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Chapter Text

Between his cries of grief and the shrieking of the Ruby Palace residents dying at his sword, there is wailing. It’s a good sign, he supposes, that his only connection left to any emotion in his heart other than grief is fully intact and healthy. Strong vocal cords and a healthy pair of lungs have been bequeathed upon his sole heir and child. He knows he won’t have it in him to have another child, not as long as Diana’s daughter is still alive. 

He looks upon the red splatters on the carpet, the exorbitant furniture stained, and the growing miasma of death permeating through the air. Ruby Palace indeed. Really, the massacre was a long time coming. Every complaint Diana had, every poison scare that was reported to him, and every bit of yapping that assaulted his ears built up to this. He mirthfully watches them all tumble down, one by one, with their intricately done hairdos and glittering jewels that they had once hoped would catch his attention falling apart with them.

He should have done this a long time ago, he thinks gleefully. The Ruby Palace and its expenses were such burdens to write in for the budget. It’s not like he needed any of them. Or wanted them. Why would he need them when he has Diana?

Or had Diana. Why would he need the harem when none of them could be her?

“Your Majesty, what are you doing!?” a noblewoman, dressed in relatively simple clothes for the peacocks of the harem, calls out to him. 

She has the audacity to be another angry person during his rampage. Like pet, like master is what he cruelly thinks when the haze of his rage fades enough for him to see the brunette’s braided updo and the sky blue of her eyes. 

“York,” he seethes, “What is so important that you must interrupt me?”

“Shouldn’t you care more about your child?!” Lily screams back. He ought to behead her and throw her remains with the rest of the rabble for her impudence. “You act as if Diana is dead!”

Claude’s mana flares, but he keeps it under control for the sake of the delicate, tiny, and jewel-eyed child a few rooms away. Lily must not have had the chance to put her in her rightful place, away from the chaos of her father’s anger and in the Emerald Palace’s safety. Diana complained so often about being large, he’d expected an equally chubby baby.. It is as if she’s dead!— is what he wants to scream at her, but he doesn’t. Lily was Diana’s friend. In a way, she’s all he has left of her if she does truly die too, along with Athanasia.

Athanasia. Diana, his divine and unending source and recipient of love that he’d been too scared to give and receive, had named their child “undying”. Fate was cruel. Fate is cruel. Their child was the embodiment of their love in her eyes, and now Diana is a moment’s away from slipping off of the thin, delicate thread she hung onto life with. And she named their child “undying”. 

She had probably meant for it to refer to their love. Living proof of their love materialized into a bundle of joy, forever undying. 

Claude keeps silent as the last of the Ruby Palace residents perish. Lily’s right, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He wants to throw an even bigger tantrum instead— to go into the prisons full of people sentenced to death and spread the massacre further, to sob and cry and beg what cruel gods were watching and listening to let his beloved Diana live to at least say goodbye properly. 

The last time he saw her he was callous. Die then , he had spat, see if I care.

He knew the possibility of her dying and her last memory of Claude would be him being a spiteful bastard— and she just took his cruel words smiling.

Ah, how love makes people completely stupid.

—

Every ounce of her being is sore and tired, but at least she wakes up in a plush bed on top of fabrics and comforters that most likely cost an arm and a leg. The maternity dress she wears is equally luxurious but the design itself is simple. The way the waistline is hiked up above her belly and the looseness on top of her stomach area makes her think it is a maternity dress.

No amount of luxurious items could negate how much like absolute crap she felt. She felt like she got hit by a truck— she was and it was by Truck-kun, the bane of every isekai protagonist’s existence— and had her soul thrown into another equally dead body. 

Wait.

She shoots up in bed and throws the heavy covers off her body. The covers were the first hint. They’re thick and extremely high-quality— more than she could ever afford. She’s definitely wearing a maternity dress, but last time she checked she isn’t pregnant. She wasn’t pregnant before she ended up here and certainly not after she woke up here. She looks around, eyes darting back and forth across all the intricate decorations— is that gold?!

The pain in her abdomen makes her groan as she tries her best to sit up all the way. No, the pain in her entire body made her neglected vocal chords squeak out a grated cry. What had happened to her?

She puts two and two, all the details in the fancy room and the pain in her body, together. She sees the golden curls fall and bounce on her shoulders and golden bangs framing her face as opposed to a gradient of blacks and browns. She checks for any sign of footsteps around her— which is unlikely to hear from all the plush carpeting most likely muffling every sound— before pulling up the dress and seeing—

Before seeing stretch marks. An entire web of lightning shaped markings across her stomach. 

The realization comes with chilling shock through her spine and fear and grief shooting through her mind. It hits her harder than that truck. 

She’d died. She’d been isekai’d. She’d replaced whoever this poor woman is, who had died of childbirth. She became one of those reincarnation isekai protagonists she loved to read about back when she was alive in her own body . She got hit by Truck-kun and ended up wherever this place is and now had to survive with her second chance at life. 

Maybe she is lucky and ended up in a world where there is no set ending she had to fight against. Maybe she isn’t one of the unlucky few who died and became villainesses or unfortunate side-characters fighting a tragic and untimely end. Maybe she is lucky and is a random side character or love interest and she could just live out the rest of her life in luxury and peace.

Knowing her luck, that probably isn’t it. Based on the fact that she’d replaced whoever the original owner of the body is, she is probably an unfortunate side character who is meant to die. Based on the maternity dress that is covering an empty womb and the lightning scars over a flat belly, this woman died in childbirth. She’s probably the unfortunate, unnamed mother of a hapless villain or protagonist who is only meant to welcome the character into the world and die immediately afterwards.

If that is true, then she’s lucky. She overcame her biggest obstacle to her second chance at life. She’s fine! There were no “death flags” or bad ends! Now she could be free and quietly cut herself off from whatever connections this original body had and—

No. Something deep inside her and her heart told her to stay. Something here in this opulent setting is worth staying for. However, if all of those manhwas and mangas told her anything, opulence was the sign of incoming threats to the protagonist. If she’s going to be the protagonist of her own story, she’d have to watch out for whatever lurked in these decadent halls. 

Two sets of footsteps made their way, louder and louder and closer and closer towards the room she's in. She rushes back under the safety of the covers. Based on how angrily one set of footsteps made their way stomping through the halls hard enough to make the noise travel across the thick and soft carpeting, she’s in the crossfire of a warpath. There is no way that the idiotically thick covers of the bedding could shield her from someone’s anger directed towards her— especially not with a weapon. 

The lighter, more hurried footsteps that sounded like they were struggling to keep up with the madder one, seemed to match with the huffing dialogue of one of the voices.

“Your— Majesty, please calm— calm down before you do anything else rash!” the female voice huffs. 

“ Silence, ” is all the male voice— a king of some sort?— says and yet it is full of power that makes her even more scared of what is to come and he is headed this way.  

She can feel power in the air. Anger is not all she senses from it. It’s some sort of magic. Its energy is angry— grieving— deadly— desperate. It thrums and sings in the air, ringing in her ears. If she focused on it too hard it would sting. 

She curls up more into the bed with her back against the pillows. She’s hanging off of the edge, ready to run and make an escape attempt when the pair opens the door to finish her off or whatever they may do to her. 

The door handle— gold again— twists . She braces herself to run, throw a punch or a lamp— also gold— to do something . 

The door opens. It does reveal a pair of people, one a man and the other a woman. Her heart sinks to her churning stomach. 

What’s the most striking to her is the man. He’s the key to figuring out who and where she is and what happened. The realization makes her want to cry, but she can’t afford to do so. She needs to figure out what to do to survive him. 

His hair is a darker blonde than her new body has. He’s dressed in robes that are simple at a glance, but yet again— like many of the items in the vicinity including her own dress— are worth more than what the average person could ever make in a lifetime without exaggeration. The worst part about him, simultaneously the most beautiful part, are his eyes.

She’s only ever read about them. In person they’re as alien as watching a nebula form. No amount of art in the world could properly portray those sparkling blue eyes. 

It’s truly as if gems were cut to fit within a human’s eyes— if the royal “de Alger Obelia” family could ever merely be referred to as a mortal human. The jewel eyes are hypnotizing and frightening to gaze into. Hours upon days and years upon millennia of time could be lost gazing into those eyes, perpetually getting deeper and deeper like the vastness of an ocean forever descending further and further. Even then, the ocean is not completely explored yet, at least in her own original world.

Still— no matter how beautiful those eyes are— something is off. Perhaps if the man— emperor— were more well-rested and slightly more sane he would be more of an object of her admiration than terror.

Royal jewel-eyes do not seem to have pupils. Instead, the entirety of the iris, the jewel eye, would shrink and grow to compensate. 

His irises shrank. They were only dots on shadowed sclera. Dark lines had taken form under his eyes as if he’d spent the past few nights keeping them open. 

Then his eyes land on her and his eyes began to expand, taking in the sight of her as if he never wanted to let her leave his sight. As if the dawn rose on him after a long, endless night, the dark lines on his face began to fade and his eyes easily shifted to reflect his mood. They stopped being dark and gloomy and lightened to a brighter shade of blue jewel tones. In that moment, as they saw each other, he began to smile and it is as if he is the sun and all the stars in the night sky.

Yet— with him as brilliant as the sun and stars— he looks at her like she is the moon in all its divine glory. The moon shining down on the world had a kind and gentle glow to guide those left in the dark of the night. He looked at her with all the wonder and love in the world. He looked at her as if her existence is a miracle. 

Maybe The Lovely Princess is wrong about Diana and Claude’s relationship. 

Ah, that’s right. She’s Diana now. Diana the dancer who is deflowered and abandoned and the mother of the sad Princess Athanasia who died in childbirth, leaving the lovely princess all alone in the world as an orphan. She is abandoned, save for Lilian York.

Diana directs her gaze towards the woman to the side of Claude. Yup, Lilian York. The woman has sky blue eyes— extremely flat and dull compared to the eyes of royalty but pretty nonetheless— and brown hair in a braided bun. She is refreshingly dressed in a less elaborate dress like the robes of the emperor— mostly flat colors instead of the rich shades of the room she is in. 

Diana wants to move to escape them somehow, but pain is all she knows and feels in the moment. Every muscle in her being was torn apart and painfully sewn back together again. She stays in bed and winces.

“Lady Diana, are you alright?!” Lilian— or Lily— says. 

“Don’t be foolish!” the emperor hisses. “Of course she’s not alright. She almost died!”

“Um,” Diana tries to find the words. “What happened?”

She watches Claude’s eyes widen. “You… You don’t know?”

She watches his expression grow as confused as she somewhat feels now. The only reason she has the vaguest idea to what’s going on is that stupid, stupid tropey book with the dumb Mary-Sue and the sad little princess who was leagues above her but could never find success in life because of her lack of plot armor, yet that damn book had somehow reached mainstream popularity 

Technically she does know. She might have had a baby— a princess — but technically she wasn’t there for it and the infant princess is nowhere in sight. 

“Everything hurts,” she admits to him. What else can she say? Sorry sweetie I’m not the original Diana you fell in love with, I’ve replaced her in her own body and I also know some things about the future, so don’t allow a girl named Jeanette in your home or else you’ll die and everything you worked for will be for nothing. I know I’m not really Diana but you’re really hot and my body is ready and willing— maybe not that willing because this body just gave birth but you get what I mean, right? “My memory’s a little spotty.” is all that she settles on.

“Oh,” Claude, runs a hand through his hair. “That’s alright. You’re probably not all the way recovered. You haven’t completely returned, and that’s alright. It really is a miracle you’re alive— and Athanasia. You were in a coma for a while and… I got really scared that you were never going to wake up!”

“Oh. That’s good” No, it’s not. Of course Diana hasn’t returned. She’s not Diana at all, she’s—

Oh. Oh no. 

What was her name? 

