The Corydalis estate is sprawling, comparable in size to a modern-day hotel or museum. Gradually, I've come to learn how to navigate its endless halls with enough efficiency to get by. It helps that servants are everywhere, ready at a moment's notice to guide me wherever I should like to go. That said, it has been a challenge keeping my own impulse towards over-politeness in check when interacting with them. In a world like this, where hierarchy runs deep, I can’t afford to show too much of myself.

The original Linnea would have been accustomed to constant attendance, but I am decidedly not. I worked hospitality in a tourist town, so I know firsthand how awful and dehumanising service work can be. I can only imagine how much worse it must be to work under actual nobility. But no matter how much sympathy I feel for them, I cannot risk letting it show. The farther I stray from the original Linnea's behaviour, the more danger that someone might realise I am not her.

I still don’t know what happened to Linnea after I woke up in her body. My thoughts inevitably linger there as I make my way toward the Duchess' study. I am not her daughter; I am an imposter. Sometimes, the guilt of pretending to be someone else—someone who was loved—threatens to overwhelm me. But there’s no other choice. I don’t know how to leave. For now, I’m trapped in this body, in this life. All I can do is try my best to survive.

Benjamin opens the door to Duchess Corydalis' study for me, and I step through. My earlier fatigue is not gone, but the rapid onset of guilt-fuelled adrenaline has reignited my alertness. I've been avoiding Linnea's parents as much as possible.

"Mother," I greet her, swallowing the tightness in my throat. "You asked for me?"

The Duchess sits at her desk, her head bent over an array of loose papers before my arrival catches her attention. The study is lined from wall to wall with books. Warm afternoon light spills through a large eastern window, casting her in a glowing aura. Her brow unfurrows and her affect shifts, becoming a little softer, as her eyes find me.

"Linn, darling," she says, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She waves me in. "Come on and sit. I won’t keep you long."

Benjamin nods, closing the door behind me so there is privacy. I cross to the chair opposite the Duchess's desk, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I sit, folding my hands tightly in my lap, trying to calm the thudding in my chest. The Duchess's gaze, sharp but warm, settles on me.

"You look tired, dear," the Duchess says, eyes softening with concern. "Is everything alright?"

"I am a little tired," I admit, with a small shrug. “I’m okay through. Don’t worry about me.”

She studies me a moment longer, her gaze inscrutable. Her lips press together. "Hmm, if you say so." Her tone shifts, becoming more businesslike. "I called you here to remind you about the princess’s ball next week. The butler mentioned that you haven’t yet ordered a new dress for the event. Surely, you didn’t forget?"

I freeze, ice lancing through my veins. At no point, from the moment I first woke up in this world, has anyone mentioned anything to me about a ball.

“Of course I didn’t forget,” I say, swallowing. “I just… thought I would wear one of the dresses I already own.”

The Duchess affixes me with a look of startled disbelief. She exhales sharply through pursed lips. “Linn,” she says, sounding hard done by. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you will wear something new. Do you want people to think we are poor?”

“N-No, Mother.”

Leaning heavily back against her chair, she sighs and shakes her head. When she regards me now, it is with something between condescension and concern. My shoulders twitch with the effort of not shrinking under her gaze. “Honestly, you have been acting so strangely. You’ve always enjoyed social events, and I know how much you love new things. Has something happened that I don’t know about? Are you sure you’re alright?

Sweat pricks the back of my neck as my pulse quickens. I clasp my hands more tightly in my lap to hide their trembling. How would Linnea have answered? What response can I give that will mollify the Duchess?

In the novel, all Linnea ever seemed to care about was her beloved Prince Isidore. It occurs to me that even after three weeks in her body, I still don’t know very much about her beyond the superficial. She must have had other things she cared about? I wonder if I will ever be able to slip perfectly into Linnea’s life smoothly, or if I will always feel like a stranger to myself, constantly terrified someone will see through the cracks in my disguise.

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“I am very sorry, Mother,” I say in a small voice. “As I said, I’m simply tired. I’ll feel better after some rest. Thank you for reminding me of the ball. I’ll get a new dress.”

“Linn,” the Duchess sighs, the corner of her mouth wobbling slightly. She reaches across the desk to me, her hand hovering near mine. I place my hand in hers, my movements clumsy and unsure. Closing her fingers around mine, she gives me a comforting little squeeze.

