"You may sit," he said softly, almost as though the walls themselves might lean in to overhear.
They settled into their seats across from one another, but their eyes refused to meet—hers fixed on the delicate embroidery of the tablecloth, his wandering to the faint shadows that clung to the corners of the room. Silence stretched between them, taut and uneasy.
"I have just heard," he began, his voice hesitant, the words seeming to catch in his throat, "that you will be attending the ball in place of…" He paused, swallowing hard, as though the name itself were too heavy to lift. "…the former duchess."
"Yes," she answered, her tone cool and precise, like the snap of frost in the early morning air. "I will."
"Good." He exhaled quietly, as if bracing himself. "I… I wish to apologize—for the actions of my wife and my brother. I've sent a physician to see Amelia. He assures me she will wake soon. You need not worry."
She lowered her head in polite acknowledgment. "Thank you, Your Grace. But it is nothing. The gulf between our stations obliges me to obey the duchess. I have no right to object to what they have done."
Her words, though delivered with grace, drew an invisible boundary between them—one as cold and impenetrable as a stone wall. He recognized it at once, and for a moment, he said nothing. The air between them seemed to grow heavier.
"If Your Majesty has nothing further to add," she said, her voice steady but final, "then I will take my leave."
He hesitated, the pause stretching long enough for her to sense the conflict in him. At last, he spoke. "In truth… there is a request I wish to make of you."
Her brows lifted ever so slightly. "A request?"
"Yes." His gaze finally found hers, steady and unwavering. "I want you to continue—publicly and indefinitely—as the former duchess. For the rest of your life."
She blinked, stunned. "What?" The word escaped her lips in a whisper edged with disbelief.
"Allow me to explain," he said quickly, leaning forward. "She is gone now—you know this. Even magic cannot preserve her body any longer. I intend to hold her funeral tomorrow. It is the least I can do for her. And yet…" His voice trailed off, the weight of the next thought pressing visibly upon him.
"And yet…?" she prompted.
"And yet," he said, "I cannot host a funeral on the eve of my sister's wedding. Were I to do so, the kingdom would see it as an ill omen—a shadow cast upon her marriage. The court would whisper, the people would call her a harbinger of misfortune. So…"
He paused again, searching her face.
"So what? Finish it."
"So I thought… perhaps you might assume the position of the former duchess yourself. Before her death, she often told me she had taken a place that was never truly hers. In a sense, this would be you reclaiming what was rightfully yours from the start."
He leaned back slightly, his tone softening. "As for your name… no one at court addresses the former duchess by anything but her titles. They will call you with the formal honors due your station. You would not be standing in anyone's place—you would simply be returning to where you belong."
He looked at her steadily, his words deliberate, almost pleading. "Please. Consider it."
"So… that's how it is," she murmured at last.
Before she could say more, he cut in quickly, almost as if afraid she might refuse outright. "It is also a chance for you to remain close to Amelia. You would live in the Southern Palace—no one would trouble you there."
Without answering, she rose from her chair with measured grace and moved toward the door. "I will think about it, Your Grace."
The sound of the latch closing behind her left him in the hush of the room. Matthew exhaled, a long, quiet sigh that carried with it something like relief. She was—he thought—cold to the very edge of her soul.
---
Talia returned to the side palace, the Duke's strange proposal looping endlessly in her mind. The corridors there were quieter, their air tinged with the faint perfume of lavender. She made her way to Amelia's chamber, and when she opened the door, she froze.
Amelia was awake—standing before the tall window, her slender silhouette outlined by the afternoon light.
Talia's breath caught, and she crossed the room in a rush. "My dear child—at last!" She wrapped her arms around her with an urgency that startled even herself.
Amelia blinked, startled. "Your Grace, the Duchess—what are you doing?"
Talia only held her tighter. "I am your mother, child."
Amelia's brows knit together in confusion. "Mother? Why such fear in your voice? I was only sleeping. I cannot believe I dozed off in Leon's room and that he carried me here—how mortifying."
In that instant, Talia understood—someone had erased the girl's memories.
"Ah… yes. I simply missed you, that's all," Talia replied softly, touching Amelia's hair as though trying to memorize the feel of it.
Amelia pulled back just enough to look her over, her gaze sweeping over Talia's attire. "But Mother… why are you dressed like the former duchess? Have you lost your mind? What if someone accuses you of impersonating her? Did anyone see you?"
"No," Talia said quickly, shaking her head. "No one saw me. There were… other matters, that's all."
Amelia took her mother's hand and led her toward a chair. "Mother, tell me—what has happened? What's going on?"
The words tangled on Talia's tongue, but at last they came, halting and unsteady. "The former duchess… she… she has died."
Amelia's breath caught. "What do you mean she's dead? How?"
Talia cupped her daughter's face, her touch gentle as though to shield her from the weight of the truth. "There is no need for your worry, my dear. She passed naturally, nothing more. And do not concern yourself with your sister's wedding. I will take on the role of the former duchess, so nothing mars her day."