W̶̼̄̉h̶̲͝ą̷̌͂ţ̴͐ ̶̰͑̚w̶̢͎͌͘a̵̰̽s̵͕̺͗ ̵̗̰͑h̶̺̽e̸͇̐r̶͑͝ͅ ̸̰̿͌ñ̴͎a̴̹̾m̸͎̈́ẹ̴?

Maybe she was always Diana? And only recently got her memories back when she partially died? What happened?

“Would you like to meet the princess?” Lily asks.

Oh, right. The second lovely princess in “The Lovely Princess” who was left alone and lonely. The daughter of a common dancer. Her daughter. Who would have been left to suffer the heartbreak of her father even though it wasn’t technically her fault that Diana died and left Claude alone and lonely— save for that traitor’s daughter that weasels her way into his nest like a cuckoo’s egg. 

In nearly every reincarnation isekai in which the protagonist— always, always female— something from the original universe, whether it be a story or a past life, always changed. It could have been something small like a simple interest in medicine— or surviving— that led to the entire story being changed to the favor of the protagonist.

Usually the goal was just surviving. Just having a good and relatively long life— especially in medieval fantasies where a monarch could execute you for just looking at them funny and the fate of death hung over the leads’ heads like Damocles’ sword by a thread— was a monumental goal. Becoming a god would be easier.

But Diana had already conquered the biggest obstacle to staying alive. She was just supposed to give birth to a side character meant to elevate the Mary-Sue protagonist further and then die immediately afterwards to serve as another element to the male-lead’s traumatic backstory. She was supposed to be a female character thrown into a fridge and never spoken of again except in throw-away lines and vague references to the past. 

But she was someone’s love interest once, right? Doesn’t she deserve closure and screen time? Doesn’t she deserve proper character development as a real person?

Ha, who was she kidding. The Lovely Princess is a shit book with shallow characters. The female lead was a mary-sue and her love interest— interests— were just as bland and shallow. The whole story was just a vessel for wish-fulfillment. The male lead, Claude, was generic as every other bad-boy-turned-good character  but platonic. 

But now? She might be in the book world, but the book world was her real world now. This was her reality that she had to deal with, insane emperors, power-hungry nobles and all. Political intrigue with a fantasy element was only fun in theory and fiction. 

Like all her fellow isekai protagonists, the dawning realization of the fact that she needs to plan to keep her family safe hits her harder than a labor cramp. So, so many things. There was still the Judith family and House Alpheus to worry about and their plans to foil. There was Jeanette and her debut. It was best to shatter the egg before it hatched into a parasite that threw out the real chicks. 

“Yes. I would like to meet her,” Diana replies. “I named her Athanasia, right?”

“Yes,” Claude smiles a real smile and all shadows disappear from his face as if he’s a source of light himself. “It was quite bold of you to name her that without me.”

“For good luck!” Fat load of luck that did for the original, Diana bitterly thinks. “It means undying, right? Like our love?” she continues, taking a shot in the dark.

The faintest of blushes appeared below his eyes. “So you really did intend for her name to mean that,” he sighs out dreamily. Ugh, how cheesy. 

“Yeah,” Diana twirls her hair. How do you respond to a lovesick mad tyrant after he says that?

“I’ll leave you two be,” Lily says and curtsies out of the room. 

The coldhearted emperor does not look like a coldhearted emperor in the moment as he holds a smile on his face. His smile is from relief of his beloved surviving what should have killed her, though the actual event itself should have been the happiest day of his life. An heir and child born at the cost of the mother. The truth would break his heart into pieces like ice to a hammer. 

She almost died, or did die and she was the cuckoo egg in the nest like Jennette would be. She doesn’t want to tell him about the truth— what would happen if she did? Would he become the monster that choked himself in dark magic, both his own and his niece’s? Would she join the legion of victims in his tyranny?

She can’t think about that now, though. What matters is that she’s alive and she’s been given a second chance at life, not Diana. Diana and what little legacy she left behind would need to be carried on by her, to watch Athanasia grow from child to sole heiress to empress. Perhaps the new Diana could become empress consort as well. It’s not like she had competition. Didn’t Claude kill all the members of the harem when Athanasia was born in the book?

Oh god, did Claude come back from murdering a hundred women for her sake?

She doesn’t want to think about it. If she does, she’ll fall apart. Her mind could only carry so much at a time.

Another thing that matters so much more is the fact that any assumption about Claude’s feelings and affections for Diana that can be gleaned from the book is wrong. She wasn’t simply discarded when Athanasia was born, she died and he grieved. He loved her and still does, and that was information she could use— along with the actual events of the book.

The big twist reveal of The Lovely Princess was that Jennette was actually Claude’s niece— a mere pawn used for House Alpheus, House Judith, or Margarita?, and the former emperor himself to gain more power as if they didn’t have enough. Claude’s niece unknowingly killed him slowly with her magic and opened up the way for her corpse of a father to take back the throne. How tragic for a man’s life to be filled with such tragedy— to grow up with a cruel stepmother, to love his half-brother and fiancee only to be betrayed by the both of them, to fall in love only to lose her to his real child that would grow to be unloved and mistreated by him when she should have been a pampered only child, then to lose all that he did have to a false princess that ended up killing him. The bad guys win.

She needs to prevent all of this before it happens. She knew what would happen, so therefore she could do anything about the book’s events. No child deserved to be mistreated, especially by their own father. 

—

They’re in the Emerald Palace. It’s beautiful, with its signature sparkling green roofs giving it its name and the surrounding topiaries and lavish landscaping adding to the atmosphere of a fairytale princess’ residential palace. There’s even a few bushes sculpted into unicorns and fairies, though evidently not carefully manicured to maintain a perfect silhouette.

Further evidence of the Emerald Palace’s mild neglect wasn’t hard to come by. Athanasia is the only princess to inhabit the palace since Claude took the throne. The palace must have only recently had servants and caretakers to bring back the Emerald Palace to its former glory as a dream-like home for a real princess to grow in. Dust and cobwebs are quickly swept away as Diana and Claude make their presence known as they walk towards their daughter’s nursery.

That’s one thing done right is what Diana thinks. After Diana “survived”, Claude wouldn’t need to close off and freeze his heart off from menial things like feelings and empathy. Therefore, Claude wouldn’t grow to hate Athanasia and keep his memories of loving Diana. 

Therefore, Athanasia is in her rightful place as the firstborn princess of the Obelian Empire to Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia. And there she is , Diana thinks triumphantly, where she wouldn’t have to labor and stress over her gaining father’s love when she simply has access to it in spades by default.

The lovelier little princess rested in her nursery. She was surrounded in luxuries that Diana would have never dreamed of in her wildest dreams, and yet this tiny child had it in her possession by default. The cradle was also embossed in gold leaf and filigree. There were little silk drapes hanging over her head because why not. 

The nursery alone must have cost a fortune. Diana’s stomach turned thinking about how if this was the average value of every bit of ornamentation in the palaces’ rooms, then it must have cost taxpayers a fortune— all those wages spent to give their overlords’ children a fancy cradle. 

And Claude only had this one child. How much did it cost for other sovereigns, lest the particularly horny lecherous ones?

Ridiculous rich people.

Diana must have been thinking too hard because little Athy woke up.

Her huge adorable eyes shoot open wide, revealing her jewel eyes that are just as beautiful and endlessly deep as her father’s. And they’re crying. Big bubbles of tears filled up her eyes and spilled over. Those big jewel eyes convey so much grief, even viewed from the distance that Diana had seen her from, from the doorway that she had just entered. Those eyes were so tired and heavy even though their owner was just a baby — how could a baby already be so sad outside of not getting a toy or being hungry?

Diana has her suspicions, but she doesn’t want to voice them quite yet— or worse: confirm them. 

She swoops up the crying bundle in her arms. The original Athanasia probably hadn’t felt the warmth of her mother’s arms outside of what little time she had with the original Diana. This would be another change that she’d make in this lifetime. 

“Hush now, what’s wrong?” Diana asks even though she fully knows that she wouldn’t respond. Athanasia in the book was highly capable, but even as a newborn she surely wouldn’t be able to talk. “I’m here. Aren’t you glad I’m alive?”

The infant princess’s sobbing begins to lessen into a series of hiccups when she blinks her tears away. So now she can see Diana clearly. Perhaps the baby is precocious in some manner, because she instantly realizes that she’s safe in her mother’s arms. The baby cooes and turns herself closer to her mother’s chest. Her tears cease. 

“Why did she start crying? Did we wake her up? Were we too loud?” Claude asks. His curiosity endears to her heart. It’s an adorable contrast to her mind’s image of a heartless emperor that she read about. This side of the “cruel” emperor must have been why the original Diana fell in love in the first place, and new Diana is quickly understanding.

“I don’t know,” she replies, gently rocking Athanasia. 

—

Not again. Please not again.

Athanasia died as she lived: unloved and abandoned by everyone she ever loved and wanted love from. No one defended her. Her own father sentenced her to death for Jennette’s sake. Jennette didn’t even try to save her. 

What did she think of her now after her supposed “betrayal” via poisoning? Did she ever matter to her? Did Jennette think that Athanasia was jealous of her after all Athanasia did for her? After she befriended her and taught her naive little mind and self how to behave like a normal princess instead of an immature child? After she covered up Jennette’s blunders and tried her best to save face whenever her clumsy hands spilled a drink or let a bit of food fly onto a noble’s clothing during a banquet?

Whatever. The noble probably thought that it was a blessing to be noticed by the saintly princess, the loveliest flower amongst all flowers. Pathetic. 

Athanasia did all the work to become the crown princess, so why was Jennette the one who gained the limelight? For what? Being the random secret princess introduced to Father as a pawn for House Alpheus, an already powerful house yet greedy enough to want more? Athanasia was no pawn— so was that it?

There were two foolish princesses in the story: the one that helped her biggest enemy and the childish one who didn’t deserve anything, yet had everything she ever wanted handed to her. All of that should have been Athanasia’s — the emperor’s love and favor, the empire, a loving fiance. Just… anyone on her side. 

She loved Lily, she really did, but she was just a maid who couldn’t inherit anything or have the skill to garner political connections to support Athanasia. Lily wasn’t her father or her mysterious and charming mother who might as well have been a myth. 

Well, not so mysterious anymore.

Was this a test by fate and the gods that commanded all of life and death? To show her what she could have and rip it away from her?

Lady Diana truly was beautiful. She had ruby eyes the shade of a setting sun. They glittered like jewels— like the royal jewel eyes— and were so filled with life that Athanasia almost felt alive again by osmosis. Her hair was bright gold, just like Athanasia’s, though her newborn head still had yet to grow in hair. Perhaps if Athanasia were a little less gloomy, more of a never ending source of light and joy like Jennette , she’d look charming as her birth mother.

If Father ever cared for Athanasia’s mother, that probably indicated some sort of pattern, didn’t it? That Father preferred glittering, smiling women in his life regardless of relation. Diana smiling down on her was like watching the sunrise over Athanasia’s lifetime of night. 

“Aren’t you glad I’m alive?” is what Diana asks. Asked, because Athanasia still needs to process the words in her mind. Did she know? What happened to make fate and the gods give Athanasia a mother that knew precisely who she was and what happened?

Well, that was a dumb question wasn’t it? Of course she knew Athanasia, Diana was her own mother, and recognized her name. Diana gave her that name herself. But didn’t Father say that he would have ripped off her limbs himself if Athanasia’s mother lived? What had changed to make Father look at Diana that way— nearly the same way he looked at Jennette, but less tired and mindless like he was a drone following a queen bee and more like a pious man gazing upon a true goddess?

Athanasia stops crying. She spent so much time crying, crying, and crying until her eyes had permanently taken on a darkness that hung under her eyes. She’s not going through that again. Perhaps this time she won’t have to. She’s far wiser this time.

The biggest sign of change is Father. He asked about her! It was shameful that she still craved his attention for so long, that hearing him sound so concerned about her made her new little heart beat out of her baby-sized rib cage.  

Maybe this time she’d have a chance against Jennette. 

Her reverie is broken when she hears a sob. It’s from a low voice, and the only person in the room with a masculine voice is Father. It shakes her to her core. 

