"Time travel…" Clara murmured, her voice barely audible beneath the soft rustle of turning pages.
Golden afternoon light spilled through the tall windows of the library, painting the floor in slanted patterns that danced across the rows of books.
Dust motes shimmered in the sunlight like tiny fragments of time suspended in air.
Her eyes lingered on the faded ink. "It says here… only the Time Keepers possess the power to bend the flow of time to send someone backward, or to halt it entirely." she read softly, her tone a mix of curiosity and awe.
The parchment felt dry beneath her fingertips, its texture roughened by age and secrets.
She leaned closer, squinting at the next line. "However, the Time Keepers take on different forms depending on the timeline they inhabit."
Clara paused, her thoughts drifting as the quiet hum of the library surrounded her the faint scratch of quills, the distant creak of wooden shelves.
"Then… the Time Keeper I met..." she whispered, recalling the wrinkled face and humble garb of the old beggar who had spoken to her in riddles, "was only one of them. And to think… there are others out there as well."
The sunlight shifted, glinting across the gilded spine of the book as if in quiet acknowledgment of her words.
A faint breeze from the open window stirred the pages, and Clara instinctively placed her hand on them to keep the book from closing.
For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn the air itself pulsed subtle, rhythmic, almost alive as though time was listening.
Clara sighed in frustration, running a hand through her hair as the cryptic words blurred before her eyes.
No matter how many times she read them, their meaning slipped away like water through her fingers.
With a quiet groan, she let her body slump forward, resting her head on the cool surface of the desk.
The faint scent of parchment and ink filled her senses as she closed her eyes, trying to make sense of what she had just read.
The library was still, bathed in the soft amber glow of the afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows.
Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, shimmering like suspended stars.
The creak of the heavy door broke the silence.
"You really can fall asleep anywhere, can't you, princess?"
Clara stirred slightly at the familiar voice.
She lifted her head just enough to see Ren leaning against the doorway, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
His dark hair fell neatly over his forehead, framing those sharp, cool eyes that seemed to always hold a spark of mischief.
"I wasn't sleeping..." she muttered, straightening up and brushing her hair aside. "I was reading."
Ren stepped closer, the echo of his boots filling the quiet space. His gaze drifted toward the open book before her.
"Reading?" he repeated, an amused note in his tone. "That's not a travel journal, is it?"
Clara's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't reply.
Ren tilted his head slightly, his brow arched. "Strange. You used to spend hours buried in books about faraway lands and maps of the old kingdoms. I still remember how you'd show me the places you wanted to explore back then."
She remained silent, her eyes fixed on the sunlight flickering across the pages.
A sigh escaped him then soft, more amused than reproachful.
"Well..." he said at last, "whatever that is, I hope it's worth trading your travel dreams for."
Ren's expression softened as he rested a hand lightly on the back of a nearby chair. "Anyway, you might want to put that book away for now. The King and Queen have summoned you."
Clara's head snapped up. "Summoned me?"
He nodded, his tone losing its teasing edge. "Yes. They're waiting in the great hall. It sounded urgent."
For a moment, the air between them hung heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Clara glanced down at the ancient book its worn spine, the faint outline of that strange silver mark and then closed it carefully, the sound of the pages whispering like a secret being sealed away.
"I'll be there shortly." she said, standing and smoothing her skirt.
Ren smiled faintly, stepping aside to let her pass. "Don't keep them waiting too long, princess."
As she walked past him toward the door, the sunlight glinted off the desk where the book had been moments ago and for an instant, the faint silver symbol shimmered once again before fading into the quiet dust of the library.
------
The moment Clara stepped into the throne room, the air felt heavier and denser as though it had been waiting for her.
Sunlight poured in from the high stained-glass windows, scattering warm colors across the polished marble floor.
Yet even the beauty of the room could not soften the tension floating thickly in the air.
King Matthias and Queen Isabella stood at the foot of the dais, mid-conversation, their hushed voices echoing faintly beneath the high vaulted ceiling.
Clara stopped a few paces away, crossing her arms with wary casualness.
"You summoned me?" she asked, though she already sensed something unsettling behind their expressions.
Matthias turned, his face firm yet somber. "It's regarding the Prince of Valmorraine."
Clara felt her stomach drop. A single name flashed in her mind—Lucien.
"What about Prince Lucien?" she asked, the edges of her voice tightening despite her attempt to stay indifferent.
She already knew.
Her father never summoned her with that tone unless it was something irreversible.
Matthias drew in a slow breath. "The King of Valmorraine and I have reached a decision. In order to strengthen the bond between our kingdoms, the two of you are to be wed."
Clara's eyes widened, her breath catching. "You're going to marry me off?"
The words came out sharper than she intended, slicing through the quiet room.
Matthias nodded, though regret lingered in his eyes.
Before she could speak again, he continued, "Once the marriage is sealed, our kingdoms will stand as one. You know the state of our borders, Clara. The south and west have suffered repeated attacks these past weeks. We need Valmorraine's armory and their advanced weaponry. If war arises and it will... We cannot stand alone."
He spoke each word carefully, as if explaining strategy to a soldier rather than delivering a life-altering decree to his daughter.
Clara clenched her jaw. "I refuse."
She lifted her chin, defiance lighting her eyes. "We can strengthen our alliances without resorting to marriage. I am not a bargaining piece, Father."
