I'm still wrestling with how to respond to Cassian's letter when the Imperial summons arrives.
The messenger appears at breakfast, presenting a cream envelope sealed with the royal crest on a silver tray. Father, who returned late last night from his neighbor's estate, pauses mid-bite of toast.
"The Imperial Palace?" He sets down his fork carefully. "Adeline, have you done something I should know about?"
"Not that I'm aware of." I break the seal with growing unease. Imperial summonses are never good news, especially not for minor nobles who've recently caused political ripples by refusing advantageous marriages.
The script inside is elegant, feminine.
---
*Lady Adeline Kael,*
*You are cordially invited to join Princess Mirae Song for afternoon tea at the Imperial Palace, three days hence at the second hour past noon.*
*Her Highness requests the pleasure of your company for private conversation.*
*Please send confirmation of your attendance by return messenger.*
*By order of Her Highness, Third Princess Mirae Song*
---
"It's from Princess Mirae," I say slowly, rereading it to make sure I haven't misunderstood. "She wants to have tea with me."
Father's expression shifts from concern to confusion. "The Third Princess? Are you acquainted with her?"
Not in this timeline. But in my first life, I'd met Princess Mirae exactly once, at a court function three months before my death. She'd been kind—asked thoughtful questions about my interests and actually listened to the answers. We'd talked for perhaps twenty minutes before her attendants had swept her away.
I'd thought about writing to her afterward, suggesting we meet again. But then Cassian's mother had mentioned that befriending princesses above one's station was presumptuous, and I'd let the impulse die.
God, I'd been such a coward.
"We've met briefly," I tell Father. "At court functions. But I wouldn't say we're close."
"Then why would she summon you for private tea?" Father's political instincts are clearly working. "Adeline, is this about the Vere engagement?"
Probably. Almost certainly. The Imperial family would have heard about my refusal by now—gossip travels through the court like wildfire. Princess Mirae might be curious, or concerned about political implications, or acting on behalf of others who have opinions about my decision.
"I don't know," I admit. "But refusing an Imperial summons isn't an option."
"No, it's not." Father stands, pacing to the window. "This could be an opportunity, actually. Princess Mirae is well-liked at court. If you make a good impression, it could offset some of the... complications from refusing Duke Vere."
Complications. Such a polite word for the social disaster Mother Helena probably predicts.
"I'll attend," I say. "And Father? I need to tell you about something else."
I explain the Moonstone Trading Company meeting while he listens with growing surprise. When I finish, he's quiet for a long moment.
"You've been busy," he finally says.
"I told you I had plans for securing our family's position."
"I thought you meant research. Not actual negotiations with merchant consortiums." He rubs his temples. "Adeline, if this partnership goes forward, society will talk. Noble daughters don't engage in trade."
"Noble daughters also don't refuse dukes," I point out. "I'm already going to be talked about. I might as well give them something worth discussing."
Despite himself, Father smiles. "Your mother would have loved this version of you. She always said you had more steel in your spine than you showed the world."
The words warm something in my chest. "Does that mean you approve?"
"It means I want to review the partnership terms before anything is finalized." He returns to the table, his expression shifting to business mode. "But Adeline, if the survey confirms your data and the terms are fair? Yes. I approve. Our family could use the independence such income would provide."
Relief floods through me. "Thank you, Papa."
"Don't thank me yet. We still need to navigate the social consequences." He picks up his fork again, but doesn't eat. "Starting with whatever the Third Princess wants to discuss over tea."
---
Three days later, I'm in an Imperial carriage heading toward the palace, wearing my finest afternoon dress and trying not to vomit from nerves.
The Imperial Palace is exactly as I remember—soaring white marble, gold accents catching the sunlight, gardens so perfectly manicured they look almost unreal. We pass through three security checkpoints before reaching the private residences where the royal family lives.
Princess Mirae's quarters are in the east wing, overlooking a private garden that somehow manages to be both ornate and intimate. A servant leads me through silk-draped corridors to a sunny sitting room where the Princess waits.
She's exactly as I remember her, but somehow even more lovely in person than memory suggested. Nineteen years old, with delicate features and warm brown eyes that always seem to be smiling. Her hair is arranged in an elaborate style threaded with small pearls, and she wears a hanbok in soft pink that probably costs more than my estate's annual income.
"Lady Adeline!" She rises, coming forward with genuine warmth. "Thank you so much for accepting my invitation. Please, sit. I took the liberty of ordering your favorite tea."