“I—” he sobs again. “I could have lost you. I don’t know what I would have done. You’re all I have,” he breaks into sobs, unbecoming of the very image of a perfect sovereign. 

Diana holds Athanasia closer to her chest, adjusting her in her arms so she can free one to wipe away tears from the now-vulnerable emperor. “Sometimes… Sometimes grief is strange. If something did happen—” Athanasia would be abandoned, alone with no one who loves her is what Athanasia knows. “Well, you’d have to move on. Cope properly, and make sure Athy’s well loved and cared for to the best of your ability, which should be a lot because of all your power to do so.

“And not only that, you know what it’s like to grow up unloved. You should avoid letting another child grow up like that. It’s a heavy task to grieve and be a father, but it’s worth it. You would have needed to,” Diana says.

To Athanasia’s ears, it sounds like a practiced monologue, like all her speeches that she’d have to give when she was the sole heir trying to win her father’s attention as a skilled child. 

She wishes someone would have told her father that a long, long time ago. 

“Well, there’s a few spells that freeze all of my feelings and would have erased all of my memories of you.” Claude stops sobbing. “It would have made me abhor Athanasia when she was in my presence, but I would have felt better immediately.”

Athanasia wants to gape. What? That’s why she grew up so hated?

“I would have haunted your ass until the ends of time if you did that you fucking asshole,” Diana says with a teasing smile.

Athanasia wants to gape again at the casual disrespect. Love must make Father stupid if he’s truly so enamored with Lady Diana to tolerate such an attitude.

“Anything to see you again,” he says jokingly. Athanasia knows, from experience, that it wasn’t a joke.

—

“May I hold her?” Claude asks. 

He’s never held a baby before, let alone his baby. He doesn’t expect it to feel this way. He didn’t know it was possible to fit the whole world in a tiny bundle in his arms, cooing and gurgling. Did his father ever feel this way about him when he was born? Or at least with Anastacius? Was Claude ever held with the same amount of love? With the same emotion of being someone’s whole world— for at least a moment?

Claude used to be nothing— an unwanted son, competition for the throne in Anastacius’ eyes, a stain on the royal family tree in his stepmothers’ eyes, the pitiful prince. Now he was something. Someone loved, someone adored. He was an emperor who overthrew a tyrant in a glorious and bloody revolution. He was someone’s lover, on their way to get married together. He was a father.

A father. A father of a princess. It was always expected of royalty to father a suitable heir, and perhaps a pawn to marry off for the sake of power and stability, but Claude grew up so far from the line of succession that having heirs of his own— except for his brief engagement with that woman— was a non sequitur.

Claude would stay the father of a single heiress to the throne. He needed no other heir and he wouldn’t choose to be with anyone of his own free will— not while Diana was still alive. He wasn’t about to risk having Diana have a second pregnancy. And harems were for the lecherous types, and Claude grew out of that phase quickly when he met Diana. 

He looks down on Athanasia— he’d have to do something about that name because letting Diana go after naming her that way was a risk in undermining a bit of his power— in his arms. Even though Athanasia was only born a few days ago and is as fragile as the relics in her inheritance, Claude feels so weak. His knees are practically mud. The only thing keeping him standing was the thought of dropping Athanasia, of hurting his only child. 

“I—” Claude stops before he can let his voice crack again. 

Diana smiles. He feels warmed from his heart in his chest and outward to the bundle cooing against him. This must be what love feels like.

He watches her lean in to kiss Athanasia on the forehead. “I love her. And I love you.”

Ah. To hear those words without a hint of irony, or malice, was something that hadn’t happened since his mother was alive. Even then, it was rare, in stolen moments with Anastasius when his stepmother was feeling less bloodthirsty, few and far between. 

Athanasia would never go through such a thing, he vows. For one, Claude would never remarry— Diana was the only one for him and his only choice for a life partner. Perhaps Claude’s upbringing left him emotionally constipated, but words weren’t the only way he could let Athanasia know she was wanted.

Under Claude’s control, his heir’s birth remains a quiet affair. The most noise from the news that comes out of the palace is the reaction over sudden massacre of the harem, not that many people care outside of those who put their daughters in the Ruby Palace themselves with the hope that they could garner more power and favor from the young emperor. But what could they do about it? Most of them were greedy families with little to no power and nothing to offer other than a pretty face to consolidate the emperor’s relation to them. Claude didn’t need them or their women at all back when they were alive, and he doesn’t need them now.  

There is no royal herald spreading the news of Athanasia’s existence, but the nature of all open secrets is that such information spread like wildfire. People like being in on a secret and telling others not to tell others because it’s a secret, don’t tell anyone.

The maids whisper, though. They whisper about how the emperor left one harem member alive. They whisper that she won his love by bewitching him with her Sidonian charms and spells. That she was no better than a clever viper that tricked the emperor into loving her and that she’s convinced him to crown her as empress. They chatter amongst themselves, likening her to a serpent whose venom poisoned the lesser beings in the den and infected the emperor’s heart with a constricting hold over it. 

Claude doesn’t care about them enough to correct them. They aren’t completely wrong. 

—

It feels more like she’s staring into the aftermath of an edited magazine photoshoot than her own wedding. Well, not her own. 

Diana looks in the mirror and feels like an impostor. Her golden hair falls down over her shoulders like streams of sun beams with roses and pearls pinning braids up in her hair instead of darker strands. Her eyes are big and curve downward, like the sweet and kind love interest of the shounen protagonist. It’s the color that affects her the most. Instead of matching dark brown that matched her hair, it's a deep, soft blush color that looked ruby red in candlelight. 

Candlelight. The only sources of lighting indoors other than traditional sunlight in this setting is candlelight or magic. Honest to goodness magic where the strongest of its users could kill you in a blink and the worst of its kind could completely wipe your memory of all you once held dear. Without the comforts of mass production— and the stresses that come with everything else that comes with mass production— things must be expensive. Things are either hand made, which would take hours without end, or magic, which might come at an equally high price though at many times the speed. The tallow, the wicks, and the labor all for one candle must build up to eat up a large chunk of the palace budget. 

It’s just one microcosm— one flame burning the candle wick in the hell that she has to live in now on top of protecting her child and avoiding the wrath of the emperor. The emperor, her husband-to-be, and father of the child she didn’t technically give birth to. What has her not-life become?

To top off her dress, her not-hair has a circlet upon her brow and a veil covering her face. It’s better this way, to have her face covered. If she has to see her not-face on her not-wedding day to her not-groom she’ll have some sort of mental breakdown. But she can’t have that, especially when Duke Alpheus and Countess Margarita will be there where her daughter’s impending victory over their pawn could be rubbed in their faces.

Yes, her daughter. Her memories of that shallow, shallow book left her with regret— for reading that damn thing in the first place— and sadness for the abandoned princess. She’s in Diana’s body, so she might as well act like her. It’s fitting, in a way, for the woman who would become Diana to love Diana’s daughter. And want to protect her. To love her. To have Diana live on through her that way the best she could— and would. 

Maybe she can fall in love with Claude. She was certainly in love with the idea of him and his archetype: the stoic, cold man whose heart softened up for someone he loves. Diana was already someone he loved and loves. And the idea of someone choosing her to open up to and take down his walls for was something she’d only dream of after reading sappy romance books, but she was in a sappy romance book right now. 

And she remembers the bullshit twist where it was magic all along that made him despise his real daughter and instead give affection to the abomination sired by the two people that wanted to see him suffer the most. That would never happen because “Diana” lives on, and could continue to live on and lobby Athanasia into his good graces until Diana became the dowager empress and could peacefully retire in luxury. 

Ugh, luxury. The dress might look simple from a distance, but looking closer at the layers of rich white fabric and lavish beading and idiotically long train and embellishments to match her accessories the added costs must have cost half the treasury— all for one dress?! That she was only going to use once in her entire lifetime?!  

Well, this lifetime as Diana. She didn’t even get to have a wedding in her previous life— oh… she didn’t have a wedding in her previous life… or someone to have a wedding with. 

She takes a deep breath and stands. The dress and the jewelry costs don’t account for the corsetry maintaining her figure underneath. It’s constricting with every breath, so she has to breathe differently, with a large gulp of air taken with the top of her lungs and letting it flow downwards to the rest of them. She wishes she could complain a little about any itchiness or tightness, but the dress flows like a river at the slightest breeze on her frame. It’s perfect.

It’s a shame it’s not really meant for her. 

“I know you’ve probably heard this a lot from Claude in the last couple of days,” Lily, her maid of honor, says. “But I’m really thankful you’re still here and I can see you get married—” she chokes out before breaking into tears— of joy, for certain. “It’s a — a miracle that you’re— you’re alive!”

“Don’t cry, Lily,” Diana replies smiling. “You’ll ruin your makeup. We sat through putting it on for so long that it’ll suck if we put it back on again.”

Lily laughs at that, then tilts her head. “Suck?”

Diana froze. Was that not slang in the book? She shakes off the shock as quickly as it comes. “Um, back in Sidonia. I guess it doesn’t translate as well here.”

Lily seems to take the like as she says “Oh, of course.” At least Diana hopes so. 

“Well, are you ready?” Lily asks her.

“As I’ll ever be,” she says, which is to say not at all and never will be but she doesn’t say it out loud. It’s not technically a lie. 

They walk together to the entrance to the chapel. It’s a relatively small wedding with few invitees to create a false sense of exclusivity. There are a few other royal families from foreign lands that might have been mentioned in the book in passing— by appearance and appearance alone , of course, because what else could the naive Princess Jennette judge by?

And then there are the domestic nobles. The only visual difference between the royals and the nobles is that the nobles are more desperate in trying to show how rich they are in comparison to each other while the royals are at ease covered in their luxury and poise. The royals were born to be superior, at least in their minds, and nobles like to overcompensate. 

The worst of them are the younger versions, she assumes, of Duke Roger Alpheus— ever power-hungry and ladder climbing— and his equally greedy partner in crime Countess Rosalia Judith. They have less wrinkles on their faces than were implied in the book at their age, though there’s no way to tell age with hair color for Duke Alpheus.

Ijekiel must be three years old. Jennette must have been reaching her first full year of being alive and being an abomination. The Lovely Princess’s timeline was a little hard to keep track of, like some family relations. Such as Ijekiel and Jennette being second cousins ew what. Jennette and Athanasia were born in the same year so the debutante could happen, but shouldn’t overthrowing a tyrant— an entire revolution— take a little bit longer?

Penelope must have been less than a month or two pregnant with Jennette by the time Claude killed Anastacius. Then there would have been an ensuing fight for power and the throne afterwards, which would be when Penelope would hide in the safety of her cousin Roger’s household to spend the rest of her pregnancy— then her life. Claude must have seized power quickly in the span of a few weeks to a few months. Then he went through his hedonism phase, then he would meet Diana and get her pregnant with Athanasia. Or not. 

Either way, he’d spend his time falling in love with her only to be heartbroken once more when the middle of August came and killed the person who healed his heart after the betrayal of his brother and former fiancee. Athanasia would be born. The earliest Jennette could be both born and be in the same debutante ball as the real princess would be January, putting conception some time in April?

Would it be cruel to rub Penelope’s death in Rosalia’s face? Maybe only if she’s provoked first.

Diana shakes herself out of her reverie, of thoughts of revenge for the sake of the original Athanasia and Diana that she’d pitied so deeply in her heart. She chooses to focus on the decorations instead. The nobles are such an eyesore to the simple elegance of the decorations— vibrant roses ranging from gentle blush pinks to blood reds dotting the white drapes, red silk ribbons, and ropes of gold and pearls. It takes her a moment to realize that it matches her wedding dress, though just enough to blend in with the stained glass and marble floors and vaulted ceilings of the royal chapel.

And it matches her groom.

For just a moment she can imagine it’s her groom. That this is her wedding meant for her, to celebrate her success in surviving the birth of her child and her husband-to-be’s heir apparent. 

