"Oh, you're absolutely radiant, Your Highness!"
"Such delicate features!"
"The Emperor had an illegitimate child? Well, I never!"
"How beautiful she is!"
"And graceful too!"
"Unlike that spiteful Princess Arabella—"
"Shh! She might hear you!"
I sat in the center of what could only be described as a grooming hurricane, surrounded by at least seven servants who were treating me like a particularly valuable doll.
One was scrubbing my feet. Another was doing something complicated with my hair. A third was holding up fabric swatches to my face and murmuring about "undertones" and "complementary palettes."
It was overwhelming.
It was excessive.
It was kind of amazing.
"Hold still, Your Highness," the woman working on my hair—Marissa, I think—said gently. "We're almost finished."
"You're being so patient," another servant cooed. "Such grace! Such charm!"
If only they knew I was internally screaming.
But I wasn't about to complain. After years of reading about Roxanne being treated like garbage, watching her be sneered at and degraded and executed…..
This felt like justice. Petty, satisfying justice.
Take that, original timeline.
~
They had given me a room.
Not just any room. A suite that was bigger than my entire apartment back home.
Cream-colored walls adorned with tasteful paintings. A four-poster bed draped in silk that looked softer than clouds. A wardrobe already filled with gowns in every color imaginable. French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking gardens that probably required a PhD in horticulture to maintain.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at my reflection.
Is that really me?
The girl staring back looked like she had stepped out of a Renaissance painting. Golden hair cascading in waves down her back, held partially up with pearl pins. Porcelain skin, actual porcelain skin, not the "hasn't seen the sun in three years" kind I'd had before. Delicate features that were undeniably beautiful.
And blue eyes. Clear, bright blue, like a summer sky.
Not green. Not imperial.
The bastard's mark.
A knock at the door made me jump.
"Are you dressed, my dear?"
I recognized that voice.
The Emperor.
"Yes!" I called, smoothing down the pale blue gown they had put me in. "Come in!"
The door opened, and Emperor Aldric Valtoria stepped inside, still wearing his formal robes but with a softer expression than he had had in the throne room.
He smiled when he saw me. "Well, look at you."
I did an awkward half-curtsy, still not entirely sure of the protocol. "Your Majesty."
"Please," he said, waving a hand. "We're alone. There's no need for such formality."
He moved closer, his gaze turning distant and sad.
"I take it your mother is dead, isn't she?"
The question hit like a punch to the gut.
I swallowed. "Yes. She... she passed when I was young."
Roxanne's memories confirmed it, and my knowledge of the book as well. Adela had died of illness when Roxanne was barely ten, leaving her daughter alone and unprotected.
The Emperor's face crumpled. Just for a moment, a flash of genuine grief, before he composed himself.
"I had been desperately looking for you both," he said quietly. "For years. No one loved and understood me like Adela. Not even my late Empress."
His late Empress. Arabella's mother. Dead for five years now, according to the book.
"I didn't treat you well," he continued, voice heavy with regret. "Especially Adela. I was a coward. When she told me she was with child, I... I abandoned her. Sent her away with coin and empty promises."
He sat on the edge of a settee, suddenly looking much older than his years.
"I tried to atone. Tried to find you both. But Adela..." A small, broken laugh. "She was stubborn. Courageous. Something I greatly admired about her. She refused my help out of pride. And now..."
She's gone. And I'm here. Sort of.
He stood, crossing the room to cup my face in his hands.
"Roxanne. You'll do well here. I know it." His eyes were fierce. "Don't let anybody belittle you. You are my daughter. You are a princess of this empire. Anyone who forgets that will answer to me."
Oh, this is... this is not what I expected.
In the book, the Emperor had been a weak fool. Easily manipulated. Quick to believe Arabella's lies. He had acknowledged Roxanne's existence but had never truly protected her.
This man—this father—was different.
"The ball will be tonight," he said, stroking my hair gently. "A proper introduction to the court. Feel free to call me Father, if you wish."
Father.
The word stuck in my throat.
He smiled. "For now, would you like a tour of the palace? It's your home now, after all."
I nodded, then felt my stomach growl traitorously loud.
"Um. I think I'd like for something to eat."
The Emperor laughed, a real, genuine laugh. "Well, we can't have that! Let's get you some food then. But before that, how about a small tour?"
~
He led me through corridors I would never remember, past paintings of stern-looking ancestors, down marble staircases, until we reached what appeared to be some kind of... parlor?
No, not a parlor. A tea room.
Filled with delicate furniture and afternoon light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Tables laden with pastries and finger sandwiches and an honestly obscene amount of desserts.
And sitting at the largest table, surrounded by other noblewomen….
Arabella.