"The garden is a world of gold and honey. Sara finds herself actually laughing—a real, light sound that she didn't make since she arrived in this world. Arthur is describing a disastrous magic lesson at the Academy, gesturing with a half-eaten biscuit. For a brief moment, she lets her guard down. She feels like a normal girl enjoying a Sunday afternoon with a handsome friend.
But as they laugh together, the "Sunday" is already being poisoned.
Deep within the inner palace, a maid named Mina—one of the many eyes the Duchess kept in Elanore's wing—slipped through a hidden servant's door. She didn't head for the kitchens; she headed for the Duchess's private solar."
The Duchess sits at her vanity, her reflection sharp and cold. When Mina whispers the news—that Arthur Helios is in the garden, and that Elanore is looking satisfied—the Duchess's hand freezes.
"Chatting?" the Duchess whispers, her voice like a knife on silk. "Laughing? After the shame she brought us with that fall? She thinks she can ignore my authority and hide behind the House of Helios."
A slow, terrifyingly evil smile spreads across her face. It isn't a smile of joy; it's the smile of a hunter who has just found a new way to set a trap.
"She wants to play the part of a beloved fiancée?" the Duchess whispers, looking at her sharp, manicured nails. "Then we shall give her a stage. Let her enjoy her tea for now. Today, we will arrange a small lunch gathering... and I will make sure her fiancé sees exactly how 'unstable' my daughter has become."
She reaches for a silver bell and rings it once, a sharp, final sound. The plan to humiliate Elanore is already in motion.
In the garden, the shadows are beginning to stretch long across the grass. Arthur stands up, brushing the crumbs from his fine trousers.
"I should take my leave now, Elanore," he says, his voice regaining some of that serious, noble tone, though his eyes remain warm. "The sun is high, and you need to have your lunch and rest. I wouldn't want your recovery to slow down because I kept you talking all afternoon."
I feel a wave of relief. I think, 'Finally, I can go back to my room, talk to Lily, and process all the information I just gathered. I stand up to walk him out, feeling like I've successfully navigated my first "meeting" without getting fired—or worse, executed.
"I'll see you soon, Arthur," I tell him with a polite and friendly smile.
"My Lord Arthur!" a sharp, high-pitched voice interruptes.
I feel strange. A servant—one I don't recognize, with eyes that dartes around like a cornered rat—is hurrying toward the gazebo. He bows so low his forehead almost touched the stone.
"His Grace the Duke and Her Grace the Duchess have requested your presence," the servant announces. "They insist that Lord Arthur stays to attend lunch with the family. It is already being served in the Great Dining Hall."
Arthur pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. He looks at me, then back at the servant. "I wouldn't want to be a burden..."
"Nonsense, My Lord! The Duchess was very clear. She says a fiancé should be treated like a son of the house. She is waiting for you both."
I feel my stomach drop. The private tea is over. Now, I've to sit at a table with my cold father, my suspicious brother, and my hateful mother—all while trying to act like she is "in love" with Arthur.
The lunch isn't a meal, I realize, my Office Brain is screaming a warning.
I feel a cold shiver run down my spine that has nothing to do with the breeze. Lunch? Together? In my modern life, a "mandatory team lunch" usually meant someone was getting fired. In this palace, where my father is like ice and my mother is like a silent storm, a family lunch is unheard of.
They aren't being polite. They're setting a trap. They want to see me fail in front of Arthur.
My face must have gone pale, because I feel a hand settle gently on my arm. I look up to see Arthur watching me. His playful, sweet smile is gone, replaced by a look of sharp, quiet intelligence. So he knows my family's reputation, how they have been treating me and he can feel my fear.
"Elanore," he whispers, leaning in so the servant can't hear. "You look like you've seen a ghost. If you're still feeling weak from your fall... you don't have to do this. Go back to your room and rest. I can handle your parents alone. I'm quite good at distracting the Duke with talk of border politics."
For a second, I want to say yes. I want to run back to Lily and hide. But then I stop. 'If I let him go alone, I lose control of the narrative. If my mother says something terrible about me, I won't be there to defend myself. I can't be a coward if I want to survive this life.'
I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and look Arthur in the eye. "No," I say, my voice steadying. "I'm the daughter of this house. It would be rude to let my fiancé face my parents without me. I can do this."
Arthur studies me for a long moment, a flash of genuine respect crossing his face. "Very well then. But stay close to me. If it gets too cold in there, I'll be your fire."
Together, we turned toward the towering stone doors of the Great Dining Hall. I feel like I'm walking into a trial, but as I walk beside Arthur, I realize one thing: Im't just observing him anymore. I'm starting to rely on him.
As we reach the heavy oak doors of the dining hall, the cold air from the stone corridor seems to seep into my bones. I hesitate, my hand trembling slightly.
Suddenly, I feel a warm, firm pressure. Arthur has reached out and taken my hand, squeezing it tightly. He steps closer, leaning down so his voice was a low murmur right next to my ear.
"Don't let them get to you, Elanore," he says, his voice dropping an octave to sound more mature. "I told you, I'm here. I'll protect you from whatever they have planned. Just have faith in me."
He looks at me with such intense, heroic devotion that for a second, the scene felt like a classic fairy tale. But then, my modern mind kicks in.
What are you doing? I tell myself, staring at his hand. And what do I expect from him? I look at Arthur's face. He is handsome, yes, but he is 15 or 16 years old . In my world, he'd be worrying about high school exams and playing video games. I'm years old— I had finished university, handled toxic bosses, and paid taxes.
The gap between us feel like a canyon. To me , he isn't a "knight in shining armor"; he is a teenager trying to act like a grown man.
I'm ten years older than this kid, I realize, It's sweet that he wants to protect me, but I should be the one looking out for him. He has no idea he's walking into a political minefield with a 25-year-old woman in a teenager's body.
I don't't pull my hand away, because I need the "fiancé" act to look real for the spies, but I can't help the small, amused sigh that escaped my lips.
"I have faith," I wisper back, though in my head I add: I just hope you know how to handle your mother-in-law better than a 10th grader.