In that moment, she chooses to stop thinking about the world that isn’t meant for her. This new world is meant for her. She’s the protagonist in which her goal isn’t going back home, not Jennette or her family.. It’s to live her new life in Diana’s name— to become Claude’s empress consort, to live to see them become dowagers, and shield Athanasia from all who dare to challenge her claim to the throne and claim to survival. 

She sees her baby girl in Lily’s arms. Felix is the one walking her down the aisle and giving her away in place of the father she never knew.

The wedding march plays and Diana partially disassociates throughout the vows except for every time she has to say “I do”.

“I shall not slander you, nor you me. I shall honor you above all others, and when we quarrel we shall do so in private and tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you. This is the marriage of equals,” Claude finishes after her own recited vows. He says it with the reverence of gentle prayer. Every word that rolls off his tongue is said with weight and promise of forever. 

Listening to Claude swear his undying love and loyalty to her is like trying to hear someone yell from under the ocean while the torrents of a hurricane lap into her ears. Trying to hear herself recite her own rehearsed vows  or the priestess’ ordinance has the opposite effect. It’s like screaming them into an empty cave. It echoes into her ears and rattles her thoughts, bouncing around in her empty skull.

The filter clogging her ability to process sound is suddenly cleared when she hears gasps from the pews. 

Oh. He must have said something important.

But he just said vows, didn’t he? 

This is my wedding vow to you. This is the marriage of equals. It’s all that echoes in her head. 

Then she sees the crown the officiant’s assistant— assistant?— brings on a velvet pillow. With gold embellishments of course. Still, the gold on the pillow was completely eclipsed by the gemstones on the crown. The thing is huge on its own with just the intricately forged silver metal, but the stones and pearls on it adds to the bulk in shaping itself into the crown in its entirety.

It’s ridiculous. It’s probably meant to be this beautiful thing of great significance, but all she can think about is the headache that the wearer would get after a few minutes with it. 

And it’s going on her head. She’s the wearer. Ouch.

She can’t help but lower her head towards the priestess as the crown is placed on her head. The bottom of it is cushioned, at least. 

She hasn’t learnt her lesson about not paying attention apparently. She misses most of what the priestess says, but it seems important. Something something “empress” blah blah “equal power in reign” yada yada “bring forth prosperity upon the empire”. She finds Claude’s eyes easier to focus on. 

She breaks out of her stupor to hear someone whisper “ they look so in love” and “ they haven’t stopped staring at each other” and “by the goddess, what is the emperor thinking”. That last part is hissed out by a male voice. Someone hisses “what will we do about the child?!” . It’s a female voice.

Diana smiles to herself while sparing a glance at Athanasia. 

“Such a well behaved child” someone else whispers. Usually a baby would cry or at least be a little bit fussy. Not Athanasia. She wasn’t a usual baby to begin with, wasn’t she?

—

Rosalia scowls briefly across the banquet hall to the newlywed happy couple and their baby before anyone notices. Disgusting. There was no way that daughter of a whore and a whore’s son would become the next sovereign of Obelia. No way. The trio would be an eyesore on the throne. 

She’d rather take the bastard of a noblewoman and the late tyrant any day. At least their pedigree was pure. The only flaw with Jennette was… well, one of the flaws with her niece was that she was technically illegitimate. Even then, her signature royal eyes with the exact appearance of jewels, just like the jewels that Rosalia would gorge herself on when her niece took the throne and favor of the empire itself, would show that her so-called status as a royal bastard was inane.

Nonetheless, she can’t make Jennette known to the emperor quite yet. Penelope had risked her life for Jennette’s safety as her beloved ticket to becoming the most powerful woman in the world. Rosalia would make sure Penelope’s life was all it took. Perhaps the new empress’s life would be part of that price for good measure. And the new crown princess too. 

There are many herbs in Rosalia’s garden after all. A drop of one to induce infertility and a pinch to induce death. A crushed insect, like her , with a mortar and pestle into paste to cause hallucinations. Unfortunately, the wedding was a bit of a surprise so there was no way to get rid of the emperor’s new bride-to-be with a well executed plan and a sly flick of a wrist. 

She sighs, though quietly as possible for it is unbecoming of a well-bred lady to draw attention to herself and make it known she is upset. Her cousin must be just as furious at the sudden news of both an heir and a sudden promotion of a concubine to an official wife. Not just an official wife. An only wife. 

“How are you feeling, Roger?” she asks him.

He takes a sip of the wine. It’s from an old, classic bottle that’s been around since the time of Emperor Aeternitas. Of course the emperor would bring out the finer things for his new and pretty thing of a bride.

“... Apprehensive.”

Fitting, since he’s the one set to raise Jennette. If Jennette were raised under Rosalia, it would make it easier for her to be found out and forced out of hiding. As much as it broke Rosalia’s rotten heart she needed to send away all she had left of her sister for both their sakes. House Alpheus was a far better choice to raise Jennette, though they didn’t often see eye to eye. He was a duke with resources aplenty to raise her as a potential heir to the throne and he was only a cousin to House Judith, drawing attention away to Jennette’s possible parentage. 

Now that this new baby— named Athanasia— was named as Emperor Claude’s heir, their chances of having Jennette enter the royal household and gain the love of her possible father was slimmed to none, especially since Diana survived.

How did she do it? Why did Rosalia’s sister die when Diana lived? Was the magic of the royal bloodline too strong for Penelope to handle and the peasant wench was simply stronger due to her different, poorer upbringing? Damn her.

The reception hall, of the imperial palace’s many, opens as both a setting for light socialization and an opportunity for Rosalia to scope out the competition. The bride and groom would separate every so often to greet their guests and a few friends in the small guestlist could exchange a dance or two without worrying about dance cards or much restriction. 

Rosalia is no fool. She could sniff for the blood in the water. The bride, newly introduced to the lifestyles of nobility and royalty, would be fresh meat for the wolves. And she would be alone. Vulnerable. She was open to make a fool of herself and be hunted for her secrets to be used for blackmail. 

“So, Your Majesty,” Rosalia tries. She knows she’s breaking etiquette, but would Diana know? “I heard—”

“Excuse you, countess,” the emperor's bride, the nerve of that wench , cuts her off with a sharp smile. “I was having a conversation. It is incredibly rude of you to address your empress without permission, now is it?”

For a moment, she hesitates. She must have been given lessons by her handmaid, the woman from the York family, in preparation for the event. Of course, Rosalia’s born and bred for the delicate nuances of etiquette— unlike the new empress.

“Ah, please forgive me. I simply wanted to familiarize myself with you. You’re just so foreign, to both Obelia and her noble society,” excellent, insult her birth and ranking “I just wanted to ensure you were comfortable so far from your strange homeland and low status—”

“You’re pointing out my origins, Lady Judith? I didn’t know that House Judith had such an opinion towards foreigners and the vast majority of the world’s population? How xenophobic and classist. I pity the masses that must face your governorship.”

Rosalia froze. Oh, so she’s overcompensating with her new vocabulary words? “Oh, no, Your Majesty please don’t misunderstand. It was merely a mistake with my wording, I apologize.”

“I see. My sincerest condolences, by the way. Your recent loss must have truly disoriented you to make such mistakes at a royal event,” Empress Diana smiles in mock sympathy.

What? How did she know? Penelope’s pregnancy and labor was kept a secret from everyone except her and Roger. 

“Ah, yes,” Rosalia desperately tries to recover. In her stupor, she says “Not everyone is so lucky to recover from childbirth. My dearly departed sister, bless her soul, was close to my heart.”

“Oh, of course,” the Empress places her hand over her heart. Then she looks around as if she’s about to tell a secret. And she giggles— how immature.  

Then Rosalia can barely process the words she says next.

 “It was surprisingly easy to survive a royal birth, but it’s worth it since I'll see her inherit the throne one day. Shame about your sister and her bastard, I suppose and that they can't say the same. I do hope the child grows up well. I wish you luck,” the Empress excitedly whispers into her ear, like they’re only gossiping about one of Marquis Acestor’s latest torrid fling instead of information that could shake the entire line of succession. 

The Empress pulls away from her with a smile and says “It was good talking to you,” while Rosalia’s ears still rang from her words. 

She needed a drink. 

—

As much as Her Royal Majesty, Empress Diana de Sidonia Obelia, wanted to gloat more about her first success in her new life, poor Countess Judith was looking quite pale. She walked away to find her husband. Her husband, who she’d spend the rest of her life with and for. 

She sees him leaning on his fist with his elbow on the dining table. A few nobles are chatting endlessly, but none of their words seem to reach his ears. His lids droop and his eyebrows never wrinkle or move at all with every bit of yapping around him. Still, his formalwear stays an immaculate white without a single wrinkle finding a home in the sturdy fabric.

This must be a trait that comes with royalty, Diana thinks. But if she started thinking too hard now, she’d begin fantasizing about how Athanasia’s innate regality would be— to be the coveted center of attention at all times, always the smartest in the room with quick wit and charm that would come naturally to her. That dream was many decades from now, but it was a reality Diana could almost taste. 

I suppose Diana is my name now, is it. 

“Dearheart,” she says, gliding over to him with all the poise and grace only the best dancer in this entire world could have, “I hated being away from you for so long.” She says the words in a light, teasing tone, but the nobles that stay flocked around Claude make their eyes widen like she seriously meant it like she was just some clingy girlfriend stuck in the honeymoon phase instead of the mother of Claude’s only child. 

Claude lights up when he hears her. His eyes widen and glitter and he smiles like an angelic child that finally got the puppy— or the love and affection— that he’d always wanted. Something about seeing an expression of pure childlike wonder on the closest thing to the hottest celebrity this world was ever going to have almost made her keel over in laughter. If he’s this happy with a joke, then what would his reaction to genuine affection look like?

He reaches out to give a courteous kiss on her hand. Then he turns it over to open her palm and puts his cheek into it with a smile. And Diana continues the contact, caressing his face as she moves to sit next to him. Ten months ago, this day might have only been a dream for him. To have and to hold each other, in sickness and in health. 

I love you goes unsaid from him when Claude smiles and kisses the palm of her hand.

I love you goes unsaid, she hopes, because right now if it does come out of her mouth it would be half a lie. 

This day was meant to go to the original Diana, but she wasn’t here anymore. Now new Diana would have to continue her dying wishes. Claude and Athanasia will be loved. Their reigns will be long and prosperous. Diana would make sure of that. 

Chapter Text

Diana slouches on one of the many plush sofas in the Garnet Palace, her new residence alongside her new husband. Her daughter resides in her rightful place as the sole resident and owner of the Emerald Palace where the two of them could want for nothing more. Both of the palaces have been outfitted with furniture befitting people that have caught an emperor on their fingers. She runs her hands along the plush fabric, pondering what lay ahead of their collective lives. 

Knowledge of Athanasia’s existence ceased being a secret when the wedding happened. Athanasia was there, held by Lily and shown off to others by Claude. Diana knows that pride for her baby would continue to build up and swell in her chest as time goes on and on as more and more reasons to show her off would come.

There are other things to worry about in this strange new world as well. 

A few stacks of books centered around geography and history and magic rests on the low table at her feet. There’s another propped open with a pencil nested in its spine because they somehow exist in this era. Did they normally exist in her original world at this time epoch? There’s another pencil atop a few papers full of notes— written in Diana’s native tongues for safekeeping. To an outsider who isn’t Sidonian, they’d think she wrote in codes and long lost symbols. To someone who is Sidonian, they’d see their own text making gibberish words in a tangle of strange symbols.

Next to them is a cup of warmed milk and lavender honey that’s enchanted to never spill. It’s meant as a sleep aid, but it only serves as a reminder of how much her life has changed. Other than it being magic, she had ordered it and it came as quickly as a whip’s crack. The palace servants must have been quickly whipped into shape before coming in and serving the new empress. 

And it was a drink. 

A drink had poisoned the original Jeannette. The poison came from Countess Judith’s garden. That fact was found quite late in the investigation, long after the accused was hanged.

