One Hour Ago:
Inside the Duke's study, Melissa stood stiffly before Lawrence, her fingers knotted at her waist. Her eyes were wide, and her breath had caught halfway through her throat.
"The girl is in the west wing," Lawrence said, voice calm, almost too calm. "You'll go to her today."
Melissa blinked. "My lord?"
"You'll train her. Teach her to walk like Marianne. Speak like her. Dress, smile, gesture… everything."
The blood drained from Melissa's face.
"You… you're replacing the Princess?" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Lawrence's gaze turned sharp. "If what I just said leaves this room—so do you. Permanently."
Melissa staggered back a step, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. She had served this household for years, but never had she heard such a terrifying calm in his voice. There was no bluff in his words. She could feel it.
He leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled. "No one must know. You will work with her in secrecy, and you will make sure she becomes indistinguishable from Marianne—for as long as necessary."
Melissa nodded in silence, her heart pounding.
"Good," Lawrence said simply, returning his gaze to the reports on his desk. "You may go."
Melissa backed out of the room without another word.
After Helen had quietly left the room, Melissa returned, leading Mae through the hallways with measured steps. Mae was veiled, her face hidden beneath soft folds of ivory lace, just in case any wandering eyes caught a glimpse. No one in the palace could know—not yet.
Melissa guided her gently into the chamber where Marianne lay, the scent of medicinal herbs thick in the still air. The curtains had been drawn to filter in only a soft wash of light. Mae's steps faltered the closer she got. Her heart pounded, and her throat felt like it was full of sand.
"This way," Melissa said softly, almost as if afraid of disturbing the sleeping girl.
Mae stepped closer, her fingers trembling as she pulled the veil away from her face and placed it on the nearby table. Her gaze fell onto the bed—and everything inside her turned to stone.
One look was all it took.
Her breath caught.
Her knees gave out slightly, and Melissa rushed to steady her.
Mae gripped her own chest, her pulse roaring in her ears. The girl lying there looked like a reflection pulled from the depths of her soul. A long braid of glossy black hair trailed over one shoulder. Her face was heart-shaped, delicate, and hauntingly familiar. Full brows arched naturally over her closed lids, her nose slender and straight, and lips soft and full—curved faintly downward, as if even unconscious, she carried the weight of some sorrow.
Even the mole on her left jawline.
"Who is she?" Mae whispered, her voice cracking, eyes wide with disbelief. She turned slowly to Melissa, her throat tightening in fear. "Who is she?"
Melissa's expression didn't shift much, but her tone was quieter than before. "She is my lady. Lady Marianne."
Mae stared back at the woman in the bed. The resemblance was staggering—not just similar. Uncanny. And yet… here she was. Real. Not an illusion. Not a dream.
Her gaze trembled. "Can I... Can I touch her?" she asked. Her voice was barely audible.
Melissa didn't reply—maybe because she couldn't, or maybe because permission wasn't hers to give. But Mae, breath hitching, reached forward anyway. Slowly. As if afraid one of them would vanish if their skin met.
Her fingers brushed Marianne's cheek. It was warm. Soft. Real.
Mae's body shuddered.
"Oh, Marie..." the name slipped out before she could stop it, quiet as a prayer. Her hand hovered just above Marianne's chest now, where thick bandages covered the exact place Mae remembered being hit. Her mind reeled—no, spiraled. She saw flashes of Damien, the gun, the scream. The unbearable pain in her ribs.
She sank into the chair by the bed, staring at Marianne like she was staring at herself lying in a coffin. Or surviving what Mae hadn't.
"How..." she breathed, trembling. "Why?"
There were no answers. Just the stillness of the girl before her.
"Who did this to you?" she whispered, brushing a strand of Marianne's hair away delicately. Marianne was breathing so there was hope that she would wake up. Mae felt a sympathy towards her now, She saw her as her own self.
"Miss—if you've seen her, you must leave now."
Melissa's voice was firm but quiet, her posture taut. "The maids will be coming any moment. We can't let them see you here without the Duke's orders. It would cause chaos."
