"Come." He started walking toward the palace entrance.
There's that word again.
I followed, because what else was I going to do? Run? In borrowed shoes that were half a size too small?
The whispers followed us like a wave.
"Who is she?"
"Why is she with the Duke?"
"That hair—it can't be—"
"Maybe she's a cousin from the western territories?"
"Don't be stupid, the western royals have white hair—"
We passed through doors so tall they could accommodate a small giant, into a entrance hall that made the Duke's estate look like a cottage.
Everything was white marble and gold. Chandeliers the size of carriages. Tapestries that probably cost more than a small country's GDP.
And at the end of a long, long hallway….
The throne room.
The doors opened with a sound like thunder.
And there he was.
Emperor Aldric Valtoria.
Sitting on a throne that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of white jade, dressed in robes of deep purple and gold. His hair was the same shade as mine, that golden color, but his eyes...
Green. Bright, piercing green.
The imperial eyes. The mark of true royalty.
The eyes I don't have.
To his right, standing with perfect posture and a serene smile, was a young woman in a gown of pale pink.
Blonde hair in elegant curls. Green eyes that sparkled with fake warmth.
Arabella.
My stomach turned to ice.
That bitch.
She looked exactly like her descriptions in the book, delicate, beautiful, the picture of innocent grace. The kind of person who probably helped old ladies cross the street and rescued puppies in her spare time.
Except I knew better.
I knew about the poison she had slipped into drinks. The lies she had whispered in the Emperor's ear. The way she had smiled as Roxanne was dragged to the executioner's block.
Our eyes met across the throne room.
Her smile froze.
Yeah, that's right. I'm here. Surprise, surprise bitch.
A few other nobles lingered about as well, watching the scene unfold.
"What is the meaning of this, Lucien? Is this a game?" The Emperor's voice echoed through the chamber, deep and commanding.
Duke Lucien stepped forward, bowing smoothly. "Your Imperial Majesty. I come bearing unexpected news."
"Father?" Arabella's voice was soft, confused. Playing her role perfectly. "Who is this girl?"
The Emperor ignored her. "I see. You, girl. I am curious, what is your name?"
He was looking at me.
Right. My cue.
I stepped forward, dropped into what I hoped was an acceptable curtsy (the servants had tried to teach me last night, but I had been too busy panicking to pay attention), and said: "Roxanne, Your Majesty."
The Emperor went very still.
Duke Lucien continued speaking, "I found her yesterday evening, fleeing from slavers in the forest bordering the noble district. The rain washed away the black dye from her hair to reveal—"
"Golden hair," the Emperor breathed.
He stood, much to my shock, descending from his throne with steps that seemed both eager and hesitant.
As he got closer, I could see his face more clearly. Handsome, yes, but older than I had expected. Tired. There were lines around his eyes, gray streaking through his golden hair.
He stopped in front of me, staring like he had seen a ghost.
"You're the spitting image of Adela," he whispered.
Adela. Roxanne's mother.
His hand reached out, trembling slightly, and touched my face. "You have her eyes too."
Blue. Like hers. Not green. Not imperial.
A smile crossed his face, a bitter and broken one.
"I have been searching for you, daughter."
The throne room erupted.
"DAUGHTER?!"
"The Emperor has another child?!"
"A mere slave?!"
Arabella's voice cut through the chaos, high and shocked: "Father! A slave cannot possibly be my sister!"
"BE QUIET."
The Emperor's voice cracked like a whip, silencing the room instantly. He didn't look away from me. "Arabella. Not another word from you."
Holy shit.
This is wrong. This is ALL wrong.
In the book, the Emperor had been cold when he first met Roxanne. Distant. He had acknowledged her existence only because it was politically convenient, kept her at arm's length, never showed her real affection. Heck, he didn't even love her mother, Adela.
But this….
He pulled me into a hug.
An actual hug, right there in front of everyone, his arms wrapping around me like I might disappear if he let go.
I stood there, frozen, completely unable to process what was happening.
Eh? EHHH?!
"Thank you, Lucien," the Emperor said, voice rough with emotion. "Thank you for bringing her home."
Over his shoulder, I could see Arabella's expression.
Oh, Arabella's face was priceless.
Shock. Horror. Fury, quickly masked behind a fake smile.
Yeah, you didn't see THIS coming, did you?
Granted, neither did I, but take that rat!
The Emperor pulled back, still holding my shoulders. "My dear child, we will throw a celebration in your honor tonight. A ball, perhaps, to introduce you properly to the court."
He turned, snapping his fingers, and a woman immediately appeared, older, stern-faced, wearing the most elaborate servant's uniform I had seen yet.
"Head Maid Rosalind," the Emperor commanded. "Prepare my daughter. I want her dressed befitting a proper princess of the Valtoria Empire."
"At once, Your Imperial Majesty." Rosalind curtsied deeply.
I was still processing.
He hugged me.
He called me daughter.
He's throwing me a BALL.
None of this—absolutely none of this—had happened in the book.
Which meant...
Oh god. I'm already changing the story.
And I had no idea if that was a good thing or a very, very bad thing.