Chapter Two: Tea and Thorns

The next morning arrived far too quickly.

Aria had barely slept. The velvet sheets that once felt luxurious now felt suffocating. Her thoughts spun endlessly — timelines, deaths, betrayals, fire, survival. She was caught in a storm of what-ifs and half-remembered plot points from Crimson Wings of the Crown. And one fact above all weighed heavily:

She was living on borrowed time.

The fire that would kill the original Aria Valeborne would happen within the next two months — maybe sooner. Its cause was never truly revealed in the novel, but Eris had suspected foul play. If Aria wanted to live, she had to find the truth before it found her.

But first… she had to play her part.

---

“Lift your chin, my lady. Yes, like that. No — no slouching!”

Aria tried not to groan as a maid tightened her corset with what could only be described as demonic glee. Two other maids fluttered around her with brushes, hairpins, and perfume bottles like she was some ancient statue being restored.

“I can dress myself,” she had insisted earlier. “Really, I’m fine.”

But they had gasped as if she’d suggested leaping from a tower.

“Lady Aria, noble ladies must always be presented with dignity!”

“Nonsense — it’s our honor to assist!”

“Your hair would be a tragedy if left to fate!”

Aria had quickly given up.

Now, staring at her reflection, she barely recognized herself. Her long silver-blonde hair was braided with sapphire ribbons, her gown a pale lavender silk trimmed in soft blue. She looked… delicate. Fragile. Every bit the sickly noble girl everyone believed her to be.

But inside, she burned with the fire of a girl who had once lived a life with no titles and no magic — only freedom.

Aria Valeborne had been doomed to vanish.

But this Aria would not be forgotten.

---

The estate's grand dining hall was large enough to host an orchestra. Long windows let in the morning light, casting golden pools on the floor. A breakfast of fruits, pastries, and tea awaited at the head of the table.

Eris was already seated, flipping through a bound ledger with casual elegance.

“Good morning,” Aria said carefully, smoothing her dress as she sat.

Eris looked up, eyes scanning her from head to toe.

“You look like you’ve stepped out of a portrait.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Eris sipped her tea. “A rare one.”

Despite the coldness, Aria saw something strange flicker in her sister’s eyes — a kind of reluctant approval. It made her heart twist.

In the novel, Eris was never cruel to Aria outright. Distant, yes. Sharp-tongued. But there had been hints, always, that she cared. That she had simply never learned how to show it.

“I was thinking,” Aria began, spreading jam on a piece of toast. “Maybe I could spend more time outside today. In the garden.”

Eris raised an eyebrow. “You collapsed in that very garden two days ago.”

“I’ll be careful. I just… I want to feel stronger.”

That was true. If she was going to survive here, she needed more than knowledge. She needed to build strength — socially, physically, politically.

Eris studied her. “You’ve changed.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

“Time will tell.”

There was a pause.

Then Eris added, more softly, “If you do go outside, take Lady Maren with you.”

“The maid?”

“She’s more than a maid. She trained under House Ferrine’s court watchers. Her eyes miss little.”

Aria blinked. “Wait… you’re giving me a bodyguard?”

“A chaperone,” Eris corrected. “And yes. If you must play heroine, at least do it under protection.”

It was the closest thing to affection Eris had ever shown.

Aria’s throat tightened. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris froze for just a moment, as if the sound of her name spoken so gently had caught her off guard.

Then she returned to her book without another word.

---

The gardens were breathtaking.

Marble statues of ancient kings stood amid rose-covered trellises, their stony eyes watching over still ponds. Vines of starpetal and moonlace curled along white stone benches. Aria walked slowly along the winding paths, feeling the wind against her cheeks.

Lady Maren trailed at a respectful distance, her eyes flicking between hedges and windows.

Aria remembered her now — mentioned once in the novel. A quiet girl who vanished from the narrative after Aria’s death.

Maren might be a valuable ally, Aria thought.

As she reached the orchard, a soft rustling made her pause.

A young boy darted out from behind a tree, tripped, and fell flat on his face.

Aria gasped. “Are you alright?”

The boy scrambled up, cheeks red. He couldn’t have been more than ten. Freckles dotted his nose, and his hair was a mess of copper curls. He stared at her with wide eyes.

“I—uh—I’m sorry, my lady!”

“It’s fine!” Aria rushed to help him up. “You’re not hurt?”

“No, my lady,” he mumbled, dusting his knees. “I was just— I mean, I was running errands for the kitchen, and—uh—berries. I was picking berries.”

Aria tilted her head. “You’re a servant here?”

He nodded furiously. “Apprentice, really. My name’s Kieran.”

Kieran. The name tugged at her memory. Was he in the book? A minor character?

“Nice to meet you, Kieran,” Aria said kindly. “I won’t tell the head maid you were slacking, if you promise to show me where the sweetest berries grow.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re not like the other nobles.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not.”

---

They wandered into the orchard, Kieran pointing out the ripest bushes. Maren watched quietly nearby, letting them talk.

As Aria bent to pick a bright red fruit, she asked, “Kieran… have you ever heard of the fire that destroyed the east wing years ago?”

He froze. “You mean… the one at the banquet?”

“Yes.”

“My mother used to work here. She said it wasn’t natural. That something dark was brewing under the surface.” His voice dropped. “But no one talks about it now. Anyone who does… they vanish.”

A chill ran down Aria’s spine.

So it had been no accident. And the truth had been buried.

“Do you know who was blamed?”

Kieran hesitated. “A servant. A girl. They said she knocked over a lamp. But Mother said it wasn’t her. She swore it was—”

He stopped. Maren had moved closer, eyes narrowed.

“Enough, boy,” she said gently but firmly. “You’ve said too much.”

Kieran’s face paled. “I’m sorry. I—”

“You’re not in trouble,” Aria said quickly. “Thank you, Kieran. Truly.”

He gave a clumsy bow and hurried away.

---

Later, as the sun began to sink, Aria sat beneath a tree, lost in thought.

Someone had covered up the fire’s true cause. Someone powerful enough to silence witnesses, erase records, and pin the blame on a scapegoat. And that someone had killed her in the process.

In the novel, Eris had never investigated the fire. She had been too consumed by rage and grief. But maybe — just maybe — Aria could.

“I won’t let myself die the same way again,” she whispered.

“Good,” Maren said from behind her. “Because it seems your enemies are already stirring.”

Aria turned. “You believe me, then?”

Maren nodded. “I was there, my lady. The night of the fire. I saw things I shouldn’t have. I stayed quiet. But now… I think perhaps the gods gave you a second chance for a reason.”

Aria stood. “Then help me. Help me find out who started it. Help me survive.”

“I will,” Maren said. “But know this — if you walk this path, you will make enemies. Dangerous ones.”

“I know,” Aria said, her eyes hardening. “Let them come.”

---

That evening, as the stars rose over Elarion, Aria penned her first letter.

It was addressed to Sir Lorian Caelum, a minor noble who had been Eris’s admirer before turning against her. In the novel, he had secretly investigated the fire — and vanished without a trace.

This time, she would reach him first.

---

Somewhere beyond the Valeborne estate, in a high tower of the imperial palace, a black-cloaked figure stood before a mirror of obsidian. Within its surface, images shimmered — flashes of the garden, the orchard, a silver-haired girl laughing with a servant boy.

“She lives,” the figure murmured. “The little sister. Impossible.”

A red ring pulsed on their hand. “She should have died with the fire.”

A pause.

“Then it must burn again.”

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End of Chapter Two

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