I wasn’t sure how time and reincarnation into a novel actually worked, as in my past life Valentina the fictional villainess and Jenny the miserable high school student existed quite separately. Yet by an aspect of rebirth or by pure coincidence, the day Jenny died was the day Valentina was born in another world. A beautiful night in early July, eighteen years ago, a pathetic teenage girl had too much fun, and the grand duchy welcomed a new lady.

“Prince Oscar Stoneshire and Lady Valentina Avington!”

My birthday ball was a magnificent affair that rivalled Princess Elizabeth’s due to my much greater popularity and social influence. I arrived on the arm of my fiance, who looked even more handsome today with a new intricate suit and brought out his striking golden eyes. He was such a beautiful accessory that I didn’t even mind his coldness. I wore a brilliant red dress and my favourite jewels, showing off my full gorgeousness and glamour.

The ballroom was filled with important guests, but Damian wasn’t there. I wasn’t too worried, as he often liked to make a dramatic late entrance, similar to me. As the people finished trickling in, Father coughed, immediately summoning everyone’s attention. He smiled, a rare occasion in public, and raised his glass.

“Thank you for attending my daughter Valentina’s birthday ball. Eighteen years have gone by so quickly that in my mind the image of a small child is as fresh as yesterday’s. I am immensely proud of Valentina and her coming of age, and it is my greatest pleasure to have her as my daughter.”

He raised his glass to a round of applause and the guests toasted. Mother spoke next, beaming at Father’s side.

“Valentina is everything I’ve ever hoped for. She’s my pride and joy, and the jewel of our family. I wish her all the best in her maturity, and I would like her to know that I’ve enjoyed these eighteen years immensely.”

A delicate tear emerged from the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away gracefully. There was another toast, and as I drained my glass, I felt an odd pang in my chest, next to the warmth and happiness. Empty glasses were placed on trays servants carried around, and Father approached us with a broad grin.

“My angel, could I have the first dance of your adulthood?”

“Of course, Father. You don’t mind, Your Highness?”

“No, certainly not.”

The music began, and Father danced with me masterfully. Ever since my first birthday ball, it was tradition for us to have the first dance together. The older generation did not frequently attend balls, but Father was an excellent dancer. He was good company, too.

“Your necklace is beautiful. Are those the newest diamonds from our mine? They suit you perfectly.”

“Yes, thank you. It’s my gift from Mother.”

A nice contrast to my usual partner, who never noticed or complimented anything I wore. Mother trained Father well, I thought with a smile.

“What did His Highness give you?”

“A portrait of me, by the royal painter. It looks very nice in my room.”

“Yes, but I don’t believe anything could truly be good enough for you. His Highness, for example. Your mother’s been telling me things, and my angel, you must know that you deserve someone that loves and worships you completely. You can have any man that catches your eye, and you needn’t feel tied down to the prince simply because you’ve been together so long. If you’re ever dissatisfied, we can break the betrothal anytime.”

Father gazed at me earnestly, his black eyes boring into mine. He’d probably wanted to say that for a while, but this occasion was indeed fitting. I bit my lip but smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, Father. I can manage Oscar, and I know he’ll be able to make me happy.”

His throne would, anyways. Father sighed, then laughed resignedly.

“Ah, you’re all grown up. I thought this day would never come, but first Damian, and now you, my little Valentina. It’s too fast. I don’t want to lose you, perhaps selfishly, but more importantly, I don’t ever want you to be sad.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I blinked away the wetness in my eyes before tears could form. My heart overflowed with sentiment, but it was not only Father I thought of. I remembered another dad and another mom, anxiously waiting for a daughter that would never come home. For many years, I’d shoved them to the back of my mind, but tonight the memories refused to be suppressed, like the ghost of Jenny keeping vigil.

