If I had known all there was after death was just more life, I wouldn't have tried so hard the first time around.
Within the span of a single hour, I was hit by a truck, died, and woke up in the body of one of the most hated characters in my favorite book. The strikingly beautiful face that stared back at me with two pensive, green eyes, spoke when I spoke, moved when I moved, and panicked when I panicked. I'm me, within a person I don't recognize.
I'm still not completely convinced that this isn't some twisted nightmare, that I'll go to sleep and wake up at my dorm with calculus notes in hand, but it feels so real. Everything feels so real. If everything that happened is what it seems...then what?
I wonder if my parents have found out about my accident yet. I wonder if anyone cares that "Caroline Rosings" is dead. I wonder why I have the urge to cry, yet no tears fall. It would make sense, it would be understandable if I just started to bawl right now, but no matter how hard I try nothing comes out. I'm not sad my previous life ended, not like how I expected to be sad; it was a crappy life to begin with. I'm more happy that I was given a second chance. Sure, I'll miss my parents, but we weren't on the best terms when I left for school. It's kind of nice to have a doting father and mother for once.
If the timeline follows with my memory, the Queen should be visiting the Ewell Estate tomorrow, and a year later, the both of us will be executed. Now that I'm alone, and slightly more adjusted to my circumstance, I need to devise a plan to change the ending of this novel.
I can't waste my second chance.
Before night fell, I sat next to the window, transcribing notes of the original story to the best of my ability. There were small gaps in my memory, but I was able to recall most of the main events from the novel. The Queen's arrival, the raid on the castle, the nobles that aided Accolodius while he was in hiding, every detail I could think of was transferred to a piece of parchment. No one tells you how difficult it is to write with a quill until you write a novel.
When the light died down outside, and the maids started trickling back in to check on me, I hid my short manuscript under my matress, and followed the young ladies to the dining hall. There, my "father" was waiting for me.
The Duke was eager to meet his daughter, clear in his worried manner of pacing. Maybe he could tell I wasn't her, or at least, not the Amalie he remembers. What will he do if he realizes I've taken her away from him?
I don't even want to consider what this man is capable of, so for the time being, I need to make him believe that I love him like a father. Remembering the interactions I've read between Amalie and the Duke, there should be more than enough information to play the part.
"Father!" I exclaimed, running towards him excitedly. He takes me into his arms and spins me off the ground as if I were weightless. What some would consider the embrace of a loving father, I felt as the deadly serpent shawl of a war monger. "What happened while I was asleep?"
He sets me down, looking at me curiously. "Your mother and I were so worried, but we knew you were strong. We knew you would wake up eventually."
Duke Ewell brushed the hair away from my face, and I try my best not to flinch away from his touch. "Of course I am, Father. Look at the young lady before you. Not just a fair complexion, but also the composition of a warrior," I say with just the right amount of arrogance to pass off as Amalie. The Duke looks at me, and for a second I think he's already somehow managed to figure me out. Thankfully, he just laughs at my haughty attitude and agrees with me instead.
"That's right, how could I ever forget how amazing my daughter is." He smiles at me once more before his tone changes into something stern and business-like, but not so much that I'd consider it threatening. "Amalie, I received notice about an hour ago that Queen Rista became aware of your condition. She arranged a meeting for tomorrow to offer condolences and to wish for you good fortune."
I just nod, trying to fake a shocked expression. So far, the story is progressing just as it did in the novel. After the meeting with the Queen, Amalie was engaged to Crown Prince Accolodius. Only difference is that I'm not Amalie, and I don't want her fate.
"I hear rumors, Amy," the Duke continues, "It seems as though Queen Rista is considering you as the Crown Prince's fiancee." He looks at me expectantly, and I forget to give him a reaction. "You've been infatuated with His Highness since your debutante, I thought you'd be a bit more excited."
Shaking myself from my daze, I remind myself to smile and clap. "Oh I am! Of course I am, It's just -" my voice trails off (flawlessly, like the little actress I am).
Duke and Duchess Ewell were enamored with each other. In fact, I even heard that he broke off a prior engagement with a noble lady to wed a commoner. If he were to believe I no longer loved Prince Cole, he'd kill the Prince himself before allowing me to marry him, no matter what Queen Rista said.
The Duke's eyes peruse my face, trying to decipher my expression. "My dear, could it be that you are no longer interested in the prince?"
I nod a bit, sadness and wary in my eyes. "Father, it's nothing to do with Prince Cole, but I realized that I can't spend my life behind any one man. I can't burn out my fire so that he could shine, especially not in a passionless arrangement. I'd be the most unhappy." Check mate. If any family has the power to resist the wishes of the Queen, it would be the Duchy of Ewell, with power rivaled only by the imperial family's. If I don't want something, I can bury it with a few simple phrases.
