My husband of thirty years, a man I had honored and respected our entire marriage, gripped my wrist tightly as he lay dying. “My lady,” he rasped, “if there is a next life, I beg you… let your stepsister have the chance to save me from the mire. Let me have one lifetime of love with her.” Tears streaming down my face, I nodded. “I will.” A biting spring wind swept across the cobblestones. I found myself staring, frozen, at the destitute young man collapsed on our doorstep. This time, Josh, I will grant you the life you always yearned for. 1 Patches of unmelted snow clung to the crevices between the stones, and icicles hung from the eaves, their last drop of winter hesitating to fall. The familiar scene jolted me back to reality. I had been reborn, thirty years in the past. The jeering shouts of a servant rang in my ears. “Get out of here, you filthy beggar! Be off with you!” I instinctively hurried toward the gate. A thin back was hunched over in a threadbare tunic of dark indigo. The young man was kneeling on the steps, and the hands that had once penned such magnificent prose were now blue with cold, so pale they were almost translucent. It was Josh Atreides, age nineteen. The man who would become my husband for three decades of cool, respectful distance. In my memory, his withered, dying hand tightened on my wrist. From within the heavy, medicine-scented bed curtains, his clouded eyes glistened. “My lady, if there is a next life, I beg you, give the chance to save me to your stepsister, Isabelle. Let me be bound to her for one lifetime.” A twig snapped under the eaves, and I jolted back to the present. I could still feel the phantom chill of tears soaking my collar, the ghostly touch of his burial shroud on my palm. The soft patter of footsteps approached from behind. My stepsister, Isabelle, was heading this way with her maids, a crimson blossom trembling in her hair with every step. “Eleonora?” She stopped, puzzled. “Aren’t we going to the High Chapel to pray for blessings? Why have you stopped?” I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp points pressing into an old, faint scar I had brought back with me from my past life. Josh’s final sigh echoed in my ears: “Thirty years of mutual respect… but in the end, it was a love I could never have.” I pushed the thought away and looked at the bright, charming girl before me. “Isabelle,” I heard myself say, my voice hoarse. “We won’t go today. I think I heard an injured sparrow crying by the gate. Why don’t you go see?” The girl’s almond-shaped eyes lit up, and she lifted her skirts and ran toward the entrance. I stepped back, hiding myself behind a stone pillar, in a perfect position to see everything unfold. “You tricked me, sister! There’s no cute little sparrow, just a beggar! Ugh, don’t come so close to me.” 2 The young man’s voice, just as I remembered it, rose in desperation. “My lady, please don’t misunderstand. I am a scholar, here in the capital for the Royal Examinations. I have fallen on hard times because my travel purse was stolen. This is my writ of identity; it bears the royal seal.” Josh produced the scholar’s writ he kept close to his chest and offered it to Isabelle as if it were a precious treasure. Isabelle wrinkled her nose and leaned in to glance at it. When she saw his ranking on the writ, her eyes brightened. “Very well. Seeing as you’re a poor, unfortunate scholar, I will help you. Someone, fetch this young man some food.” “Yes, my lady.” Her maid hurried to obey. Josh’s body went rigid. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I knew his dilemma. In his desperate state, he needed coin to survive until the examinations. But he possessed a scholar’s pride and could not bring himself to ask for it. In my past life, I had admired his talent. I not only gave him twenty silver pieces but also secretly helped him fend off the schemes of a few wealthy, well-connected rivals in the capital. My sister, however, in all her charming innocence, could not comprehend the suffering Josh had endured. In her mind, giving him a bite to eat when he was destitute was an act of immense generosity. I watched the helpless, humiliated young man at the gate, a faint ache in my heart. I hoped, for his sake, that this lifetime’s love would be everything he dreamed it would be. 3 Two months later, on the day the examination results were posted, a runner from the city sprinted back to the Duke’s estate, breathless with excitement. “Congratulations, Lady Isabelle! That scholar you helped—he passed!” My stepsister grabbed my arm, shaking it with glee. “Eleonora, Josh’s scholarship is truly remarkable! Do you think he has a chance to be named among the top three