piece."

  "The autumn leaf design complements the festival theme," Eleanora replied. "And... I believe it's the one the prince would prefer."

  Her mother looked skeptical but didn't argue further. As the servants carefully returned the rejected pieces to their boxes, a pace messenger arrived bearing a sealed note. Lady Vivienne accepted it with practiced grace, breaking the royal seal before handing it to Eleanora.

  "His Highness requests your presence at tomorrow's festival rehearsal," she announced, not bothering to hide her satisfaction. "All the noble families who will be presented will attend, but you are specifically invited to observe from the royal pavilion."

  Eleanora took the note, recognizing Aldric's precise handwriting beneath the formal court nguage. At the bottom, in a smaller script meant only for her eyes, he had added: The royal pavilion offers an excellent view of Lady Cecilia's new purple ensemble. I'm told it makes her complexion appear most unfortunately simir to an overripe plum.

  A ugh escaped before she could contain it. When her mother looked at her questioningly, Eleanora merely folded the note and tucked it into her sleeve.

  "I shall need to select appropriate attire for tomorrow, then," she said.

  Later that evening, as Beatrice brushed out her hair for the night, Eleanora found herself contempting the festival that loomed just days away. Once, she had viewed it as her crowning achievement—the moment when years of careful maneuvering would culminate in her public elevation above all her peers.

  Now, she saw it differently. Not as an end, but as a beginning—potentially of something genuine with Aldric, if they could navigate the treacherous waters of court politics and their own complicated histories.

  But Lord Harlow's possible involvement in her accident troubled her. If someone had indeed attempted to harm her, the festival would provide ample opportunity for another attempt, with thousands of guests crowding the pace grounds.

  As she drifted toward sleep, fragments of her two lives swirled together in her mind. Sarah Chen's practical academic knowledge whispered warnings about power dynamics and historical patterns of court intrigue, while Eleanora's instincts recognized the specific dangers that lurked behind polite smiles and formal bows.

  She would need all the wisdom of both lives to survive what was coming.