Amelia swallowed hard, her voice faint. "Ah… yes. Leila's wedding. You're right."
"Now rest, little one. I still have work to prepare."
She left Amelia in that fog of shock, torn between the urge to see the former duchess one last time and the knowledge that such a thing would never be permitted. Being entered into the family's record did not mean she truly belonged.
A sudden, soft knock broke the stillness. Amelia rose to open the door—and there stood Olivia.
Without ceremony, Olivia stepped inside. The two women sat together, the air between them heavy with unspoken questions.
"You look well," Olivia said at last, her tone polite but measured.
"Yes, Your Majesty… I'm fine," Amelia replied, though her voice carried the faint tremor of someone speaking more to convince herself than her listener.
Olivia's gaze lingered on her face. "And yet your complexion is pale. Is there something troubling you?"
Amelia said nothing, her lips pressed in silence.
Olivia moved closer, her hand lifting gently to Amelia's cheek, tilting her face toward the light spilling through the window. "I see… Talia must have told you."
A cold jolt ran through Amelia's body. She had believed her mother—had wanted to believe her so fiercely—but Olivia's expression left no room for denial. The truth was in her eyes, in the faint hardening of her jaw.
Olivia straightened. "Come. Let's go."
Amelia blinked. "Go? Where?"
"To see her, of course. Where else would I take you?"
"In the evening? I… I don't want to," Amelia said quickly, almost desperately.
"What?" Olivia's brows knit in disbelief.
"I can't see her again—not like this."
Olivia crossed her arms, exhaling sharply. "Listen. I came here for you. Tonight they will place her in the coffin, and it will not be opened again. The freezing spell is wearing off; if you don't look upon her one last time now, you will never have the chance. By tomorrow evening, she will be buried. Come with me before you regret it."
Amelia's eyes dropped to the floor. She swallowed hard. "I don't think I'll regret it… We only saw each other once in my entire life."
Olivia let out a long sigh, her irritation tempered by something softer. She stepped forward, took Amelia firmly by the wrist. "Follow me. I'll tell you something on the way. You need to see her."
And though Amelia had said she didn't want to, she followed without resistance, her steps quiet against the polished stone floor.
For a time, they walked in silence, the air between them heavy. Then Olivia spoke, her voice lower, carrying an edge of memory that was almost too sharp to touch.
"Seeing someone only once in your life doesn't mean you won't regret not saying goodbye," she said. Her gaze was fixed ahead, but there was something glassy in her eyes, as though she were crying without tears.
"About seven or eight months ago," Olivia continued, "I gave birth to a child. A boy. But he was born… dead." Her voice faltered on the last word. "I saw him only once—just like you. We met in this life for only a handful of minutes. There was a funeral after that, but I didn't go. I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough to see him again, and I've never visited his grave. Not once. Not to this day."
She stopped, turning her head slightly toward Amelia. "Do you know why?"
"Why?" Amelia asked, her voice small, carrying the weight of something she didn't fully understand.
Olivia's gaze softened, but her words were edged with quiet grief. "Because, to this very day, I blame myself for not saying goodbye. He deserved that farewell. Even though we met for only a handful of minutes, he was mine—and I should have let him go with dignity. Instead, I spent months gnawing at my own heart, eating away at myself with regret. Your brother tried to convince me to see him one last time, but I was stubborn. I refused. I told myself it would be easier that way."
Her voice faltered. She drew in a breath, steadied herself, then placed a gentle hand on Amelia's arm. "So… now you stand here, in my place. Don't make the mistake I made. Say goodbye to your mother—if only to honor the brief minutes life gave you together."
They stopped before the door. Olivia's hand lingered on the latch before pushing it open.
Amelia stepped inside. The room was dim, the air heavy with the stillness of a place holding its breath. At the center, her mother's body lay, unmoving, preserved in the brittle beauty of a spell that was already beginning to fade.
"Hello," Amelia began softly, her voice barely rising above the quiet hum of the air. "It's me… your eldest daughter." A faint, almost self-conscious smile touched her lips. "I don't think you'll be answering my greeting. This is… our third meeting, and our last. I've come to see you again… or maybe I should call it a farewell. So… Mother… rest well."
She turned toward the door without looking back.
Olivia stared at her, almost incredulous. "That's all?"
A pained smile curved Amelia's lips. "That's all I have to say. I suppose I should be leaving now."
Olivia stepped aside to let her pass, though her eyes caught the glimmer of tears Amelia tried so hard to hide. In the end, no one truly escapes where they come from.
Before following her out, Olivia cast one last glance into the room. Her voice, low and elegant, was almost a whisper. "Sleep peacefully, Lady Eloise. All of your children have now bid you farewell."
She closed the door with quiet dignity, and the two women walked away in silence.