In my past life, I’d impatiently waited for my eighteenth birthday, to finally be set free from my parents and their constant nagging. I would no longer live in fear of saying the wrong thing or footsteps outside my door or arguments erupting without warning and ending in slammed doors and unstoppable tears. I’d been so ready to live like my friends were doing at last, and the first night I was so impatient that I snuck out to do so was my last night in that world. I never got to be eighteen.

“I’ll always be an Avington, and that will keep me going through whatever happens. Thank you, Father, for everything.”

Had my old parents wanted me to be happy? They thought they knew what would make me content when I was older. A good education, a good job, and money. Perhaps they were right, but we never got to find out, and the way they pushed me towards an ideal future made the scant years I actually got to live nothing but torment. By the end, we both lost. I was resentful and ready to leave without turning back, and they lost me to a final futile attempt at rebellion.

I had no doubt that they mourned me. I’d been an expensive investment, but I’d died before I managed to make them proud. Besides, deep down, I believed they’d cared about me. It was why they pressed me so hard and strained our relationship to the way it had ended, and why despite all that, they never hit me. I wondered if they ever felt sorry.

If time worked the same in our worlds, I wondered how they were. Was my face fading in their minds like theirs were for me? Was I barely a fleeting and regretful thought? They must be old, without anyone to take care of them but each other. Did they forgive me for dying? In these eighteen years, perhaps I’d long forgiven them. Before I knew it, the passionate hate I once embraced had paled into numb sorrow that Jenny’s story ended as it did.

Eighteen years. We’d all moved on.

“I love you, Father.”

“I love you too, my angel.”

The dance ended, and Father embraced me. His eyes were shining with what seemed suspiciously like tears. I never wanted to let go, because I never got to hug my old dad or mom like so. Words could not express the appreciation I had for Father and Mother, for letting me love them without hating myself, and so I did love them with everything I had.

For the present was what mattered, and I knew that all too well as I saw my fiance coming for the next dance. I gingerly let go of Father, determined anew. The tale of Lady Valentina Avington would not end the same way as Jenny’s.

Oscar was not a worse dancer than Father, albeit a much colder companion. With the hunting competition over, I wasted no time in getting to the business I had planned for tonight.

“Tell me, Your Highness. Do you like me?”

“Yes.”

As usual, his expression did not falter in the slightest.

“What do you feel about Lady Catherine?”

“She’s amiable.”

“Won’t you enlighten me on why you left your birthday banquet early to visit her?”

He had the audacity to hesitate, like he had any idea of shame.

“I don’t know. I felt that I had to see her. I apologize if it caused you any distress, and I promise I won't do anything like that again.”

My grip on his hand tightened as I trembled slightly with anger. I’ve read it far too many times in novels, and they always started like this. The male lead just couldn’t stop thinking about the female lead, because she was oh, so, interesting. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, because he’d never truly been in love before he met her!

This conversation was obviously not going anywhere, and I’d gotten the confirmation I’d expected from him. Expected, but failing a secret hope that it wouldn’t be, and ultimately disheartening. I’d taken the excuse of the hunting competition to send the Avington physicians to examine him, and they’d returned negative on every malicious potion and spell known to men, so this must truly be the horrible magic of love.

“But you do like me?”

“Assuredly.”

I could’ve handled it if we’d agreed at the very beginning for this to purely be political. What I couldn’t stand was him toying with my feelings, watching him slowly fall for Catherine and not being able to do anything about it, and worrying when he’d like her so much that my position would be compromised.

I would plan later, so in front of him, I resumed my typical pleasant manner like nothing was wrong. He never noticed anyways, and I agreed with Father that I deserved much better.

On that notion, I caught Mikhail’s eyes. He was standing along the side of the ballroom with the other knights, both Avington and personal. I smiled, but it was not the same. I studied my fiance again, in all his ravishing glory, and wished, like I’d done too many times, that I could be sure he was mine, and that those golden eyes would stop haunting me.

I was temporarily distracted from my laments by two figures appearing on the interior balcony. I swore silently as they were announced.

“Lord Damian Avington and Lady Catherine Bryant!”