Royal Scholars?” I met her bright, shining eyes and nodded. “He should.” In my past life, Josh’s powerful, elegant calligraphy and his uniquely insightful essays on statecraft had caught the King’s eye, and he had been named the Third Royal Scholar. To repay my kindness, he had come to our home on the day of the scholars’ parade to formally propose. I was the Duke’s high-born daughter, and a scholar of his rank was a rare prize. My parents were not keen on his humble origins, but I had already given him my heart and begged them to approve the match. After our marriage, I used my family’s influence and wealth to pave his way at court, helping him rise through the ranks. I managed our household flawlessly, ensuring he had no worldly concerns. But no matter how much I did for him, it could never compare to the stepsister he loved but could not have. I was known as the most talented lady in the capital. Seeing that even I held Josh in high regard, Isabelle became even more delighted with herself. “Sister, on the day I met Josh, it was supposed to be you who went out first. But it was me who helped him in the end. Don’t you think our connection is destined by the heavens?” She blushed at her own speculation. “What if he comes to propose to me to repay my kindness? Should I accept?” The crimson blossom in her hair made her look all the more vibrant and alive. 4 “Isabelle, this is a matter of your own heart. I cannot make that choice for you.” Although my stepsister was a lady of the ducal house, her mother was of low birth, a mistress her father had taken. To be a first wife, Isabelle would have to marry down. In our past life, she had married a minor official from a poor family. Though his rank was low, he treated her exceptionally well and took no other woman. But she despised her husband’s lack of ambition and turned their home into a chaotic mess. This time, with the far more promising Josh, she ought to be satisfied. Isabelle’s pink lips pouted as she tested the waters, half-joking. “Eleonora, you haven’t fallen for Josh as well, have you?” Seeing the suspicion and vigilance in her eyes, my expression grew cold. “Rest assured, sister. I will never marry Josh Atreides in this lifetime.” Seeing my anger, Isabelle quickly changed her tune, shaking my arm and playing the coquette. “I’m sorry, sister, it was my fault. You have a generous heart, please don’t hold it against me, won’t you?” I pulled my arm away and waved her off. “I’m tired. You should go.” 5 Soon, it was the day of the parade for the top three Royal Scholars. Just as Isabelle had hoped, Josh arrived at our door with a matchmaker to propose. He bowed deeply to my father, the Duke, and stated his purpose with reverence. “Your Grace, Lady Isabelle once showed this humble scholar a great kindness with a simple meal. I wish to ask for her hand as my wife. I pray you will grant my request.” My father nodded with satisfaction. “Very well. I approve this union.” Isabelle had been hiding behind a screen in the grand hall, listening in. The moment the match was settled, she ran to find me, bursting with pride. “Sister, Josh is truly a man of honor and loyalty! I’m soon to be the wife of the First Royal Scholar! You’ll have to try harder now, sister.” I put down my book and looked at her, confused. “Isabelle, Josh was not named First Royal Scholar this time. I’m afraid that title will not be yours.” Her pretty face paled. She had assumed my father’s quick approval was due to Josh achieving the highest rank. “Well then,” she stammered, “I must have been mistaken. It must be the wife of the Second or Third Royal Scholar.” “Neither, I’m afraid. He was ranked tenth in the final examinations. Still a fine achievement.” In our past life, with my help, Josh had to do nothing but focus on his studies. This time, without my money, and with the bullying from his wealthy rivals, the frostbite on his hands had never properly healed. Without the bonus points from his flawless, powerful calligraphy, the rank of Third Royal Scholar was beyond his reach. 