Mae lingered by the bedside, her eyes still on Marianne's sleeping form. She didn't want to go. Not yet. Not when her heart was still trying to make sense of what it had seen. She glanced back at Melissa with a trace of hesitation, almost ready to resist—but the sound of distant footsteps reached her ears, muffled but approaching.
She swallowed hard, yanked her veil back up, and turned away.
The veil was carefully adjusted by Melissa as they left the room. The corridor outside was dim, with a few passing servants giving them confused looks but saying nothing. Melissa's pace never slowed, and Mae followed, her heart still heavy, the image of Marianne etched behind her eyelids.
Later that afternoon…
Mae sat quietly by the large window in the west wing's drawing room, absently watching the garden beyond. Her cheek rested against her palm, and though her surroundings were grand, she looked utterly alone.
The door creaked gently, and Mae turned to see Lora enter with a tray, followed by Melissa carrying a polished teapot, a delicate bowl of tea leaves, and a few tiny silver instruments.
A smile lit up Mae's face. "Oh, thank God. Company," she said with mock drama, straightening in her seat. "I was about to start naming birds out there."
Melissa offered a small smile as she placed everything down. "Today, we begin with something essential," she said, removing the teapot's lid. "Lady Marianne is known throughout the palace for one particular skill."
"Oh?" Mae arched a brow. "Swordplay? Royal politics?"
Melissa deadpanned. "Tea-making."
Mae blinked. "That's… noble."
"People said no one in the palace could brew a better cup. , Melissa explained, removing the bowl's lid to reveal dried, delicately curled leaves—green with pale veins. "You'll need to know how she did it, or you'll be discovered in moments."
She gestured for Mae to come sit across from her.
The teapot was already filled with boiled water, steam curling from the spout. Melissa delicately used a small silver scoop to add a generous amount of leaves. "The key is patience," she said, placing the lid back on. "Let it steep for a good time."
Mae watched silently, hands folded, her posture a little less straight than Melissa's but not entirely improper. Her brow was a bit twitching when the counting in her head went up form one minute count, the usual count when she made ehrself a cup of green tea back home. She didn't say anything and thought these might be some new sort of leaves that needed more time to brew. And just like that four minutes passed.
After a while, Melissa poured the tea into the fine porcelain cups—light amber, fragrant.
Mae sipped.
And immediately, her face twitched.
Melissa, who had taken a sip too, frowned lightly. "It's... slightly bitter."
"I thought so." Mae set her cup down with a clink. "You know, you're probably doing exactly what she did—but the taste is off."
Melissa raised a brow. "That was her method."
"Yeah, well…" Mae stood up, brushing her palms together. "Can I try it my way?"
Melissa gestured for Lora to bring in more hot water.
This time, Mae carefully poured just enough boiling water over the leaves to barely cover them. "One minute," she said, watching the water darken faintly. She swirled the pot gently, then poured the tea out swiftly before it could steep longer.
She reached for the sugar bowl, cut a thin sliver from a block—no more than a pinch—and dropped it into the cup. Not the whole block, just enough to lift the bitterness. "This is how I've always made it," she said with a small smile, handing the cup to Melissa.
Melissa sipped.
Her eyes widened.
"This is… this is exactly how the lady used to make it." Her voice dropped into a whisper of disbelief. "How did you know?"
Mae shrugged, a little too casually. "I didn't. I just made it the way I like it."
Melissa was pleasantly surprised, her lips parting slightly as the familiar taste lingered on her tongue. The tea was just right—light, warm, with the faintest trace of sweetness, exactly like how Lady Marianne used to prepare it. She stared at Mae, as if seeing her differently for the first time.
Mae, curious about the woman she was now being asked to mimic, leaned back in her seat and looked up at Melissa.
"What was she like?" she asked softly. "I mean… personality-wise?"
Her voice wasn't teasing this time. It held a genuine interest, the kind that came from the need to understand someone not just in name or face—but in soul. Mae had met enough rich people in her life to assume many came with an unbearable personality. Cold. Entitled. Snobbish. She almost expected to hear that now.