It is such a little thing. But the small affection feels so genuinely maternal that it nearly breaks me. The Corydalis family was full of awful people in the novel; they made for compelling antagonists. The Duchess was no exception. She was conniving, ruthless, and utterly unrepentant in her villainy. The person holding my hand now cannot be so easily categorised.

Duchess Julianna Corydalis. She is not only a character in a book. She is a person. A mother; Linnea’s mother. Guilt rises like bile in my throat.

“You know, Linn,” the Duchess says gently. “Your father and I may often be busy, but we will always make time for you when you need us. You are an exceptionally capable young woman. One day, I know you will make an excellent Queen. But most importantly, you are a Corydalis. We do not make ourselves small, and we do not accept any less than perfect. I trust you will not disappoint me.”

The soft warmth of her hand around mine feels unbearable. As much as I would have appreciated some comfort today, as much as it cracks my heart open to sit here and pretend I am this woman’s daughter, I know her comfort is not mine to receive.

“Yes, Mother.” I force my lips into a smile. “I understand.”

“Glad to hear it. Remember, there are only two years left until Isidore officially ascends the throne, and even less time before the two of you are married. Until then, your every move will be scrutinized by those who wish to tear you down and weaken this duchy. You cannot give them anything to use against you.”

“I know, Mother. I won’t let you down.”

The Duchess lets go of my hand, sighing ruefully. “I know you won’t,” she says. “I see that you are tired, Linn. I don’t say these things to burden you unnecessarily. You may retire to your room now if you like.”

“Thank you,” I say, standing up on shaky legs.

Each step back to my room is dogged with leaden exhaustion. I feel weary, down to my bones. Every inch of me aches for sleep, a reprieve from reality. I don't think I let myself think too closely about Linnea—and the life I stole from her—because I knew on some level that it was too heavy a weight to bear.

I'm sick and tired of pretending.

I'm so weary and unattentive that I nearly run right into Arwin when he and I round the same corner.

He skids to a stop faster than me, averting our collision with an easy laugh. It looks like he's come from the library. Three books are clutched to his chest; their titles elaborate and scientific-looking beyond anything a child in my world would have been expected to read.

My heart pangs at the sight of him, and I feel a rush of tears behind my eyes and in my throat. Wouldn't that be unforgivably pathetic though, if I held my composure around the Duchess only long enough to break down in front of a ten-year-old?

No, I refuse. I clench my fists together, sucking in a deep gathering breath.

The door to my room is visible to me from here, across this hall. I can put on a brave face for at least a moment more.

"You look like you're gonna cry," Arwin observes. "Are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I snap, shaken by his childlike candidness. "What do your tutors have you reading today?" I ask, mostly to distract him from probing deeper.

Arwin's face twists in a petulant grimace. "Magic theory," he scoffs like the words themself are of personal offence. "But I don't care about magic. It's dumb. I'm gonna be a knight!" His eyes light up. "Hey, Linn, you should come watch me train tomorrow. I'm really good now, you should see!"

My answering smile is distant, distracted. It becomes difficult to focus on what he is saying once my interest latches onto the mention of 'magic'. I feel like my legs have just been knocked out from under me.

Magic...

I cannot believe I forgot about the existence of magic in this world. The last few weeks, I've been preoccupied with worries about politics, my doomed engagement, and the Palace's many judging eyes. This is a romance fantasy novel, for goodness sake. Crown Prince Isidore did not use magic, but he allied himself with the Witch's Tower and worked with many of its users. Magic was incidental to the larger narrative, so its intricate workings weren't described. But if Arwin is capable of learning, maybe I can too?

Forethought kicks in just in time to stop me from asking him where in the library he found those books. I have no idea if the original Linnea knew how to use magic. If she did, it didn't come up. Just in case, I can't risk looking clueless.

"You aren't even listening to me," Arwin whines.

Chastened, I return my attention to him. "Sorry," I smile apologetically. "I was listening, really. I'll come and watch you train tomorrow. I promise."

He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet dubiously, but I can see the glint of excitement in his eyes. The original Linnea didn't like her little brother, so she probably never bothered to pay as much attention to him as I've been.

"I'm going to get some rest now," I tell him before he can start talking again. My bedroom door is calling me. "Study hard, kiddo."

I gently pat him on the head as I walk by. Even though his face scrunches up in indignation at being treated so childishly, he doesn't push me away.

Once I'm finally alone again, I climb right into bed. Half-formed plans of changing out of my day clothes dissolve into mist as exhaustion overtakes me and I fall into a fitful, bodiless sleep.