6 “Impossible!” Isabelle snapped, before gathering her skirts and storming out. My personal maid, Rose, huffed in disapproval. “My lady, you are always too good to Lady Isabelle. She forgets her station. To marry a man like Master Atreides as his first wife is already a great fortune for her.” It was true. It was a good match, or my father would never have agreed. But Isabelle’s ambitions were too high. I suspected she would cause a scene, just as she had in our last life. I shook my head, trying not to think about it. I had honored my promise to the dying Josh and fulfilled his wish for a life with Isabelle. The rest was up to them. I thought Isabelle would resort to a hunger strike as she had before, but this time she chose a more drastic path. She snuck out of the estate for a private rendezvous with the rakish son of a powerful courtier. She dreamed of marrying into a great house as a first wife, but she soon discovered the man was only toying with her. Not only was her dream shattered, but she nearly lost her virtue in the process. In the family chapel, Isabelle knelt before the ancestral tablets, her eyes swollen from crying. “Father, Mother, I may have erred, but you drove me to it! If I could marry into a great house as a first wife, like Eleonora, I wouldn’t have had to disgrace myself seeking my own fortune!” The Duke’s riding crop struck Isabelle’s back with a sharp crack. “You shameless wretch! You disgrace yourself and dare to blame us? Lady Sylvia,” he said, turning to Isabelle’s mother, “I never should have been so soft as to let you raise the child. Look at what you’ve taught her!” A loving parent plans for their child’s future. Years ago, my father had wanted to raise Isabelle under my mother’s name. As the Duke’s second official daughter, she would have been guaranteed a fine match. But Lady Sylvia, afraid of losing her favor without a child to bind her to the Duke, had wept and begged to keep Isabelle by her side. Now, she regretted it. But it was too late. 7 Lady Sylvia threw herself at my father’s feet, pleading. “My lord, it is all my fault! I beg you, for the sake of your own flesh and blood, spare her this once!” My mother’s eyes, fixed on Lady Sylvia, seemed to burn with fire. Isabelle had not only ruined her own reputation but had stained the honor of every young woman in our house. “Lady Sylvia, Isabelle has only two paths now,” my mother said, her voice cold. “She can take her own life to preserve her honor, or she can be sent to a nunnery.” “No! Father, Mother, I don’t want to die! I am still a maiden! Josh owes me a debt of gratitude; he will surely marry me!” In that moment, Josh Atreides became Isabelle’s only lifeline. Lady Sylvia knocked her head on the stone floor, over and over. “Your Grace, she is young and foolish. Please, give her one more chance.” My mother’s eyes instantly reddened with tears of her own. “Lady Sylvia, you ache for your daughter, but what of my Eleonora’s prospects? What of her future?” With my station as the Duke’s eldest daughter, I should have married into a high-ranking noble house as its matriarch. Now, tainted by Isabelle’s scandal, if I wanted to be a first wife, I would have to marry down. Even then, I had lost the right to choose; I would be at the mercy of whoever would have me. My father’s expression slowly hardened. Though both were his daughters, there was no comparing a child of a mistress to his trueborn heir. Just as he was about to give the order to have Isabelle taken away, a servant rushed in to announce that General Kaelen had arrived at the gate to ask for a hand in marriage. 8 Hearing the servant’s words, a spark of light ignited in Isabelle’s eyes. “Father, Mother, did you hear? I met General Kaelen once! He must have been captivated by me and has come to ask for my hand!” Lady Sylvia brightened as well. Her methods had been right after all; men truly preferred a girl as innocent, charming, and lively as her Isabelle. My father frowned. As a Duke and a minister of the crown, he was not a fool like them. General Kaelen was a war hero of immense renown. Even if Isabelle were pristine, he might not have considered her, let alone now, with her reputation in tatters. The Duke ordered Isabelle and her mother to continue kneeling in the chapel. He then asked my mother and me to join him in the grand hall. Isabelle feigned agreement, but fearing her supposed match would be stolen, she had her mother create a diversion while she climbed out a window. In the grand hall, my parents were speaking with the General. I hid behind a screen, listening. In this life or the last, I knew very little of this General Kaelen. I only knew he was born of common stock, a fierce warrior, and a confidant of the King. In my previous life, he never married. Some said he had no interest in women; others whispered he harbored a secret, unrequited love. My thoughts were interrupted by the General’s firm, resolute voice. “Your Grace, my Lady Duchess, I have long admired your daughter, the Lady Eleonora. I have come today to formally ask for her hand. I pray you will grant me this honor.” Before I could even process his words, a wild-eyed figure burst through the doorway. “General Kaelen, surely you’ve made a mistake! The woman you wish to marry is me, Isabelle, is it not?”
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