Morning arrived without resistance.
Light slipped through the curtains, soft and unhurried, resting against the walls of my room as if it had always belonged there. For once, my chest didn't tighten when I opened my eyes. No panic. No reaching for something already gone.
I'm awake… and it doesn't hurt.
Linda's words lingered—not as a wound, but as a quiet warmth. Something accepted. Something settled.
I sat up, breathing in slowly. The room was the same. The world hadn't changed overnight.
I had.
The estate was already awake.
Servants moved with purpose, voices low, footsteps measured. Royal crests hung where our family banners usually stood alone, their presence impossible to ignore. Even without anyone saying it aloud, the message was clear.
This was no longer a private matter.
Eyes followed me as I walked through the halls—not hostile, not reverent.
Curious.
Measuring.
So this is how it starts.
At the gates, carriages waited in formation. Guards stood at attention, armor polished, spears aligned. The weight of authority pressed gently—but firmly—against the morning air.
Mother was there first.
Alisa smiled when she saw me, but the smile wavered when she thought I wasn't looking. She stepped forward, straightened my collar, then smoothed my hair—small motions she'd repeated since I was a child, as if anchoring herself through habit.
"You look taller," she said softly.
"I haven't grown since last month," I replied.
She laughed quietly, then sighed. "Humor me."
Her hands lingered on my shoulders. For a moment, she said nothing.
"…The capital is not kind to gentle people," she finally said. "Remember that kindness doesn't mean weakness."
"I know."
Her eyes searched mine, sharp and worried. "And remember that you don't have to carry everything alone."
I nodded. This time, I meant it.
Father arrived with his usual noise, clapping his hands together. "Alright, alright—enough gloom. You're going to the capital, not to war."
The word tugged at something old inside me.
War.
In another life, I had marched toward the capital wearing steel and blood instead of silk and expectation. I remembered commands shouted over clashing armor, remembered standing at attention beneath the same banners now fluttering peacefully above the gates.
Amane leaned closer, voice dropping. "Listen to your instincts. They're sharper than you think."
I met his eyes and nodded.
"Your mother and I will follow later," he added. "Urgent business in Wynmor."
He ruffled my hair—quick, familiar—and stepped back before the moment could stretch too long.
This really is a departure.
King Edward's presence ended the farewell.
He stood beside the foremost carriage, posture unwavering. When his gaze met mine, he spoke without preamble.
"Princess Tesselia. You will ride with Reikotar."
Both of us reacted at once.
"Father—"
"Your Majesty—"
"Different carriage," he continued calmly, as if discussing weather. "This is not a discussion."
Silence followed.
Tess recovered first, her smile snapping back into place. "As you wish."
I bowed. "Understood."
So that's how it's going to be.*
The carriage interior was spacious.
Too spacious.
The door closed with a muted thud, sealing us inside. Almost immediately, the rhythm of the wheels began—steady, relentless.
Tess sat opposite me, posture perfect, hands folded neatly on her lap. Her expression was calm, polite—royal.
Too royal.
She's wearing armor.
As the carriage lurched forward, her fingers tightened. It was subtle, the kind of thing most people would miss. I wouldn't have noticed either—if not for another life spent watching soldiers moments before battle.
Back then, fear didn't scream.
It hid.
Déjà vu… and I don't like it.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the window, smile unmoving. Each jolt of the carriage made her shoulders tense for a heartbeat before she forced them to relax again.
I shifted slightly, keeping my movements slow. "If you'd rather not ride together," I said carefully, "I can ask His Majesty to reconsider at the next stop."
Her eyes flicked to me—sharp, startled—then she laughed lightly. "Already trying to escape?"
"It's not about me," I replied. "You're uncomfortable."
The laughter faltered.
She studied me in silence, as if weighing whether honesty was worth the risk. For a moment, the smile faded entirely.
"…Carriages," she said at last. "I dislike confined spaces when I don't choose them."
That was all.
No explanation. No history.
And yet it felt heavier than a confession.
"I see," I said simply.
The carriage rocked again. Her fingers tightened.
Without thinking, I spoke. "If it helps, I'll keep the curtain open. And—" I hesitated. "We don't have to talk."
Her shoulders eased, just a little.
"…Thank you," she said quietly. "For not asking why."
"I figured you'd tell me when you want to."
She looked at me then—not as a princess assessing a political piece, but as a person gauging another.
"You're strange," she said.
"So I've been told."
A small breath of laughter escaped her—real this time. Brief, but genuine.
Silence settled again, but it was no longer suffocating.
She rested her hands more loosely now.
After a while, she spoke again. "You don't look like someone heading to the capital."
"And what does someone heading to the capital look like?"
"Ambitious. Nervous. Hungry." She paused. "You look… steady."
Because I've stood on that road before.
"In my first life," I almost said.
Instead, I replied, "I've learned that rushing forward doesn't make the road shorter."
She considered that, nodding slowly. "That's… unexpectedly reassuring."
Another pause.
"…Thank you," she added. "For earlier. And for now."
"You don't owe me anything," I said. "We're just sharing a carriage."
Her lips curved into a softer smile. "Even so."
This isn't love.
But it could become something honest.*
The journey stretched onward.
Fields gave way to roads paved with stone. Villages appeared more frequently, patrols stationed at intervals. Magic hummed faintly beneath the earth, subtle but unmistakable.
I caught glimpses of banners bearing sigils I recognized—and others I didn't.
Nobles watched as we passed.
Some curious.
Some calculating.
They already know.
Inside the carriage, Tess spoke occasionally—commenting on landmarks, correcting my recollections with gentle precision. Once or twice, our hands brushed when the carriage swayed.
Neither of us mentioned it.
Hours passed.
The air changed before the view did.
Heavier. Denser.
As if the land itself leaned toward something immense.
Then the road crested a rise.
And there it was.
The Royal Capital.
Massive walls stretched across the horizon, runes faintly glowing along their surface. Towers pierced the sky, elegant and severe all at once. Magic shimmered like heat above stone.
Familiar.
Overwhelming.
This is where everything accelerates.
The carriage rolled forward.
And I didn't look back.