But Melissa shook her head gently, as if brushing those assumptions away.
"My lady was…" she paused, her voice softening into something wistful. "She was the gentlest soul I've ever known. Kind. Soft-spoken. Shy most of the time. A bit timid, you could say."
The way Melissa spoke made it sound like she was remembering someone lost—someone cherished.
Mae let out a faint chuckle, though it was laced with discomfort. "Oh," she said, her smile visibly forced, "well, that doesn't sound like me at all, does it?"
Melissa looked at her directly and, in typical Melissa fashion, didn't bother sugarcoating her reply. "Not in the slightest. Lady Marianne could barely speak in front of the Duke without stuttering at least twice." She raised a brow, the corners of her mouth quirking. "Meanwhile, you—I've never seen anyone talk to him the way you did. It was like the lady had been possessed by a demon."
Mae blinked at her, lips parting slightly in shock, and Lora's sudden giggle broke the tension.
"Melissa!" Lora scolded gently, though laughter laced her voice.
Melissa shrugged unapologetically. "I'm being honest."
Mae tried to laugh, but it didn't come out right. Her eyes dimmed just a little, a shadow flickering behind them. Something about hearing how unlike her she was to this perfect, delicate girl left her feeling misplaced again—like an imposter sitting in the wrong skin.
That was when Lora spoke up, her voice soft but sure.
"But… you're kind too," she said. "And soft-spoken when you want to be."
Mae looked at her, a faint crease in her brows. "Lora, you don't have to say that just to cheer me up. I'm not a kid."
Lora immediately lowered her head, cheeks tinting pink like she'd been caught in the act.
Melissa blinked, pulled out of her memories by the exchange, and gave a small nod of agreement. "Lady Lora is right. You do sound like a kind person." Her voice was more measured now, a little gentler. "Maybe not like Marianne… but still kind, all the same."
Mae gave a small sigh, shifting in her seat as if brushing off the conversation.
"Alright, enough about me," she said, reclining just a little. "Tell me more about her. The real Marianne."
Melissa hesitated for a second, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the teacup. Then she smiled, a real one this time—faint, soft, touched with affection.
"Well… she used to sing to herself when she thought no one was listening. Always the same tune. Something about a summer garden and rain."
Mae leaned in a little, lips slightly parted. Her voice came out in a near whisper.
"What was her laugh like?"
Melissa's eyes warmed. "Quiet. Like she was always trying to hide it. But when she laughed, her whole face lit up. You couldn't help but smile too."
Mae looked away at that, her chest tightening a bit. She didn't know if it was envy… or something else entirely.
Mae rested her chin on her palm, eyes fixed on the rim of her teacup. A moment passed in silence before she asked again—this time her voice was softer, almost cautious.
"What else?" she said. "What was Marianne like… beyond how she made tea or how she laughed?"
Melissa glanced at Lora for a second, then placed her hands gently in her lap. "Lady Marianne," she began carefully, "was… delicate."
Mae looked up, that word catching her attention.
"She lived most of her life inside these walls," Melissa continued, glancing toward the window as if seeing the past etched into the very stone of the palace. "She rarely left the estate. The outside world frightened her. Crowds, noise… even the marketplace overwhelmed her. And not because she thought she was better than the common folk. She just… wasn't used to it. She was always kept here."
Mae's eyebrows drew together. "Always?"
Melissa nodded. "From a very young age. The Duke, he…" she hesitated, her words heavy, "he expected a son. When Lady Marianne was born, I think a part of him never quite let go of that disappointment. So he kept her hidden from the world. It was easier that way—for him. She was raised in silence, taught to speak only when spoken to. Even as she grew up, she never quite stepped out of that shadow."
Mae swallowed slowly, her eyes dropping to her tea again. The palace—so grand, so beautiful—had been a cage for one girl.
She bit her lip. "So… she was raised to believe she had to be small. Quiet. Invisible."