The original intention in the book was just to frame Athanasia with an attempt instead of actually killing Jeannette, just to remove her from the line of succession even further— as if Claude considered her to begin with. By now, after Diana’s conversation with Roselia, that intention might have changed to be more direct and extreme. By killing Diana, who should have never survived to begin with. 

“Diana?” she hears from the doorway. “Won’t you come to bed?

The gentle twinkling from the eyes of the royal bloodline stand out sharply against the low candlelight. There’s only so much that candlelight and magical enhancement can do against the nighttime ambience. Jewel eyes must work well as a honing device for children to find their parents and vice versa in the dark. It must make playing hide and seek hell.

She walks up to Claude to hug him. She feels his heartbeat against her own chest skip a beat as she nuzzles her face into his neck.

“I’m worried.”

Claude runs his hands up from her waist to slide his arms up to reciprocate the hug. “Why?”

“I hear Countess Judith likes to grow things,” she says, pressing her face into the crook of where his neck meets his shoulders. “Like atropa belladonna.”

“I see,” Claude stays silent to dwell on all the possible ways Penelope’s sister could hurt them with this. “That reminds me.”

“Of what?” Diana looks up at him, hoping her big round eyes convey pleading as well as she thinks they are.

His fingers begin to crackle with power that almost sends fear down Diana’s spine. She knows it won’t hurt her— that Claude would never hurt her after all the comfort the real Diana gave and the strife they went through with Athanasia’s birth. She still flinches when he boops her on the nose with sparks flying in small embers.

It sends down a warm sensation through every cell of her body. It’s like someone putting a blanket over her next to a fire on a rainy day or being wrapped in a hug on a cold night. It’s a nice feeling that feels like warmth. Like love. It feels like love in its purest form. 

“Oh,” she says dumbly.

“I’ll have to put it on Athy too,” he says, lightly pressing a kiss on her. “But in the morning. It’s quite late.”

“Oh.” Diana says. “Wait, does this protect me from poison too?”

“Yes, and physical attacks too.”

“That’s good to know.”

“So, what’s all of this?” he says as he gestures towards her notes. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” she says. “I decided to write it all down.”

“Like… This?” Claude bends down closer to the papers with a frown. “You must have been thinking a lot to want to write like this.”

Diana froze. Claude must have learnt how to read and write in at least one other language as a child of an emperor, regardless of ranking. Maybe he learnt Sidonian.

“I didn’t know you knew four languages either… Must have taken a lot of time to learn all of them. Speaking of time, I guess we have to… take advantage of all the time we still have together before it runs out and be grateful that our time wasn’t cut short,” Claude croons as he makes his way back over to her, with their chests meeting and him leaning into her ear. 

“Yes,” she says, with her face flushing and her blood flooding her ears— and more going south. “We should.”

—

It’s the perfect image of the perfect family that Athanasia’s always wanted. Her loving mother as the empress at her equally loving father’s side. The fact that she has her mother, beautiful and radiant in life as Lily’s stories about her were, is enough alone. She has all the material wealth she could ever ask for and more, with a closet full of pretty dresses and treasuries’ worth of jewels. Nothing is out of her reach. Especially not the constant attention and love of her doting father. She always seems to get what she wants in this life.

Perhaps Father’s unwavering attention is the worst thing past Athanasia had wished for because her present self, receiving it in spades, loathes every second. It’s like a dehydrated man suddenly getting thrown into a well that went on for thousands of leagues. There’s never a spare second to herself where she isn’t under the protective gaze of her father or a meal where his lap isn’t her high chair.

And when she has to lose it all again, her adjustments to her pampered lifestyle would be useless. She’d have to scramble to regain her once-gloomy and aloof appearance to prevent anyone from taking advantage of her. Letting down her guard around her father— around his court that’s a glorified vipers’ den all slithering about to climb the social ladder and far more than willing to stab each other in the back for the sake of personal gain— would be more of a death sentence than being around Jeannette at dinner time or the noose against her neck. 

So she clings on to every bit of affection she can get and milks it for all it’s worth. Receiving fatherly affection is strange to her, but the strangest part of it all is her mother.

“Athy, do you know what you should do?” Mama smiles down at her. 

All Athanasia can do in response is babble and blink up at her. The most she can say is a gurgled “mama” to her mama.

“When you can speak, I think your first word should be ‘papa’!” she whispers excitedly to her. “You can’t let him know that you’ve said mama before, though. It’ll be more special that way.”

“Ba?”

“Yeah!” she continues as if she thinks her baby can fully comprehend and respond to— which Athanasia can, but it’s not like either of them can confirm it. “And do a lot of cute things, like make some drawings to give to him! And tell him how happy you are around him. And be vulnerable around him, like telling him about your nightmares.”

Athanasia stays silent before responding with a babble. Mama’s telling her all this advice like it’ll do anything. She still wants to try it, just to see if it’ll work in gaining Father’s affections before Jeannette ruins everything. Mama’s influence over him, like a flame’s siren call to a moth, must have changed his attitude towards her. If Father ignored Athanasia for years because of his grief for Diana, then Diana surviving her birth must have changed him. 

—

There’s one scare, though brief, that made her think that nothing’s changed. 

With sparks on his fingers, Athanasia can only watch as Father walks closer to her with focused intent burning in the eyes they had in common— that made them family. Her muscles are too small, weak, and new to fight her way out of her bassinet and run out of her nursery. She can barely hold her neck up except for the times Mama insists that she be put on her stomach for the sake of building strength— which she’s never heard of before. The maids before never insisted and always seemed annoyed when she was out of a small, controlled area. She’s barely big enough to fill her father’s arms while towers over her. 

“Papa?” she blinks up at him, hoping that whatever he intends to do won’t harm her.

And he smiles softly down at her. His brow softens with the kind of tender kindness that Athanasia has never seen before— at least in the past. He reaches out to her with a slow hand, as if to gently ruffle her hair instead of ensorcelling her with a horrible curse to make her remember and relive everything that had happened in her past life.

Father does ruffle her hair with magic still on his fingertips. Athanasia is too scared to react or move. She waits for the contact like she waited for the gallows’ floor to disappear under her. She waits. Then it happens.

The sensation of magic crackling across Father’s fingers and feeling it transfer into her skin, into her heart and every inch of her being. But instead of the unrelenting pain of rope against her neck like the high collared dresses she used to favor or the burning feeling of her lungs bursting and begging for some air, it’s something warm and fuzzy . It’s something comforting. Something loving, even, like a warm woolen blanket that he handknit and draped over her. Throughout her entire self, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, it’s the embrace of a promise to always cherish and protect.

A protection spell. It’s love in its purest magic essence, because of course love would be some sort of magic spell. It was what Athanasia had once felt around Jeannette. It’s the fragrance of the rose gardens in spring and aged books in autumn. It’s the warmth of the sun on a summer day and the hearth in winter. And it’s just for her.

Then father leans down over the railing of the bassinet to give her a kiss on her forehead. “I love you,” he says.

Athanasia starts ugly-crying the moment the words reach her ears and run through her mind, echoing with every memory of her wanting to hear those words. It’s the kind that makes faces scrunch up with redness and snot drip down people’s chins.

“Um,” Father frowns, “Have I done something wrong?”

She reaches out with her stubby arms and tiny hands. “Papa!” she sobs out. It doesn’t sound perfect, like she always needed to be, from her underdeveloped mouth. But it works.

Papa’s eyes widen, like he didn’t really expect her to respond. “Oh, I guess you can’t really respond to me yet. I’ll be waiting, though,” he chuckles and leans down again to kiss her one more time. “I love you.”

It’s almost too good to be true. So much so that she doesn't want to believe it. 

And she gets and does what she wants. So she doesn’t believe it. It’s only a matter of time before she sees his true colors anyway. Until he threw her away in favor of Jeannette and she had to resign herself to being the forgotten, unloved princess.

But now she isn’t alone with just Lily in her fight for the throne. This time she had her mother too. If her mother is just as charming as others had claimed, then the fight would be easier. Not only that, she’s also far wiser than she had been before with eighteen years’ worth of knowledge and experience of navigating the imperial court and its tricks.

Things would be better for her.

—

Mama’s strange in so many ways. Athy wants to chalk it up to her Sidonian heritage, but everything that she does and mentions doesn't even seem to be of this world.  

For one, Mama always insists on giving her a bath. Athy knows she’s done other things that are relatively bizarre for upper class women, like dancing for a living before she married Papa and not hiring a wetnurse for Athy. Then, when they’re alone together for some mother-daughter time, she says the strangest things.

“Always make sure anyone who isn’t a noble has enough to eat, Athy,” Mama says. She’s the one that coined the nickname. Athy wants to deny every time it makes her feel warm and fuzzy whenever Papa says it. “I won’t let you end up like Marie-Antoinette and King Louis. The wealth disparity between the classes was extremely high because the king liked to overspend on things that weren’t really for the good of the people. Then the French Revolution happened and they chopped off the heads of everyone who was nobility and above. Then France changed to a different form of government, but it was really messy. At least that’s how I remembered it in class. I haven’t been in school for a really long time, so take my word with a grain of salt. The lesson here is to care about the wellness of the people when you take part in governance.”

Athy opts for the entire salt shaker. She doesn’t know what “France” is and why things pertaining to it is called “French” instead of a simpler naming scheme that they have in Obelia and adjacent countries, like calling things “Francian”. She can’t exactly ask her mother “what the fuck are you talking about” because she can barely get out basic words and the taste of soap when Lily heard her say such things before was still ingrained in her memory. 

“I heard of doing this from a… a book I read. It mentioned an empress washing her children as babies often because she thought it made them live longer. She referenced another empress who had ten children that all lived past adulthood,” Diana says, lathering what little hair— sunlight gold, of course— Athy had grown in the past months since she was reborn. “I hope this catches on by hierarchical diffusion… or something. Hygiene is really important for health, just in general. I hope Obelia’s already advanced to that point. Does Obelia have a public health and safety sector yet? Actually, ignore me, I have no clue what I’m talking about.”

Athy listens to her mother ramble more and more about public health and safety and how to better improve the quality of peoples’ lives. While it’s interesting to hear her mother interested in the wellbeing of Obelia’s people as empress instead of simply being a pretty accessory on Papa’s arm, it’s also concerning to hear her talk about things in terms of “have we done this yet?” instead of “we’ll have to implement that soon” or “I’m glad we have that” as if she isn’t sure of what fit the current times. 

She’d stumble before mentioning something and recover quickly, but her hesitation to say anything that seemed new is still there, still noticeable. The quick ease of the tongue that came with being a noblewoman isn’t quite there yet for her, but Athy could see she’d stumble her way into it eventually. It’s something for Athy to think about. 

Mama’s mentions of other countries and its cultures but seeming to be unfamiliar to Obelia’s and her own with easy to miss awkward stumbling and quick thinking to pretend she isn’t unfamiliar made Athy… feel strange about her. Yes, her mother is easy to adore with her charming smiles and quick, fiery wit, but she felt off from the moment Athy met her a few days after she was born. Now, with her mentions of countries that she knows were never on the map of the world’s known continents, she knows for sure that her mother is either not of this world, has gone through vigorous traveling and education, or both. 

She thought that having a mother would make her life a little easier. If she had a mother, she had thought once before she died, she’d have another person to love her unconditionally and sing her lullabies and have someone else to make proud and reciprocate with praise and make her worries go away whenever she felt sad or stressed. She thought wrong. Only a little bit wrong.

Her mother makes her confused and concerned, but also proud of her.

Her mother also makes her go what the FUCK before she was supposed to know about the f-word.

Pride for Mama and her quick wit and charm is certainly there— that’s definitely why Papa made her empress instead of keeping her as a mere consort. He even moved her to his residence and shared a bed with her instead of just giving her a chamber or two in the next wing over in the Garnet Palace. Athanasia was there at the wedding too. The vows he exchanged with her to have and to hold for until the end of all time were also the sacred kind that proclaimed to all who were listening— which was everyone who was anyone important — that Diana is the only person he will ever love, even beyond the grave, and that she would be his equal in terms of power and the throne until his heir could take his place. Even then, as a dowager, Mama could still hold her position as the empress mother. There weren’t many emperors that had taken those vows before him.

