The next morning, Grace helped Amelia into her undergown before calling in the maids to assist. Today was her long-overdue coming-of-age celebration—an event every noble girl was meant to have at sixteen. But of course, her father had never bothered. Now, with the engagement to the Duke on the horizon, Viscount Harrowind had no choice but to throw one..
Grace fastened the final pin, then stepped back to admire her. "Now you look like a proper noble."
Amelia glanced at herself in the mirror, unsure how to feel. "This whole thing is just for show."
Grace smiled. "Isn't everything in this house?"
While the maids prepared the final touches, Grace leaned closer and whispered, "They say His Majesty the King will personally bless each noble debut."
Amelia raised a brow. "Is that supposed to excite me?"
Grace shrugged. "Well, the king is quite a hot topic."
Now curious, Amelia turned to her. "What do you mean?"
Grace looked around as if someone might overhear. "Let's just say… the king has a very specific taste. Young, stunning women—especially those with something unique. He keeps more concubines than most of the other rulers combined."
Amelia stared. "So basically… he's a pervert in a crown?"
Grace gasped, then burst into laughter. "Exactly."
"And the queen?" Amelia asked.
Grace's smile dimmed a little. "People say she's like a doll. Always silent, always elegant. She rarely speaks and never disobeys the king. Beautiful, but… empty."
Amelia felt a chill crawl up her spine. "That's… disturbing."
Grace nodded. "There's a lot of drama in the palace. But you'll see it yourself soon."
Before Amelia could say more, she glanced at the clock and jolted. "I forgot to feed the rabbits."
She lifted the hem of her dress and rushed toward the back garden, where her tiny white rabbits were kept. Feeding them had been part of Amelia's daily routine—even before the transmigration—and she'd kept it up to maintain the illusion.
But as soon as she reached the hutch, she froze.
One of the rabbits lay limp.
No, not just one. All of them.
Dead.
Her breath caught.
Beside the hutch, the flower beds she had tended so carefully were trampled and destroyed. The petals of her favorite bluebells were torn and scattered like confetti. Her small, sacred corner of peace—ruined.
Grace caught up behind her. "My lady? What's wrong—" She stopped when she saw it. "Oh no…"
Amelia's fists clenched at her sides. She could feel her throat tighten, the sting of unshed tears behind her eyes—but she didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She just stood there, silent.
Behind a far hedge, someone watched.
Celina, dressed in soft yellow and lace, turned to Geneva and whispered, "I told you she couldn't handle Dorian. Let's see if she can even smile at her party today."
Amelia stepped into her gown without fuss. It was white with faint silver flecks, modest and simple, but the way it hugged her figure and caught the light made it quietly elegant. Her hair was swept into a neat updo, a few strands left loose to soften her face.
Unlike the other noble girls who arrived draped in layers of silk, lace, and jewels, Amelia's presence wasn't loud—but it was unforgettable.
Today's celebration at the palace wasn't only for her. Five noble families were presenting their children for the royal coming-of-age blessing.
The grand hall buzzed with voices as decorated carriages pulled up one by one, their names announced at the entrance by the heralds.
"Lord Edwin of House Newt," came the first announcement. He had recently returned from military duty and, though already twenty, was officially celebrating his coming-of-age to mark his return from service.
"Lady Mary of House Thorn," the herald called next. She was the younger sister of Lady Rose—Isadora's close friend.
Then came Selena's inner circle.
"Lady Catherine of House Vale."
"Lady Marianne of House Elmore."
And finally—
"Lady Amelia of Harrowind."
The hall hushed.
Many looked around, whispering. "Who's that?"
When Amelia stepped through the grand entrance, light from the chandeliers hit her just right. The silver flecks on her dress shimmered like snow in the sunlight. Her posture was graceful, her expression composed. The nobles watched, stunned—especially the young men.
"She looks like an angel," someone murmured.
Even the King's gaze was drawn to her.
From his throne, King Alaric leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on her as if he'd seen a living painting walk into his court. "Who is that?" he muttered to one of his advisors.
"That is Lady Amelia of Harrowind, Your Majesty," the man whispered back.
The King turned to one of his attendants. "Invite her forward. She shall receive her blessing next."
A palace servant approached Amelia and bowed. "My lady, His Majesty wishes to bless you personally."
Amelia's heart gave a small jolt, but she nodded. "Very well."
With every step toward the royal dais, she could feel eyes following her. She bowed deeply before the King.
"Your Majesty," she said with the practiced poise of someone who had rehearsed her role countless times.
The King looked her over, clearly impressed. "Graceful and humble," he mused. "You indeed act like an angel."
Then, in a move that made some of the noblewomen blink in surprise, he extended his hand and kissed the back of hers.
Amelia held her breath.
Is this normal? she wondered silently, but her face showed nothing. She simply smiled.
"You are now recognized as a woman of noble standing, Lady Amelia," the King declared. "May your days be long, and your favor never fade."
A soft round of applause followed as she curtsied and stepped back.
Elsewhere in the room, seated not far from the Queen, was Princess Julia. She had been invited in hopes she might reconnect with Duke Dorian Blackmoor during the event. But to her visible irritation, he wasn't present.
Instead, Theodore had come in his place.
The King noticed immediately. "Where is Duke Blackmoor?" he asked.
Theodore bowed. "Your Majesty, the Duke is currently occupied with urgent affairs at the capital. He sends his sincere apologies and requests that I represent him."
The King waved his hand, half amused. "Always busy, that one."
Theodore smiled. "He also asked that I present you with this, Your Majesty."
A palace guard stepped forward to receive a velvet-wrapped bottle. When opened, a distinct fragrance filled the air.
"Is this…" The King's eyes widened. "Dark Ember. One of the oldest brews from the Dragon Coast."
"From the Duke's private reserve," Theodore added politely.
The King laughed in delight. "Dorian always knows how to stay in my good graces—even when he doesn't show up."
As Theodore returned to his spot, he allowed himself a glance around the royal dais. The Queen sat beside the King, silent, eyes lowered. Her hands were folded, expression unreadable. Around the King were two of his concubines, both laughing and whispering like they belonged there.
Amelia observed quietly from her seat. She didn't need anyone to explain. The King had power—but no restraint. And the Queen?
She looked more like an ornament than a ruler's partner.
A doll, Grace had said. Always silent.
Amelia's gaze sharpened. If this is how the palace works… then I have to be careful. Very careful.
And somewhere deep in the crowd, Princess Julia's eyes found hers.
She wasn't smiling.