Melissa nodded, a sad smile pulling at her lips. "Yes. I used to find her in the garden, talking to herself or reading old books under the cherry tree. That was her world. Pages and petals. Nothing more."
Mae leaned back, the thoughts heavy in her chest. It was a strange feeling—knowing she was standing in the place of someone so completely opposite of her. Mae had been loud, wild even. She'd fought her way through life, tried to stand tall when life tried to crush her, She wasn't afraid of the streets, or people, or consequences.
She was nothing like Marianne.
But somehow, she understood her.
"Maybe we're not that different," Mae said aloud, her gaze far away. "Maybe it won't be very hard to act like her." She said setting the cup down and her gaze briefly falling on the marking on her wrist form the rope of yesterday. She touched it.
Melissa raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
Mae let out a short breath. "I mean… she hid because she was made to. I was loud because I had to be." She blinked at the words as they formed. "She had too much protection. I had none. She was told she didn't matter, so she became small. I was told I'd never matter, so I became loud." Her hand hiding away the scar on the wrist. "Maybe we're just shaped by different kinds of silence."
"Now i only have to hide my type of silence and all that would be left is Marianne." She looked at Melissa.
The room went quiet for a while. Even Lora didn't know what to say.
Mae gave a small smile, bitter but understanding. Melissa lowered her eyes, lips pressing together. "She would have liked you."
Mae glanced up.
Melissa nodded. "You're fired. She always admired what she didn't have. I think… if she had been raised differently, she might've become more like you."
Mae didn't say anything to that. Instead, her life flashed before her eyes, the one that she was not particularly proud of.
She looked toward the door. "Can I see her again? Not now—but… someday soon?"
Melissa nodded. "You will."
Mae stood up slowly," Okay, I think I am ready for the role now. Tell me what I have to learn to fool that fiancé of hers?' she said, breathing out all the air from her chest,
"We work on how you walk. Talk. Smile. Laugh. Sit. Even how you hold a spoon or fold a napkin."
Mae blinked. "All that?"
Melissa gave a short smile. "All that."
She moved to stand beside Mae, her hands lifting gently to adjust Mae's shoulders. "First of all—keep your back straight. Not stiff like a stick, but straight. Shoulders soft but not slouched. Chin neither up nor down, just enough to keep eye contact from a respectful angle."
Mae's eyes rolled up while she took in the instructions, followed, nodding occasionally, trying to find that odd balance between grace and comfort.
Melissa then gestured toward the end of the room. "Let's begin with your walk. Lady was never rushed, nor was she annoyingly slow. Just right in a straight line."
She then looked at Lora, prompting her to bring out the heels in which she was going to walk.
Mae tried. She knew how to walk in heels, and walking straight wasn't that big of a deal. sh did it all the time, until she noticed Melissa pulling out a stick just so she could make her walk as straight as possible. And that was the issue; no matter how well she could walk, it wasn't like how the Lady did it; she had learned the peasant version of the walk.
"Damn—!" she caught herself, wobbling.
Melissa suppressed a laugh. "You're wearing too much tension in your knees. Relax, but not too much. You're not walking to a fight. Imagine you're walking through a garden full of glass petals."
"Next—speech. You need to avoid contractions when you can. Speak clearly, gently. Marianne never raised her voice."
Mae raised an eyebrow. "Sure I will keep that in mind, Melissa," Mae said softly as if trying to make her voice as soft as she could.
"Precisely," Melissa said dryly.
Melissa took Mae's hands gently and guided them into a sitting posture. "When you sit, cross your ankles, not your legs. Sit on the edge of the seat if you're among company—never too deep into the cushion. And when you laugh…"
Melissa paused. "Do not throw your head back or cackle like you've just heard the funniest joke in the kingdom. Laugh lightly, politely. Cover your mouth if you must."
Mae demonstrated a delicate giggle, Inwardly cringing at it. 'Gosh! I never knew i could laugh like this.' she thought inwardly. And the rules kept on coming and Mae exercised, practiced and without rest she spent her next two days like that.