She couldn't possibly know my favorite tea. We've barely spoken. But when the servant pours, I recognize the scent immediately—rose and honey blend, exactly what I prefer.
"How did you—"
"I asked around." Princess Mirae settles across from me with a conspiratorial smile. "I hope that's not too forward. I wanted you to feel comfortable."
This is already so different from what I expected. Imperial summonses are usually formal, stiff affairs. This feels almost like two friends meeting for tea.
Almost.
"You're very kind, Your Highness."
"Mirae, please. When we're private." She sips her own tea—something floral and delicate. "I know this must seem strange, my summoning you out of nowhere. I hope I didn't cause you alarm."
"Some curiosity," I admit. "We don't know each other well."
"No, but I'd like to remedy that." She sets down her teacup. "I've been watching you, Lady Adeline. Or may I call you Adeline?"
"Of course, Your—Mirae." The name feels strange on my tongue. Princesses don't typically invite familiarity from minor nobles.
"I've been watching you," she repeats. "And I find you fascinating. Most noble ladies your age are utterly predictable—concerned with fashion and gossip and securing advantageous marriages. But you? You refused Duke Vere."
Here it comes. The real reason for this meeting.
"I did," I say carefully. "I hope that doesn't cause political complications for the Imperial family."
"Complications?" Mirae laughs, bright and genuine. "Adeline, you're my hero. Do you know how rare it is for a woman to refuse a powerful man? To choose her own path over what's expected?"
I blink. "Your... hero?"
"Absolutely." She leans forward, eyes sparkling. "When I heard what you'd done, I wanted to meet you immediately. To understand how you found the courage."
This is not going how I expected. At all.
"I don't know if it was courage," I say slowly. "More like... knowing what I didn't want."
"That's the same thing, isn't it?" Mirae's expression turns wistful. "Most of us spend our whole lives accepting what we're told we should want. Never questioning whether it's actually right for us."
There's something deeper in her words. Something personal.
"Are you speaking from experience, Mirae?"
She glances toward the door, checking that we're truly alone. Then, quietly: "I'm expected to marry Crown Prince Alexander."
I barely manage not to react. Crown Prince Alexander—the golden-haired, calculating politician who'd been involved in my original death. The man who smiled charmingly in public while orchestrating ruthless schemes in private.
"The Emperor hasn't announced it officially," Mirae continues. "But everyone knows. It's been arranged since I was fourteen. In two years, when I turn twenty-one, we'll wed."
"And you don't want to," I guess.
"I don't even know him." Her voice is soft, almost sad. "We've had perhaps a dozen conversations in our entire lives. He's polite, certainly. Charming when it serves him. But there's something..." She trails off, shaking her head. "Never mind. I sound like a silly girl complaining about marrying a crown prince."
"You sound like someone who wants to be seen as more than a political chess piece," I say gently. "That's not silly. That's human."
Mirae looks up, something vulnerable in her expression. "How did you do it? How did you find the strength to refuse Duke Vere when everyone expected you to accept?"
How do I explain? I died. I came back. I learned that accepting what's expected can literally kill you.
"I realized that other people's expectations weren't worth sacrificing my entire life," I say instead. "That even if refusing caused problems, living a lie would cause worse ones."
"But weren't you afraid? Of the social consequences, of disappointing your family, of—"
"Terrified," I admit. "I'm still terrified. But I'm more afraid of becoming someone I don't recognize. Of waking up ten years from now and realizing I've spent a decade being miserable because I was too scared to choose differently."
Mirae is quiet for a moment, staring into her teacup. "I wish I could be like you. Brave enough to refuse."
"You can be."
"Can I?" She looks up. "You're a marquis's daughter. I'm a princess. The expectations on me are—" She stops, catching herself. "I'm sorry. I didn't invite you here to complain about my life."
"Why did you invite me?"
"Because I wanted to meet someone who chose herself over duty." Mirae's smile is bittersweet. "And because I thought perhaps we could be friends. Real friends, not just political acquaintances who smile and gossip and pretend to care about each other."
The honesty catches me off guard. In my first life, I'd had exactly zero real friends. Isabel had been a snake. The other noble ladies had been shallow gossips. Even Seraphine—the "villainess" who'd supposedly be my enemy—I'd never gotten to know because Cassian's mother had forbidden the association.
"I'd like that," I say. And mean it.
Mirae's whole face lights up. "Truly? You're not just being polite?"
"Truly. Though I should warn you—I'm apparently becoming a scandalous figure. I'm not just refusing advantageous marriages, I'm also starting a business partnership with a merchant consortium."
