Restlessness was the most honest companion she had. Greta couldn't stay cooped up in her room, surrounded by walls that felt like they were judging her every choice. She slipped out quietly, down the deserted side staircase, chasing a breath of fresh air in the palace gardens.
Moonlight spilled across the rose beds, casting long, swaying shadows over the grass. And there, wrapped in the scent of roses and solitude, she found a fragile kind of peace. But it didn't last.
"He shouldn't be here yet…" she muttered.
From what she remembered of the past, Emperor Dietrich Maximillian was only supposed to come for her. Escort her to the imperial palace, stand before the council for the ceremonial blessing, and then the nightmare would begin. The accusations, the humiliation, the endless torment at the hands of Inggrid Anneliese. With or without reason, Greta would be branded, broken, and tossed into a life that felt like hell on repeat.
