“Lily?”
Lucien’s voice pulled her back from the edge of disbelief. His silver hair was shorter than she remembered, unkempt in that charming, careless way he always wore it at seventeen. His eyes—those storm-gray eyes—held none of the bitterness she'd come to know. Only warmth.
She hadn’t seen that warmth in years.
“I… I must have been dreaming,” she said, her voice quieter than intended.
Lucien stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “A nightmare?”
If only he knew. She offered a small nod, unsure whether she was still dreaming now.
He crossed the room and sat at the edge of her bed, as casually as he used to before everything fell apart. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, “even for you.”
That much hadn’t changed. Lily was always composed, always unreadable. It had protected her for years. But now, that very mask felt heavy.
“I suppose I’ve had a lot on my mind,” she said carefully.
Lucien smiled, tilting his head. “Then let me take your mind off it.”
Before she could protest, he held out something wrapped in cloth—neatly folded, with a thin ribbon around it. She opened it with trembling fingers.
A book. One she hadn’t seen in years.
“The Art of Illusion: Beginner’s Arcane Theory.” Her lips parted. “Where did you find this?”
“You mentioned wanting to study magic that didn’t rely on bloodline power. I thought this might help.” He scratched his neck sheepishly. “I know it’s not much, but…”
She clutched the book to her chest. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what this meant to her.
“I burned this book,” she whispered.
Lucien blinked. “What?”
She quickly masked the slip. “I mean—I lost it. Years ago. Thank you.”
“You’re acting strange today,” he said, half-joking. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
No. She wasn’t. Her mind spun with memories she hadn’t yet lived again. Ballrooms filled with venomous smiles. Her rise to power. The moment she turned on him. The moment he turned on her.
This was her chance to change it all.
“I’m fine,” she said, setting the book down gently. “But thank you for worrying.”
He gave her a searching look, as though trying to see past the calm. Then he smiled again, soft and real. “Of course I worry. You’re important to me.”
She flinched.
Lucien stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his uniform. “Come down soon. The tutors are in a foul mood already.”
When the door clicked shut behind him, Lily sat in silence.
She held the book, breathing in its scent. The paper was crisp. New. Unburned.
This was real.
She was back.
And this time, she wouldn’t let him slip away. Not because she was weak. Not because of politics. Not even because of fate.
She would rewrite the story.
And no one—not the court, not the gods, not even Lucien himself—would stop her.
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