Meal With A Man Long Gone

Aurelia’s first thought was that Caelan looked younger than she remembered. Her second was that she could kill him from here. The realization arrived so naturally that she almost recoiled from herself.

Second-floor balcony. Twenty feet. Three Imperial Knights near the eastern carriage, two beside the gate. Caelan’s sword rested at his left hip.

Vault the railing. Land behind him. Take the nearest knight’s dagger.

Three steps. One turn.

Blade beneath the ribs---

Aurelia gripped the railing.

Stop.

Below her, Crown Prince Caelan Aster Edrienne smiled. Alive and handsome. Completely unaware that the woman staring down at him had once pushed a sword through his heart.

“Lady Aurelia?”

His voice carried through the courtyard.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lucien came to stand beside her.

“Oh, wonderful.”

“What?”

“You’re making that face.”

“What face?”

“The one Mother says makes servants confess to things they haven’t done.”

“I don’t have such a face.”

“You absolutely do.”

Aurelia ignored him.

Caelan’s pale-gold hair caught the morning sun, falling carelessly across his forehead despite some exhausted attendant’s attempt to tame it. His navy coat fit closely through the shoulders, and a sword rested naturally at his side.

People always noticed the smile first. Then the clothes. Then the title. They rarely noticed the calluses on his hands. Aurelia always had.

“Aurelia,” Lucien said quietly. “Why are you looking at His Highness like you’re deciding where to bury him?”

“I just woke up.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

Lucien grinned and leaned over the balcony.

“Your Highness! My sister says you should come inside.”

Aurelia’s head snapped toward him.

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“She’s overcome with joy.”

“I will throw you off this balcony.”

Lucien turned toward her.

“See? Better already.”

Below them, Caelan laughed.

Aurelia went still. It was such an ordinary sound. How could the dead laugh?

“How reassuring,” Caelan called. “I was beginning to think Lady Aurelia had finally tired of me.”

“You should remain open to the possibility,” Aurelia replied.

Lucien slowly turned toward her.

Damn it.

Seventeen-year-old Aurelia would never have spoken to the Crown Prince that way. She would have curtsied, probably blushed, and worried about it afterward. Caelan’s smile widened.

“Then I shall treasure every remaining moment of your tolerance.”

“You may require a small box.”

Lucien made a strangled sound.

“Breakfast,” he announced. “Immediately. Before my sister commits treason while dressed for bed.”

Only then did Aurelia look down. White nightgown. Bare feet. Loose hair. Perhaps her execution had merely been postponed.

“Absolutely not.”

Aurelia stared at the pale-blue dress.

Her maid, Mira, blinked. “My lady?”

“Something else.”

“But you chose this one last night.”

“Then last night’s me demonstrated poor judgment.”

Another blink. Aurelia pointed toward the wardrobe.

“The dark green one.”

“For breakfast?”

“Especially for breakfast.”

While Mira changed the dress, Aurelia studied herself in the vanity.

Seventeen. Nine years before Concord Square. Eight before the capital burned. Six before House Veyne fell.

Her younger body was athletic from riding and private training, but it wasn’t the body she remembered. No years of armor. No marches, starvation, battlefield injuries or thousands of hours with a sword.

Her mind remembered movements this body had never learned.

That discrepancy could get her killed.

“Mira.”

“Yes?”

“Throw me something.”

The maid stared.

“Never mind.”

Aurelia tossed her hairbrush into the air and caught it behind her back without looking.

Good.

Mira’s mouth opened.

Aurelia slowly brought the brush around.

“…Lucky.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Mira did not sound convinced. Excellent. Less than an hour into her second chance, Aurelia had frightened a maid, threatened Lucien and insulted the Crown Prince. Maintaining a low profile might last until lunch. Mira helped her into the green dress, then reached for the corset. Aurelia stared at it.

“No.”

“My lady?”

“I need to breathe.”

“Most people do.”

Aurelia looked at her through the mirror.

Mira went pale.

Then Aurelia realized it had been a joke.

She had forgotten to expect those.

“Looser,” Aurelia said.

“Your mother will notice.”

“I’ll survive.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Something warm moved unexpectedly through Aurelia’s chest.

She had missed this.

Not the dresses. Certainly not the corsets. The small things. A maid teasing her. Sunlight through clean windows. Breakfast downstairs. Life before survival consumed it. In the first timeline, Mira disappeared during the Veyne arrests. Aurelia never learned whether she escaped.

This time, she would.

The Veyne breakfast room looked exactly as Aurelia remembered.

Tall windows overlooked the eastern garden. Above the fireplace hung House Veyne’s silver eye surrounded by black thorns.

Beneath it:

WE WITNESS WHAT OTHERS REFUSE TO SEE.

Aurelia stopped. A voice from the Crown returned to her.

And when the world forgets us---

“Aurelia?”

She turned.

Duchess Seraphine Veyne sat at the head of the table. Beautiful, immaculate and terrifying. For a moment, Aurelia could only stare. Her mother’s gaze moved over the green dress, her loose expression, the redness around her eyes.

“You’re late.”

Aurelia swallowed.

“Yes, Mother.”

“You’ve also chosen green.”

“Yes.”

“You hate green.”

Aurelia had forgotten that. Across the table, Lucien covered his mouth.

“I’ve reconsidered.”

“Overnight?”

“Decisively.”

Seraphine lifted her tea.

“I see.”