She definitely proved she could handle it. The duty of governance is to solve the problems of the people as a whole through the means that were obtainable.

One problem was scorbut, and at the moment it still is.  

Athanasia remembered it in her original childhood. It wasn’t really a problem they could solve. They weren’t sure how scorbut even happened. It mainly affected sailors who went on long trips, but then there were a few peasants here and there who got it too. It didn’t seem contagious— the gum condition never reached the nobility or royalty, so it was never a problem for the nobles and royals to solve.

Athanasia hears about it again because Mama had brought her to Papa’s office. The royal seal sat upon his desk like a little guardian over his paperwork, daring anyone to touch his precious, precious paperwork. Paperwork was and always will be a constant in her lives, especially whenever Jeannette needed help in filing something and filling paperwork out. There were not enough gods in the pantheons that she could pray to in order to plead for Jeannette suddenly growing the competence she needs for doing paperwork in Athy’s absence. The quill scratched at the fine paper with a solid line of ink that Athanasia couldn’t read from the angle she’s held at in her mother’s arms. She could still see Papa’s brow heavily lined with wrinkles, as if anyone could miss that. 

“What’s wrong darling?” Diana asks. Even though Athy wasn’t who the affectionate term was directed towards, it still set her heart fluttering to hear any form of love between her parents that she hadn’t witnessed before. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Claude says, rubbing his temple before receiving a gentle kiss on that very spot. Then Mama holds her so that Claude can receive another from Athy. 

“Tell me anyway.”

“There’s a disease that’s been going around,” he says as he leans back. Then he reaches his arms out for Athy. Diana plops her in Claude’s arms with an audible puff from her fluffy little dress.

“And?”

“We’re not sure how to deal with it. It doesn’t seem to be contagious, and there’s not much of a pattern with the patients, other than sailors and some peasants.”

“Oh, what are the symptoms?” Diana asks as she takes her own seat. Papa got softer furniture for them in his office and favorite parlors for when Athy got old enough to walk— again— but not old enough to know how to not accidentally hurt herself, not that she’d be careless in this second chance at life she had, and for making Diana’s life easier with miraculous recovery after the labor.

“Unhealthy gums, teeth loss and decay...” he lists off.

“In sailors and peasants…” she quietly ponders  out loud. “Would their diets lack in Vitamin C?”

“Pardon?”

Ah, Mama’s at it again— talking about strange things again. What’s next? Memory stones that didn’t need magic? More talk of boxes that kept things chilled without enchantments? Mama had talked of such things before, so they weren’t much of a surprise. Not like Athy knows what a “camera” or a “refrigerator” truly were.

“Um,” she put a hand to her chin again. “What do you think that those kinds of people eat?”

Claude raises an eyebrow at her. “Why do you ask?”

“If it’s not a virus or germ that they have in common, then maybe it’s… dietary? That’s one common denominator, right?”

“Um…” Athy can see him try his best to hide his frown for her, but confusion won on his face. “Yes, I suppose.”

 “What do their diets have in common? What do they usually eat? What’s accessible to them?”

He blinks rapidly. Perhaps Mama didn’t act like this— so interested in ruling with a critical mind— before Athy was born. As far as Athy remembered, no one talked the way Mama would talk. 

“Mostly meats, preserved and salted, and bread, I suppose. The peasants that do get scorbut usually have to eat soft foods,” he says, scanning his eyes over the reports.

“I see.”

“Do you glean anything from this?”

“They don’t eat a lot of fruits and vegetables?”

“No, they rot too quickly overseas, so it’s better to just not pack them on long trips. For regular peasants, they just can’t chew at all, so they can only drink broth and porridge.”

“What about magic? To preserve them?”

“... It usually costs too much for a peasant or poorer sailor to pay a magician to cast spells for that. More cost effective to go without magic, but the long term effects of doing so is less than satisfactory.”

Mama blinks and squeezes her eyes tight for a while, as if bracing herself for a potentially very bad decision. “Rosehips. Rosehips contain a lot of Vitamin C. You need Vitamin C for growth and repair of bodily tissues. That’s why scurvy happens: you don’t have enough, so wounds open back up and never heal, gums start to bleed, and you’re prone to bruising.”

Papa blinks rapidly again. “Really? I’ve never heard of this before.”

“I can prove it with a small sample size. Maybe one ship of sailors or a group of scurvy patients can drink rosehip tea for a period of time, and we’ll compare their condition before and after the experiment!” Mama’s eyes sparkle— though not with the same degree of shimmer like the royal jewel eyes but they might as well have.

They sparkle with excitement and anticipation. They lit up as if a prize dangled in front of them. Mama isn’t doing this out of the goodness of her heart or the prospect of the results helping the good of the nation. It was the result of finding good results. It would boost her reputation and consolidate her image of the mother of the empire.

It was genius. And since she already knew it would work based on whatever forces told her about so many things, she would lose nothing and gain everything on her whims.

“I’ll allow it.

“Good!”

“I’ll put you in charge of the budget for it and you can organize everything from then on there.”

“What.”

Athy stifles a laugh at Mama’s killed excitement. Oh, what a pity— to have to do work as the second-in-command as the head of an entire country. 

“It’ll be a good experience with the authority of the empress. I’ll send Lily and another advisor down with you to aid.”

“Good, good,” Mama stiffly says. Her eyes drift to Athy for support. What is she supposed to do? She’s a baby.

—

Dear lord, save me from this hell, Diana prays to whatever god has the mercy to save her from having responsibilities instead of just being able to tell people what to do, sit back, and reap the benefits. Putting out a suggestion to save people from scurvy is one thing, but actually having to do things to get results is another thing entirely. Maybe having her in charge is a way to also exhibit to other people that the royal family is willing to take responsibility for a hypothesis, but it’s a correct fact that has been confirmed by plenty of sources. Those sources just aren’t… in this world. 

She needs actual evidence in this world for “her theory”. Not that she’s worried about being wrong— except for the off chance that her world’s biology didn’t apply to anyone at all. It’s just the fatigue from having to work in her past life. Her hopes of being a rich jobless person who only occasionally did something charitable and useful were dashed. Not only that, but it’s a distraction from thinking out a plan against Team Problem when the time finally came.

It’s not like she’s lazy or anything— it’s one thing to scheme and try thinking ahead, it’s another to act on schemes and actually succeed. Failure is tangible. Failure means dying again and letting Athanasia suffer her book counterpart’s fate. 

With a tearful goodbye, and an eye roll from Athy and a clingy Claude, she heads off to the seaside town with a budget, Lily, and a noble aide. At least the project would serve as a way to increase the positives of her reputation as Empress Diana to outweigh the parts most nobility would turn their noses up— the fact that she’s a foreigner, the fact that no one knew who her parents were, the fact she isn’t a noble at all and instead a dancer and a commoner by blood. In the end, it would serve her.

“Do you have a plan, Your Majesty?” Lady Otilia Viridans asks delicately.

The last time Diana read The Lovely Princess, the once wealthy and powerful House Viridans was only a vessel to show the lengths that the cold and cruel emperor would go to for the sake of his beloved daughter. Lady Allegria Viridans, the daughter of Duke and Duchess Viridans, was an avid social climber who befriended Athanasia. When Jeannette came, she believed that the more intelligent princess would be the better candidate as heir apparent over Princess Jeannette, so she openly showed her support for her.

Then that support for Athanasia became outright vitriol against Jeannette when it became clearer and clearer that she put all of her eggs in the wrong basket and grew more desperate to make her investment pay off. Emperor Claude, being the “loving father” that he was, decided to behead her after an incident involving relatively tame words compared to what Diana thought of Jeannette and scalding tea. Then the once glorious and insanely wealthy House Viridans was reduced to a few properties compared to the vast abundance they once had to their name, no noble peerage, no prospects, and an empty seat at their meager dining table where their second-born child once sat. 

Obviously that wouldn’t happen. In her new and improved lifetime, Claude won’t even bat an eye at Jeannette. 

“Yes,” Diana says through her teeth with ease. She had a vague idea of one, but showing weakness against a cutthroat noble she knew nothing about would be a bad move. All her planning mode brain cells were spent on dealing with Team Problem. Not that they knew what a brain cell was.

The carriage rumbles on the cobblestone pathway until it stops with a slight jolt. Their caravan consists of their carriage carrying three, another with servants, and entire wagons of rosehips and citruses for distribution. 

They didn’t really need a plan for the experiment. She just needed to get one small ship’s worth of sailors and a few peasant households to regularly drink rosehip tea to supplement their diets. Only a while later, scurvy’s gone and Diana gets some notoriety and popularity as the empress that solved an entire disease that barely mattered in her original world. 

“My lady,” Lady Viridans asks, “Forgive me, but how do you know if this is going to work?”

 “You question Her Majesty?” Lily flatly asks. Diana relishes in the quick defense with her loyal lady-in-waiting at her side for a moment before answering.

She flips her hair absentmindedly to come off as casual. “I read this in a book somewhere and noticed that people’s diets affect their health. Obviously what scorbut patients lack is parts of a balanced diet,” she recites her practiced excuse. It’s just enough to make them think she knows what she’s doing. Not enough to give them a direct answer other than her saying “I don’t know how it actually works, I just know.” Which was the truth.

Diana pulls the shawl on her elbows tighter as the three of them walk to the captain of the ship and the father of the household.

“Your Majesty,” they bow, “It’s an honor to be in your presence. For you to come here to our humble homes is an honor worth everything.”

Diana smiles. With a hand on her heart, she bows her head briefly. “I’m very thankful that you’ve agreed to this project of mine.”

“Of course!” Of course. The reward’s steep. What else could she do with the rest of the budget? Who would deny such a reward? “We’re eager to be the first in line to a cure to scorbut.”

Ah, right. Scurvy is nothing to her— just eat some oranges and she’s good to go— but it is to them. How many sailors died to this? How many people suffered just because they physically couldn’t eat a piece of fruit once in a while? The reward is just a side benefit. They’re desperate to get their hands on a cure. At most they’ve only thought of a possible side effect for a second or two.

“Of course,” she lets her smile soften into a gentle one that belongs to a benevolent leader instead of a saccharine socialite. 

She explains to them what to do.

And she tells herself, over and over again, nothing will go wrong. Nothing will go wrong. Nothing will go wrong. No one but she, Lily, Lady Viridans, and Claude— and Athy— know. It’s not public knowledge yet. The Garnet Palace keeps few maids, and none of them dare go near the emperor and empress when they’re together— for reasons. They are so few because Claude is paranoid as her, so they’ve all been vetted up to their great-great grandparents for the slightest hint of a motive against them. Lady Viridans and her maiden house were loyal to the imperial family since Empress Ambrosia founded the empire from the ground up. Generations passed as they usually do, yes, but oaths have been sworn a thousand times over to keep their families that way.

And Roselia and Roger are too unstable in their plans and backups to make a move yet. Yes, her reputation would be ruined if they… if they tried poisoning her tea supply or making it look like no progress happened, but the supply was taken from only the most reputable of suppliers and guarded by the most unwavering of guards. And their reputations would be worse if they tried to attack the emperor’s bride and future dowager empress based off of nothing.

And Jeannette’s still a baby. She is only a nightshade bud that hasn't bloomed yet. A pup that hasn’t grown into a beast.

—

And nothing goes wrong. Nothing.

Oh god, now she’s the Mary-Sue.

—

“My sincerest apologies for doubting you my lady,” Lady Otilia says with a deep bow, “and my sincerest confessions of admiration for your success.”

“I believe a gala would be fitting to celebrate,” Claude raised his glass of tea like a celebratory toast, “To commemorate such a discovery. I’ll even reward you with a medal. Or something fitting the occasion.”

