Of the Duke's Daughter's Journey to the Imperial Palace (1)
If someone asked whether I believed in fate, I'd probably say no. The word "fate" always sounds like an excuse to me. An excuse you need to accept the unacceptable as inevitable. And I hate excuses.
The carriage jolts. Clatter. The sound of wooden wheels rumbling over cobblestones echoes outside.
Peering out the window, I see an unfamiliar cityscape. Brick streets lined with spires—nothing like the snow-blanketed pine forests of Vintervalt Territory. The Imperial Capital, they called it.
I'm alone in the carriage now. At the start of the journey, a knight in a helmet had been sitting across from me, but about half a day in, he climbed up to the driver's seat. Probably because I kept trying to chat him up. I was bored out of my mind. No colored paper, no books—just a hard seat and little old me. So I had to talk to the knight, but every time I opened my mouth, he'd squeeze his eyes shut. Didn't want to converse with a traitor's daughter, I guess. If it were me, I'd have slowed the carriage down to squeeze in a few extra words with a beauty like this.
Bored stiff, I gazed outside. On the streets, starving folks wandered around clutching their bags. Not a spark of life anywhere. The occasional shopkeeper sitting out front didn't look like they were exactly raking it in either—their faces were pretty grim.
All in all, it didn't match the image of a nation's capital. Father... did the head of House Vintervalt hate seeing sights like this? Who knows. He was always kind to me—I could feel how much he cared—but he was so busy that the times we crossed paths at home were few and far between.
Thanks to that, I had zero interest in what that man was up to out there, who he was scheming with, or why he started a damn rebellion. Hell, I barely knew why I was suffering like this.
Actually, I knew a little. This world was the one from that story I'd read in my past life somewhere. Couldn't remember the title. Definitely a romance fantasy genre. I recalled enjoying it enough, but too much time had passed—most of the plot was a blur now.
Father was probably already dead by now. And Brother——was likely chained up in the Underground Dungeon in some pretty gay pose, slowly falling for the enemy who hated his guts. You know the trope. Enemies-to-lovers, where they understand each other yet seethe with hate, and the object of their ire is so damn lovable it drives them insane. I don't hate stories like that, but I don't love them either.
And because of it, I had to leave my beloved homeland and get dragged to the stinking heart of the empire.
Still, there was one thing I knew for sure. Everyone in this place was going to love me.
Honestly, even without dredging up my past life, a glance in the mirror was proof enough. Who could hate a girl with hair that shimmers white without needing light, skin soft and pure as snow, and eyes like gleaming rubies?
The duke's captive daughter was fated to be so breathtakingly beautiful that she'd effortlessly enchant everyone in the empire—a woman adored by all.
That's why I wasn't a fan of fate. I'm a valuable existence; if I kicked the bucket, there'd be quite a few people whose hearts would shatter. Like family, say. Or family. Yeah. Family again.
Of course, that wouldn't happen—thanks to jumping out the window. Once you remember your past life, it's hard to shake the image of your true self as a tough, strapping guy who'd even done his military service. Nah, I'm a TS Girl high schooler archetype. Basically an evolved species. Only downside to this shitty world is no high schools.
I sat with my hands folded neatly on my lap, staring out the window. My hands were small. Ten slender fingers. Nails a clear pink against my skin, no veins visible on the back.
Soon enough, the carriage that had been rumbling along for ages ground to a halt. The door swung open, flooding the interior with light.
The knight was still wearing his helmet, standing there in armor emblazoned with the empire's crest—the same guy who'd fled to the driver's seat midway. He tilted his gaze slightly aside, avoiding my face.
"Get down."
My voice came out soft. I tried to pitch it low, but it was unmistakably feminine. Still, the casual tone—no honorifics—grated on the ear, like there was no reason to bother with politeness.
But I was the desperate one here, so I stepped out without a word. My thin shoes muffled half the chill of the ground beneath.
The building was enormous. Even the Vintervalt mansion wouldn't fill the entrance lobby. Hanging from the ceiling weren't candles but glowing gems infused with magic, and the marble floor reflected my face back at me.
My hair was a mess. Natural, after sitting in the carriage so long.
The knight strode ahead. I followed at a leisurely pace. My eyes caught the sword at his waist. If I got close, grabbed the hilt, and yanked...
The long corridor chased the idle thought away quick. Instead, I admired the wall hangings. Portraits of unknown nobles, massive oils depicting wars, and the occasional mirror.
Every mirror made me slow down. The face staring back felt like someone else's, yet it was mine. Hard to look away when it was that pretty, though.
Crimson eyes gazed into me. Silver strands shifted hues with every movement. Lips a faint rose shade—vivid without a trace of makeup.
Unbelievably beautiful. Even now, it was hard to believe this face was mine. Fresh emotions from an average past life, I guess.
"Don't stop."
The knight spoke without turning.
I followed without replying.
Then, at the entrance to a space too grandiose to call a mere banquet hall, I halted. Just... didn't want to go in.
The knight turned. Through the helmet slit, his eyes met my face this time. More like he couldn't help but look.
For a moment, his gaze wavered. First time seeing this face straight-on, apparently.
He sighed. His hand shot out, gripped my wrist, and dragged me inside.
I let myself be pulled along. My feet slid over the marble.
The grip was too tight, but I didn't complain about the pain.
Once inside the banquet hall, I shook off his arm. It came free surprisingly easily. Probably let go, though.
I glanced at my wrist. A bruise had bloomed—faint blue against white skin, like watercolor.
I'd probably remain a work of art even in death. If they'd built statues of a beauty like me instead of Lenin or Stalin, the Soviets might never have fallen.
Anyway, the banquet hall was packed with kids like me—dragged here against their will. About twenty, maybe. Most were young. Fifteen... or sixteen. Around my age, some a bit older. Boys and girls alike. Probably all children of families implicated in the rebellion. I'd seen a few faces before, I thought.
Some recognized me right away. Daughter of the prestigious House Vintervalt. Silver hair, red eyes—who wouldn't?
One girl bit her lip at the sight of me. We must've met. Sad expression.
I gave her a slight nod—not quite a greeting, more like "I recognize you too."
Tears welled in her eyes. Ah, don't do that. Felt burdensome; I looked away. Wasn't even sure if I was Rebecca anymore.
The banquet hall was two stories. Down here, the dragged-off kids stood around. Up top, people lined a balcony railing jutting out.
Gazing down. Flashy clothes—silks draped, jewels dangling. Impressions of refined nobility.
The nobles who'd brought us, no doubt. Families hurt by the rebellion, or those with prior grudges against House Vintervalt.
The knight jerked his head toward the center of the hall—like, stand there. No words, just a rude nod. Then he vanished somewhere.
I shot him a glare but walked to the center anyway.
As I went, I felt it. The gazes shifting.
I looked up. Those leaning on the railing, whispering among themselves—they fell silent.
The hall went quiet. A mere unbloomed flower bud had silenced it all without a word.
I sensed eyes from above tracking me. Murmurs. Whispers. Heads bent together, exchanging words.
But the hush was brief. Voices erupted anew in a cacophony.
And amid it all, one girl stood out. About my age.
Didn't quite fit in this place. Standing among nobles, but her position was different. Dead center of the railing. People parted to either side.
Her dress was pure white. Hair black as night. Eyes not clear from here.
But blue, no doubt. As if it went without saying.
Probably connected to that one-eyed prince—Brother's enemy. Didn't know her place.