Of course she did. Beside her sat Duke Alaric Veyne. Aurelia’s father met her eyes. Something flickered across his expression.

Surprise? Recognition? Then it vanished.

“Sit,” he said.

Aurelia obeyed. Theron sat opposite Lucien, already halfway through breakfast. He looked at Aurelia.

“You look terrible.”

Aurelia smiled, Theron’s fork stopped.

“What?”

“I’m pleased to see you.” Lucien leaned across the table.

“She hugged me.”

Theron stared.

“Are you dying?”

“Apparently not.”

“Possessed?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“She also threatened to throw me from a balcony.”

Theron relaxed and resumed eating.

“Oh. Then she’s fine.”

Aurelia laughed. The table went quiet, and her laughter died. Had she really laughed so little before? Before she could decide whether she wanted the answer, the doors opened.

“His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Caelan Aster Edrienne.”

Every muscle in Aurelia’s body tightened, Caelan entered as though the room already liked him. He didn’t demand attention. Attention simply reorganized itself around him.

Everyone rose, Aurelia curtsied perfectly.

“Your Imperial Highness.”

Caelan greeted the family before stopping in front of her.

“Lady Aurelia.”

“Your Highness.”

He tilted his head. “How disappointing.”

She looked up.

“No ghosts?”

Aurelia smiled politely. “I recovered.”

“Remarkably quickly.”

“I’ve always been resilient.”

Something sharpened in his expression. He was testing her. Strangely, that steadied her. Caelan took the empty chair beside her.

Of course he did.

Breakfast resumed. Then he reached for the honey. His sleeve shifted. Aurelia saw the cut across his thumb. Fresh blood. Witness stirred. She looked away immediately. Her Inheritance required deliberate contact.

Simple.

Don’t touch the prince.

Caelan nudged a plate toward her. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You used to like these.”

Aurelia looked at the honey cakes.

Used to.

This Caelan knew seventeen-year-old Aurelia. She knew the man he would become. And suddenly she realized she remembered very little about what existed between them now.

“What happened to your hand?” she asked.

“Training.”

“Sword?”

His eyes returned to hers.

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly.”

“Liar.”

Quiet. Almost playful.

Before Aurelia could answer, Theron spoke.

“That’s not a sword cut.”

Caelan glanced at him.

“Too shallow,” Theron continued. “Wrong angle.”

Caelan examined his thumb. “Perhaps I was attacked by an unusually determined envelope.”

Lucien nodded solemnly.

“Paperwork remains the natural predator of royalty.”

The conversation moved on but Aurelia’s thoughts did not. Something about the date bothered her.

Third of Solenne. Imperial delegation. Breakfast. Then she remembered.

Her fork stopped.

Today.

Treasury Minister Orsen Vale died today.

No---

He was attacked today.

House Sorn’s assassin stabbed him outside the western archive shortly before noon. Vale survived three days, then died. His death destabilized the Treasury Council and opened the first crack Chancellor Dervain would later exploit.

The first domino.

Aurelia stood.

Everyone looked at her.

“Aurelia?” her mother said.

“I’ve remembered something.”

Lucien glanced at her plate.

“That breakfast is traditionally eaten?”

She ignored him.

“I need to visit the western archive.”

“You do?” Seraphine asked.

“No.”

Aurelia closed her eyes. Excellent. “I mean, I’ve changed my plans.”

Caelan laughed softly. He was watching her now. Not amused but interested, way too interested. Aurelia pushed back her chair.

“Please excuse me.”

“Aurelia.”

Her mother’s voice stopped her, Seraphine looked downward. Aurelia followed her gaze. Embroidered house slippers.

Wonderful.

The empire’s future rested in the hands of a woman who had forgotten her shoes. Aurelia sat back down.

“I will leave after breakfast.”

“A devastating strategic setback,” Caelan murmured.

She imagined stabbing him with the butter knife. Unfortunately, she had already done something similar once. It had not ended particularly well. Twenty-seven minutes later, Aurelia entered the courtyard properly dressed. Dark green riding coat. Boots. Gloves. Hair pinned neatly. A dagger hidden against her thigh. She approached the carriage. Someone was leaning against it. Pale-gold hair, navy coat and an insufferable smile.

No.

Caelan pushed away from the carriage.

“Good. You’re here.”

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“No.”

“Excellent. I was concerned you’d object.”

“I just did.”

“I know.”

Aurelia stared at him.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“I’m curious.”

“About an archive?”

“About you.”

Dangerous answer.

“Find a healthier hobby.”

“I have several. Fencing. Riding. Irritating Chancellor Dervain.”

“Focus on those.”

“I’ve grown bored.”

Aurelia opened the carriage door. Caelan reached past her to hold it, with his hand rested beside hers. The cut across his thumb had opened again. One bright bead of blood.

Witness stirred beneath Aurelia’s skin and she withdrew immediately. Caelan noticed. His gaze dropped to his thumb, then returned to her face. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes. Aurelia climbed into the carriage, he followed.

She had one hour and forty-three minutes before Minister Vale was attacked. For the first time since waking, Aurelia felt something dangerously close to confidence. She knew where the assassin would stand. She knew the weapon and the escape route.

The future had already shown her its hand. All she had to do was change it. Across from her, Caelan wrapped a handkerchief around his bleeding thumb. Neither of them noticed the crest embroidered in its corner.A silver crown.

Surrounded by eight thorns.