“Yes! A gala would be lovely!” Lily smiles and claps her hands together in agreement. 

Diana groans. “So soon after the wedding? It’s only been, what, two months?”

“It’s already two months,” Claude grumbles back.

“Besides, it’s another chance to rub elbows with all the nobles,” Lady Otilia pauses for a second to think. “ All of them. I think the Moon of the Empire’s glory ought to be celebrated. This boost to your reputation will paint you as an intelligent and benign consort. People will scramble to kiss your feet. I think this opportunity to show people that you aren’t just a lucky concubine will do wonders.”

“It would paint me as a threat and I would have to do work. Like socializing with social ladder climbers.”

“It will also threaten said social ladder climbers,” Lily offers. “Who would dare insult the woman who found the cure to a disease.”

Diana sighs. “Athy, Felix, what do you guys think?”

“Um, Your Majesty, I don’t think Athy can answer you,” Felix offers.

“Sure she can. Athy: party or no party?”

Athanasia blinks and continues sucking on a lollipop— who gives a baby candy? They can’t brush their teeth— and nods in response.

Diana sighs again. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Let’s plan it to have it about two weeks from now,” Felix says. “To give Her Majesty some breathing room between the events. It’s really such a breakthrough to have found a cure to scorbut.”

“Eh, scurvy’s not that big a deal back home,” Diana says, which isn’t technically a lie for either Diana. There were plenty of fruits to eat back home and there weren’t many sailors she can think of dying by the hundreds back in her world and Sidonia. Sidonia’s mostly desert for miles, with the occasional oasis dotting the landscape.

How did she know that? H̶̟́o̶̯͊w̴̙̃ ̵͉̎d̴̼̎i̶̙͠d̷̠̈́ ̶̱̄s̵̫̓h̸̥̓e̴̥͝ ̷̞̽k̵̢̓n̷̹͂o̵͈͒w̸̗͒ ̵͉̎ṯ̶̿h̸̯̔a̸̓ͅt̶̺̏?̵̟̽

“Scurvy?” Lily asks.

Diana tenses for a second. No one else seems to question it— her calling scurvy by a different word. Maybe it’s a Sidonian thing. 

—

Diana quickly relearns all the intricacies of this new world and more because she quickly learns that she could unlock the real Diana’s memories. With every sentence she spoke and skill she practiced she became more and more like Diana. Parts of the original Diana blended more and more with the new one. Parts where the two Dianas met began to blend and infuse like honey stirred in warm milk. She’s less and less of a fraud everyday.

Old blisters get reopened and hardened over as Diana dances more and more, letting the buried skill in her resurface naturally. It makes her body flow with the music as if she is the source of the harmony itself. Her hips snap to the beat of the rhythm. Her limbs flow as the melody meets the air. Diana’s body relearning dancing is as innate as a spider spinning her web for prey. Her prey in question is her husband, in terms of seduction, and those who are unfortunate enough to be enamored with a married woman, just as enchanted with watching her get used to moving her neglected limbs again as easily as prey caught in a web. 

It’s almost like discovering something new or gaining loot when levelling up in a video game. She has to grind in a skill or study a topic to get to the next level of where the original Diana once was and climb up the skill tree after she gains XP. 

Except for the languages. She’s completely fluent in Sidonian, Common and Upper Obelian, and— to her utmost relief— still in English and Korean. The original Diana must have studied her ass off to learn two dialects of the same language. What even was the difference between the two?

The somewhat universal topics of study between Diana’s two worlds are also easy for her to relearn when she skims through the textbooks of the royal library. Also: Claude built her an entire library for her, which let her streaks of studying pass easier with no one but the occasional maid-in-waiting to remind her to take care of her basic needs to distract her. There are the basics she covers first. Math is a universal concept with base ten, two plus two, and five times five— though the concept of zero might be something new, because none of the pages she sees seems to mention zero on its own? She could “discover” that and introduce it. It makes her realize that “discovering” concepts that are “foreign” and “new” might give her more influence in the courts as empress. 

Memorizing geography and a few parts of history also come with ease. Complex Obelian literature is almost a lost cause, but a bit of Arlantan scripture and Sidonian poetry is snug in her toolkit of skills as a bookmark between the pages of philosophy. 

It also turns out that Diana had a penchant for “womanly” skills like embroidery and flower arrangement… and the art of politics and lovemaking. The latter two skills probably were definitely expected since she was a dancer offered up to Claude for the same reasons other women were semi-voluntarily offered up. Not because the people offering thought it would be nice if he had someone pretty to warm his bed, though that was a purpose too, it was because they wanted to garner political favor and power in his court. Obviously they had to be good at charming him and aiding him politically if they wanted to be powerful and give a proper challenge to others. They had to be good at having sex with him at the very least if they wanted to get anywhere or even touch the rungs of the social ladder.

Diana relearned the lattermost one the quickest starting from the wedding night and nightly onwards. Claude… was already skilled by default. 

The second to last skill, politics, was less surprising but strangest to actually have as someone who used to not know how to do politics in the past. Doing politics as a consort required a lot of finesse and charisma. It’s smiling and quietly holding in rage and annoyance from idiot courtiers as she suggested compromises and listened to endless platitudes. Suddenly a socially inept person had a World Tree’s worth of charm and didn’t know what to do with it. 

The worst of having to do politics up close and personal was dealing with people who tried undermining her and her husband. She didn’t have to deal with it a lot, but it was still a headache to deal with. 

—

One thing that past Diana and current Diana have in common was their opinion towards parties. They weren’t particularly unpleasant, but that depended on the guests. Parties among her original class, her fellow lower middle class and common folk and familiar friends were always something to look forward to. Maybe a friend would invite her to a party where she knew no one and she’d follow them around like a lost puppy.

Large parties with nobles and nouveau riche were meant for networking. Maybe a potential patron would invite the troupe or a paying customer would have them perform. Her troupe members would all suck up to the party guests in the hopes of getting their attention so they could perform at another event and get another paycheck. People need to find food for their bellies and a roof over their heads in one way or another.

—Diana’s way was letting the Sidonian king sell her to the Obelian Emperor and add her to his harem in exchange for a mine and some trading rights—

A fancy award ceremony and gala full of nobles that were full of themselves was about the same thing, except with Diana in the position of employer. Diana still needed to feign politeness and charm them with a bright smile and the gold she’d need to wear for the event. Without Claude’s magic, her velvet red dress and gold jewelry would weigh her down and make her sweat off the makeup painting her face.

Red silk drapes the walls and windows. Gold and yellow candlelight against the white of the walls make her wince briefly as Felix escorts her down the deep red lining the floor. Her shoes do not sink into it, thankfully and she thinks more and more. Maybe someone will accuse them of nepotism. It’s her own husband awarding the Rod of Asclepius— or at least a replica, or substitute just like she was for his real lover— so it’s obvious that a few nobles would be mad at the display and view it as nepotism or cronyism. As if she cared about the difference between the two. Aren’t the two prominent in high society? Doesn’t high society revolve around the two?

The Rod’s silver colored, so it stood out like a diamond in a sea of topaz. It’s a stick of platinum that matched her forearm in length with a snake coiled around it. It’s so well polished that she could see her reflection in it, distorted by the curve of the rod and the indents of the snake’s scales. 

Meant for those who contributed greatly to Obelia’s medical field, she remembers Lily whispering. Like finding a cure!

Well, technically she didn’t find it herself. She just gave the answer to people. It was cheating. Not that she cared when she did it. It would be worth it in the end, when House Alpheus and whoever the fuck dared to challenge Athanasia and Claude’s thrones. Who wouldn’t side with the family that cured a disease? How fitting, for a woman like her to have a snake for a trophy to symbolize her victory.

“The empire thanks you for your contribution. May more come to Obelia. May glory and honor shine upon your name,” Claude says and gives her the glorified baton with all the pomp and circumstance of their wedding. She doesn’t bother to keep herself attentive to the first half of the speech.

She kneels upon receiving it. It rests on a satin pillow like her coronation crown before she takes it in her hands. They both turn to the audience consisting of nobles, nouveau riche, and a few commoners that were lucky enough to have patrons. Empress Diana soaks in the applause and gives a warm, kind smile to everyone with a wave— even when she sees Duke Alpheus with his toddler son and Countess Judith. Roselia is enough of a coward to keep her face behind a fan. Duke Alpheus gives strained applause while little Ijekiel looks at Diana with all the reverence of a worshipper.

Children, or at least heirs, were most likely brought in the hopes of winning over an infant princess or the empress in an attempt to garner more favor and a chance to make them the royal playmate. It must be unpleasant to have children’s childhoods contaminated with politics. But that’s for Diana’s plan later , when Athy could walk and talk on her own.

It’s a royal banquet held in a large room, so of course there’s dancing. Of course. Diana and Claude dance with all the grace of angels soaring through the skies to hand down blessings. For the people of Obelia, the blessing they hand out together is the mere sight of them together. Such beauty and grace was proof alone of their divine right to rule.

Then they split up like last time, at their wedding, to socialize. Claude goes off to some noblemen who want to kiss his feet. Diana drinks alcohol again for the first time in forever— at least for this body— and chats up the noble ladies that try to undermine her and please her at the same time.

It’s hard, sometimes, to do things she was never meant to do and feel things that she never felt— like she can only view things from a third person perspective and never feel rooted or grounded in the world around her. So hard she doesn’t want to look in the mirror anymore. She keeps them covered up so she can’t look at her reflection. Diana had a whole life before Claude, and Diana had a whole life before just being Diana. She was the best dancer in the entire continent, so beautiful and enchanting that she was called a fairy that you couldn’t tear your eyes from. Did Diana lose some of that ability after she had a child? After she was replaced by some nobody? Did her parents mourn her death? Did anyone other than Lily and Claude care about her? 

Did anyone mourn her or care for her — as in the body that got left behind and the identity that was buried beneath?

She finished the rest of the champagne coupe— in this world it was a new design for glassware supposedly modeled after her left breast instead of Marie Antoinette’s or whoever else in this universe.

Then she hears whispers that don’t belong to Lily or Lady Otilia. They reach her ear like hissing. She almost wants to look down on her prize snake. 

Rumors. Gossip. That’s all they are or will be. But they’re not ignorable— reputation is important in high society.

“So if the Emperor… got rid of his harem, does that mean the Empress has to give him another spare heir to keep her position? I mean, a man with those looks and power like that must need another child in case something’s wrong with the first one…  or another woman,” a noblewoman says almost out of earshot of Diana at her own party. Idiots.

“I hear that the Empress is infertile now,” another one says. “And that the Emperor won’t touch her. The princess’s birth took too much of a toll and she won’t risk having another one.”

“What a shame… I’m surprised such a weak body ended up with such a… reputation…”

“I hear that it ruined her figure!” another whispers rather loudly, excited about an obvious given that was typical in intense medical episodes like a once in a lifetime scandal.

Diana laughs loud enough to catch their attention as she walks towards the offending women’s table. All of Diana’s training to be graceful and witty before Athanasia was born resurfaces just to put some nobles in their place. She hopes she looks as intimidating as she feels, with what she hopes is a sharp smile and a cruel gaze and the back of her hand under her chin as she laughs. Lily is by her side with a cold glare she’s obviously also learned from Claude. Lady Otilia is there too, to add to the size of her group and show who precisely supports the new empress in her position— an incredibly wealthy and influential woman who was nowhere near losing her status.

When she’s done laughing, she catches and relishes the flash of fear in their eyes. They’ve just insulted the Empress at her own party like a bunch of idiots. Such insubordinate behavior would have to be punished. Or made an example of.

“I think the three of you all ought to make a career of being a court jester,” she teases. When their fear turns into fully fledged horror across their stupid faces, she knows she’s on the right track to making them completely submit. Or shit their bloomers. Whichever one came first. 