"You're what?" Mirae's eyes go wide. "That's wonderful! Tell me everything."
So I do. I explain about the silver mines, the Moonstone Trading Company, my plans for building independent income. Mirae listens with rapt attention, asking intelligent questions and making observations that prove she's far more business-minded than her delicate appearance suggests.
"This is brilliant," she says when I finish. "If you succeed, you'll have proven that noble women can be financially independent. Do you know what that could mean for others like us?"
"Or it could spectacularly fail and prove that noble women should stick to embroidery," I say wryly.
"It won't fail. I can tell." Mirae refills our teacups. "You're too determined. Too clever. And Adeline? If you need any help—introductions to potential investors, information about court politics that might affect your business—please ask. I may be trapped in a gilded cage, but I have resources."
The offer is unexpected and genuinely generous. "Thank you, Mirae. That means more than you know."
"We should help each other." She reaches across the table, taking my hand. "Women like us—women who want more than what's been decided for us—we're rare. We should stick together."
I squeeze her hand, feeling the beginnings of real friendship. "Agreed."
We spend the next hour talking about everything and nothing. Mirae tells me about palace life, the complex political maneuverings, the endless social obligations. I tell her about my family, my mother's garden, my new determination to build a life on my own terms.
It's easy. Natural. The kind of conversation I'd thought impossible with someone of her rank.
As the afternoon wanes, Mirae walks me to the door herself—a breach of protocol her attendants clearly disapprove of.
"Will you come back?" she asks. "For tea again? I know I'm supposed to maintain proper distance with minor nobles, but—"
"I'd love to," I interrupt. "Whenever you'd like."
Relief crosses her face. "Next week, then. Same time?"
"It's a date."
She laughs at the informal phrasing. "A date. I like that. Very scandalous."
As I'm climbing into the Imperial carriage, she calls out: "Adeline? One more thing."
I pause at the door. "Yes?"
"Thank you. For showing me that refusing is possible." Her voice is soft but determined. "Even if I can't refuse Prince Alexander, you've given me hope that I might find other ways to choose my own path."
The words stay with me during the entire ride home.
I'd gone to the palace expecting political maneuvering or social consequences. Instead I'd found an ally. A friend. Someone who understands the cage of expectations and wants to break free.
And more than that—I'd apparently inspired someone. Given hope through my own choices.
It's a strange, powerful feeling.
The carriage pulls up to our estate as sunset colors the sky. I'm heading inside, still thinking about Mirae's words, when I nearly collide with Daniel Hwang in our entry hall.
"Commander Hwang." I step back, composing myself. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Lady Adeline." He bows. "I came for your response to Duke Vere's letter. You said to return today."
Oh. Right. The letter I've been avoiding thinking about for three days.
Cassian wants to meet again. To have honest conversation with no expectations.
After this afternoon—after connecting with Mirae, after feeling the power of choosing my own path—the answer should be obvious.
I should refuse. Should maintain boundaries and focus on building my new life.
But I find myself saying: "Tell the Duke I'll meet with him. Same location, tomorrow afternoon."
Daniel's surprise is visible. "You will?"
"On certain conditions." I straighten my spine. "It's not a reconsideration of the engagement. It's not a courtship. It's two people having a conversation, as he suggested. And if at any point I want to end the meeting, he'll respect that immediately."
"I'll convey your terms exactly." Daniel bows again. "May I say, Lady Adeline, I'm glad you're giving him this chance."
"Don't be too glad, Commander. I might walk away even more convinced he's impossible."
He smiles. "That's His Grace's problem, not mine. I'll see you tomorrow."
After he leaves, I stand in the entry hall wondering what I've just agreed to.
Tomorrow I'll see Cassian again. Not as potential betrothed, but as... what? Acquaintances attempting honesty? Two people trying to understand each other despite massive failures of communication?
It sounds simple. It won't be.
Because the truth is, part of me wants to understand him. Wants to know if there's anything real beneath the ice, or if he's exactly the empty shell he appears to be.
And another part of me is terrified of the answer.
Because if he's completely empty, it confirms everything I feared.
But if he's not—if there's something human underneath that perfect control—then everything gets more complicated.
I head to my room, already dreading and anticipating tomorrow in equal measure.
Mirae's words echo in my mind: *You showed me that refusing is possible.*
I refused Cassian once. I can refuse him again if needed.
But first, I need to know what I'm actually refusing.
Who he really is, beneath the duke and the duty and the walls that keep everyone out.
Even if the discovery destroys me.
Again.