"It is already decided." Matthias's tone hardened with finality. "Now go. I will arrange a formal meeting between you and Prince Lucien."
Her breath trembled with fury and disbelief.
But she did not bow.
She turned on her heel and strode out, skirts brushing the marble with sharp swishes.
"Clara, dear! Please...please try to understand…" Isabella called after her, hurried footsteps echoing down the hall as she tried to catch up.
Clara didn't look back.
She couldn't.
If she met her mother's helpless eyes, her resolve might crack.
She pushed past the large double doors, the polished bronze handles rattling as she shoved them open.
Her footsteps pounded against the long hallway as she stomped her way toward her chambers, rage burning hotter with each step.
"It's like they've planned my entire life without even asking me!" she muttered under her breath, voice trembling. "As if I'm nothing more than a convenient chess piece…"
Her vision blurred with frustration.
She didn't slow down.
Not even when a few startled servants hurried out of her path.
Finally reaching her room, she slammed the door shut and collapsed forward onto her bed.
The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she buried her face into the soft blankets, rolling onto her back moments later with a frustrated groan.
"How long can I even keep this up…?" she whispered to the ceiling, her voice small and shaking.
"I thought I was brought back in the past for a second chance of a happy ending... but this—" She pressed a hand against her forehead, eyes squeezing shut. "This is not going well at all."
She rolled onto her side, clutching a pillow as if it could shield her from the future being forced upon her.
The palace outside continued with its distant chatter, but inside her room, everything felt unbearably tight as if her entire world had shrunk to the size of her suffocating fears.
Clara let out a long, shaky breath.
And for a moment, all she could do was lie there, frustrated and helpless, wondering if fate had simply decided she didn't deserve the freedom she had been given a second chance to find.
A soft knock broke through Clara's storm of thoughts.
"Clara?" It was her mother's voice, gentle and hesitant.
Clara pressed her lips together and didn't answer.
Maybe if she stayed still, Isabella would think she had fallen asleep or simply didn't wish to talk.
But after a moment, the door creaked open anyway.
Queen Isabella stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her with deliberate care.
The scent of lavender drifted in with her something familiar, something motherly and it softened the room just a little.
She approached the bed slowly, as if afraid that moving too quickly would shatter what little calm Clara had left.
Clara kept her eyes on the ceiling, refusing to look at her.
Isabella sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the folds of her gown.
She didn't touch Clara, but her presence alone filled the room with warmth.
"My sweet girl..." she began softly. "I know this is difficult. More difficult than anything we've asked of you before."
Clara let out a bitter breath. "Then why ask it at all?"
"Because the kingdom needs strength… and because your father believes this is the only way." Isabella paused, her voice thickening with emotion. "But I—I am not here to force you. I came because I want you to hear me as your mother… not as your queen."
At that, Clara finally turned her head, meeting her mother's eyes.
Isabella's expression wasn't stern or political, it was tired, sad, pleading.
"Just meet him..." Isabella whispered.
"Only one meeting. That is all I ask. You don't have to promise him anything, you don't have to accept anything, you don't even have to be polite if you don't want to." A weak smile tugged at her lips. "Just… give this a chance to be something other than frightening."
Clara frowned, unconvinced. "Why should I? I only met him at the ball once."
"I know." Isabella murmured. "Which is why you should at least see him for yourself before deciding you hate everything about this plan."
Clara turned her face away again. "Mother, I don't want to be tied to someone I don't love. I don't want to be trapped in some political scheme as if that's my only worth."
Her voice cracked at the end—and Isabella's heart clenched.
She reached out carefully, brushing a few strands of hair from Clara's forehead. "You are worth far more than politics. And I am sorry we've made you feel otherwise."
Clara closed her eyes at the gentle touch.
After a long moment, Isabella continued, "If you agree to meet him...just one meeting, I will give you something in return. A full free day. No lessons, no council duties, no etiquette drills, no princess responsibilities at all."
She smiled softly. "You may do whatever you wish. Go out...explore...wander...read or even sleep. Anything! A true day to yourself!"
Clara's eyes opened slowly. "A free day..."
Those were rare—nearly nonexistent.
She couldn't remember the last time she had one where the weight of the crown wasn't pressing against her spine.
She swallowed, unsure.
Isabella squeezed her hand gently. "Just one meeting, Clara. As your mother… I am asking you to try."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the muffled sounds of the palace beyond the door.
Clara's resolve softened, just enough for doubt to slip in doubt about refusing, doubt about giving up her only chance at freedom.
Finally, with a long, defeated sigh, she whispered, "…Fine."
Isabella brightened with relief. "You'll meet him?"
Clara nodded reluctantly. "Just once. I'm not promising anything else."
"That is enough." Isabella said warmly. "More than enough."
Clara rolled onto her back again, staring at the ceiling but the storm inside her chest had quieted, even if just a little.
"Mother?" she murmured.
"Yes, my love?"
"I still don't like this."
Isabella smiled sadly. "I know. And that's why I'm proud of you."
She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Clara's forehead, the kind she used to give her when she was a child, afraid of thunderstorms.
And for a moment, Clara let herself be that child again… fragile, confused, and hoping desperately that she would not be forced down a path she could never turn back from.