She takes the time to remember that her sleeves are slit to fall away around her arms and show her arms up to where they connect to her shoulders and the style of her dress makes it so it was easy to show her midriff. Her neckline has a narrow and deep plunge held together with jewel buttons that were more like brooches, readily revealing the fabric and lacing of her undergown. The belt that cinches the dress’ waistline hangs low on the hips that went through so much to bring her princess into the world. Her floor length sleeves have slits placed to make them fall around her biceps that join the train of her dress.  It’s always been uncharacteristic of the free-spirited Diana to wear a thousand layers or crinoline skirts with the diameter of a wizard’s tower, even when she’s technically gone. Her style has always been to be as free spirited as her personality. 

“Yes, I do fear that my figure has been completely ruined after labor, o prophet of obvious truths. That’s what pushing an entire child out can do,” she continues, spreading her arms wide, showing off every part of herself that she was proud of. 

Diana raises her arms to flip her hair. It’s a poorly disguised attempt to show off the fruits of her labor. All her time spent to regain her original skill and strength came with rewards. Her dancer’s physique is a sculpted masterpiece built from the efforts of the previous Diana and the new one. Her sleeves drape around proof of her efforts— from studying and dancing until her eyes burned and feet cracked— showing pridefully as firm and toned muscles on her body.

This was her body, and it carried her through so much. This was Diana’s body that went through everything and saw it all, and she would not let others insult it.

The fruit of her labor that she’s most proud of is the stretch marks that cut across her skin like lightning through the sky. She’s alive, she survived, and she shows off her body’s record of survival by unclasping parts of her dress and pulling apart the lacing. She flexes her arms while doing so. She could punt all of them like a football if she wanted to. It wouldn’t be hard. She could supplex them directly into the marble flooring of the ballroom if there weren’t any witnesses.

“As you can see, I simply haven’t been the same,” she sighs as she dramatically throws her hand back as if she were about to faint. “You see, Claude simply keeps, well, putting me to work. It's awfully tiring, so my body just hasn’t been the same,” she says, stretching and bending her arms over and behind her head to show off some more. “If Claude weren’t so fussy over potential health problems, Athy would probably have… a lot more siblings than she does right now.”

The noblewomen all stiffen and blush at the insinuation that Claude fucks.

“Dearheart,” Diana hears as someone holds up her hand. She feels lips brush against the back of it through a pointed sleeve of her underdress. “Is anyone causing trouble?”

“No,” she laughs it off. “Only a few flies buzzing around my ears, but nothing to worry about. Or care about.”

“That’s good.”

The glare of Claude’s eyes make the room feel like it goes dark with just his presence alone. It falls on the noblewomen that scorned her like morning frost. It even reaches her own entourage. 

So this is what it feels, she thinks, to be near the “tyrannical emperor’s” wrath. Just far enough that it doesn’t touch her. The chill doesn’t phase her at all. She’s been in his warmth more than enough to forget what it feels like. 

“Let’s dance for a bit,” she suggests to break the tension. 

“Of course.”

What a beautiful couple they must make, quietly expressing their affection in hushed tones into each other’s ears and moving together in perfect unison. They’re a perfect matching pair of flames, like phoenix feathers revealing a new source of ignition in each twirl and kindling everyone’s interest. Every pair of eyes in the ballroom is on them as they soar through the center of the ballroom.

If only the distance could show them how much she blushed under the candlelight. Was the original Diana used to these kinds of remarks from Claude? He says sweet nothings stuffed to the brim with innuendos to her softly and sweetly like a songbird to the ears around them that couldn’t quite hear what he was saying— but the purpose of songbirds’ songs were to be mating calls.

—

“Let’s discuss a new form of taxation in order to increase revenue for more public projects,” Claude says while they lounge on the couches of his office. 

“Wow, Claude. You really know how to sweet talk a lady.”

“I’m serious,” Claude says, with his hand gently rubbing hers with his thumb. “You did so well with the scorbut problem. We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. I’m just curious to see what you can come up with in terms of things that have to do with policy-making.”

She sighed. Being a rich jobless person was a dream she shattered with her own hands. Now she needed to actually think about things that didn’t have to do with a book she read— and obsessed over for a set period of time. 

“We just finished a ceremony for it,” she says as she loosens her nightgown. 

Living a life of needing lacing now was hard to get used to, with both her modern life having jeans, bodycons, and bras being the tightest things to wear while Sidonian dance costumes had slightly tightened tops to keep everything in place while the fantasy version of harem pants— no pun intended, not that it probably was intended given the cultural norms of the setting between Obelia and Sidonia— were freer and looser than the pressure kept on the spine and abdomen from dresses and tightlaced corsets along with all of the petticoats and chemises and crinolines. Oh, the layers. So many layers. Now another restriction of her life was having to think about ruling an entire empire as big as Obelia instead of just focusing on her own basic dreams and ambitions. She never studied anything related to this job other than her world’s world history. 

“Taxes…” she sighs again. “Okay. What about… a luxury tax on jewels and fine textiles? If you haven’t done that already.”

“No, actually.”

“You haven’t?! There’s a bajillion nobles in this huge empire, and you haven’t created a luxury tax for luxuries? ”

“I don’t suppose we have one. We’ll just create another one, or extend a preexisting one if we have one already.”

“I pulled that out of my ass, Claude. The de Algers have ruled over this empire for how many years and we still don’t have a tax on luxury goods? Not even a base tax on expensive valuables? I’ve never even learned how to actually govern an entire empire and yet I’m the first to bring that up?.” 

She did not pull that one out of her ass. She read it from another book with a fellow isekai protagonist where one of the characters was a genius that came up with a luxury tax— that was also in a large empire with plenty of wealthy elite to spare— and got called the genius of the century for it. 

“I’ve been learning as I go, mostly,” Claude says. “Even though I’ve learnt a lot from shadowing my father, it’s only something you can truly learn while doing it. I’ve only ruled for… maybe a bit more than a year? I’ve been playing it by ear this whole time, even though I know what the melody is meant to sound like— I just don’t know where the crescendos and fortes are, or how long to hold the notes. Do you get what I mean?”

“One year?”

“Oh, did I lose you there?”

Diana stiffens. One year? Claude has only ruled for one full year, and they were only a bit into his second? Athanasia was only a few months old. Accounting for pregnancy, that would mean that Diana and Claude met and fell in love in the span of the first month of his reign. 

What the hell is the timeline? Diana holds her fingers up to count. December. Athanasia’s birthday is in December? And she’s only one year younger than Claude’s entire reign. How did Diana get the math so wrong? How did she think it was August when it was very clearly a cold day? And—

—Jeannette and Athanasia were only one month apart. That meant that either Jeannette was born late, Diana and Claude conceived Athy a single month after Penelope ran away while barely pregnant with Jeannette, or Athy was premature— and the mana that weakened the original Diana to the point of death had also caused a premature birth. Or were Jeannette and Athanasia born in the January and December of the same year respectively?

And, now that Diana thought about it more, why did it feel like only a few days or weeks passed when in reality it was the span of months. What had happened to her sense of time? Why were entire months off in her perception of time?

“Um,” she panics, “It’s just shocking. It’s only been a year, and my life’s changed so much. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Claude lays his head in her lap, leaning into her. He smiles. “About that luxury tax—”

“If people can afford a necklace worth a bajillion dollars they can afford a little bit more. You should implement it.”

“Since you have equal authority to me, you can sign the policy off,” he says. 

“Oh,” Oh. “Okay.”

It can’t be different from writing on paperwork or… whatever she did in her past life. What did she even do in her past life? 

“Will the nobles be made with a new tax on them?”

“Well, it will have to pass their approval first, but I’m sure that the House will pass it since they’re mostly middle class.”

“Okay,” Diana throws herself down on the bed. “Let’s sleep. ”

—

“Those bastards! ” Auntie Roselia shrieks.

It hurts Jeannette’s ears, and it scares her even more when she crushes the paper in her hands.

Whatever it was, it was probably sent by bad people with something worse on it. But she knows it can’t be that bad because it has the royal seal on it and Auntie Roselia can get angry easily— though not that easily. But surely Jeannette’s father and his family couldn’t have done anything that badly, right?

“Those leeches! A policy created by her no less!”

“Auntie, what happened?” Jeannette says behind the safety of her bunny.

Sometimes Jeannette’s worried whenever Auntie Roselia comes to the manor to visit when she’s like this— stomping in on those sharp stilettos that could crack marble if she tried, her hair done back and out of her face like a soldier on a warpath. Sometimes she looks like the monsters from the fairytale books that Kiel reads to her before bed instead of the heavy textbooks Mr. Alpheus wants her to read instead, with her teeth looking sharper with each snarling growl she sees or her eyes looking wilder than any animal could be. 

Then, suddenly as if a candle were blown out— more like a raging fire— Auntie calms down with a sigh that deflated her. Steam releases as the tenseness in her body melts when she turns to look at Jettie— not that anyone calls her that, but she would have liked that and she imagines that in her sweetest dreams of a family. 

People tended to melt the ice in their hearts and let their defenses down around her. Perhaps that would work around the emperor— her father.

Auntie sighs again. “Dearest, I hope you can follow along when I explain. It’s about a new policy that—that woman implemented. I hope you realize how deep her witch’s talons have sunk into that father of yours!”

Jettie’s eyes widen. Of course Auntie’s mad over Jettie’s stepmother. All that came out of her mouth whenever she was angry was a complaint over that woman, the emperor's wife who took her sister's place. 

Empress Diana de Sidonia Obelia. She hadn’t had a family name to give herself in her full title, so she gave herself her homeland’s name. She was a foreigner and a commoner and Auntie said that was bad and would ruin the empire. Jettie and her mother were nobles and were born in Obelia with the divine right to luxuries and power over lesser beings. Therefore, Jettie and her mother were better than Empress Diana and the daughter she had with Jettie’s father.

Still, even if Princess Athanasia, Jettie’s own sister, were lesser than Jettie because she was born to a commoner, she was still family. Perhaps Jettie could free her family from that woman’s clutches. 

“The empress has implemented a new tax policy—” and Jettie is already lost. 

She can’t give up— she can’t disappoint her family, both maternal and paternal, but there’s only so much a toddler who only recently learnt to speak can comprehend of something like tax policies and levying. 

Countess Judith’s ranting rings in her ears like static. She doesn’t know or process a single word. She clutches her bunny tighter. What little she can garner from the tangent was that she was mad over having to pay more for pretty things that were already expensive to begin with. Jettie could understand that. She’d be sad too if her dollies cost more money, which meant she wouldn’t be able to buy as many dollies. 

What a vile woman, Auntie has said before. Jeannette wants to agree. In her head, she imagines herself as the lovely princess that’s forced away from her rightful place in the glimmering palace because of her evil stepmother’s jealousy. Would her stepmother be jealous of her and her mother? Jettie’s mother used to be engaged to her father. She didn’t have to resort to manipulation and selfish tactics for her own sake. 

She imagines her stepmother cackling away with her feathered fan folded under her chin, like the wicked queen from her storybooks. She must love jewels more than Auntie Roselia loves her fine glassware and silks. She must have spent all the taxes on her own pretty dresses and jewels— that should have been Empress Penelope’s in the first place. 

She also imagines her sister trapped high in a tower by the empress. The empress must be molding her into her image, to make the princess the best pawn for her schemes and grow up to become a greedy femme fatale just like her— not that Jettie knows what a femme fatale whore is, just that she heard Auntie Roselia call the Empress that before. She imagines her father trapped in ice by the snow queen with her kiss, prone to shattering entirely. Jettie would have to save them someday. 

—

Diana feels strange, like someone was talking about her.

Whoever they were did not matter. All that mattered was the child in her arms that was not quite a child. 

She kisses Athy on the forehead before she lays her down. Diana uses the excuse of being a commoner who would expect to raise her own children to spend her time with her own child without judgement. She just wants to kiss her child goodnight.

“Everything will be alright, Athy. I’ll make sure of it.”

Athy gives her a look, as if to ask “how do you know?”.  

“Trust me. Things won’t turn out like last time.”