At my words, the Duke gathers me in his arms and buries my head into his chest. "Oh Amalie, I apologize! I didn't realize the notion was so unwanted. Tomorrow you can reject Queen Rista, reject her a thousand times if you must. I'll go to war if she keeps on resisting, just please, never utter those words again." He pats down my curls, each stroke filled with fatherly love and warmth.
"If you don't mind me asking," he pulls away, "If you won't be marrying, and your elder brother is poised to inherit the Dukedom, what do you plan on doing? Will you become a spinster? Please do not say my daughter will be left directionless after tomorrow."
I smile a bit, but shake my head. "With this matter, Father, you'll just simply need to trust your daughter."
The Duke looks at me warily, and I look back with determination. It's clear he's not sure what to think, but I don't plan on relenting. With a heavy sigh, he nods his blessing.
My arms find their way around his neck, holding him as though I wasn't scared of him a moment ago. As though he wouldn't harm a fly. Expressions of gratitude escape my mouth and I choose for a moment to believe the hard part will be years away, and not tomorrow.
* * *
Mary, the head maid, tells me my brothers have arrived. I've never met them in this body, but I know their characters all too well. Garrison, my elder brother, is as skilled with a sword as Duke Ewell. He's poised to inherit the Dukedom and the second greatest fortune in the Kingdom of Belmar. He's not quite as feared as the Duke, but he can be just as calculating at times. Garrison ends up assisting Queen Rista during her invasion of the castle, as well as the Duke, and the entire Ewell family is ultimately executed for their crimes, even the innocent Duchess.
The only member not executed was Amalie's – my – second brother Thompson. Thompson was described as adventurous and wild. Handsome, charming, and constantly surrounded by noble ladies. Eventually, as the story progressed, he fell in love with Margarite Hastings, the heroine of The Kingdom of Belmar. He was so in love, in fact, that he even assisted the Prince because she simply asked. In the end, Thompson was nothing but a second love interest, and Margarite chose Prince Cole over him. That didn't stop him from following the Prince's every orders, however, at her behest. Even the orders to execute the people that raised him. I honestly felt bad for him while reading. He lost his family, his lover, and droned on as a mindless puppet, the fire once within him squandered away.
I know how both of these men think, what they're capable of, and what they'll eventually do, and I'll be meeting them in just a few minutes.
"Amy!" an excited voice shouts through the door. Before I have more time to figure out how I will approach these two – what I'll say, and how to perfect my mannerisms to match Amalie's – a tall figure bursts through the door. Based on his unkempt hair and his wild expression, I can assume the brother before me now is Thompson. He rushes towards me, embracing his younger sister and spinning me in his arms. Mary lets out a gasp of concern, but she knows better than to tell her master that he can't swing his frail, recently injured, sister like a bag of flour.
He sets me down, placing his hands on my cheeks as though I'd vanish if he let me go. Garrison trails closely behind, smacking the back of Thompson's head in disappointment. Probably as a scolding for such boarish behavior.
"She just got better you buffoon. If you wish her into a coma, you would be more effective than that horse." He glares at his brother before giving me a pat on the head. His eyes are cold, but his motions are driven by what I assume to be affection. "That stag should've been put down for what it almost did to you"
I see the resemblance between the two; it's very clear they're brothers. They are the spitting image of the envied Duchess. It really is story-book-like how beautiful this family is, it's a shame they were destined to die.
Thompson, rubbing the back of his head, laughs at Garrison. "Must you be so concerned for our little Amy? She's the strongest child I know. Such a little hug would never so much as ruffle a layer of her skirt. There was no chance a riding accident would end her, especially not such a skilled rider such as herself." He gives me a wink, and I wonder why exactly Margarite chose an engaged prince over such a statuesque man. No matter the reason, it soon won't be my problem anymore.
I pull back and look my new brothers in the eye, and very formally announce, "Brother Garrison, Brother Thompson, I was recently informed that Queen Rista will be visiting our estate tomorrow. I have reason to believe that she will offer me a proposal. A hand of sorts."
My brothers stare at me in astonishment, Thompson is overjoyed and Garrison is understandably concerned. Before either of them could voice congratulation or disapproval, I continue. "I intend to reject."
I expect some sort of scolding, some sort of warning, but my brothers just chuckle at me. "As expected from my baby sister," Thompson says. "I'm proud of you, you're too good for that bastard Accolodius. Make sure the Queen knows that." He winks at me, grinning that toothy grin that suits him too well.
Though, Garrison expressed a few more reservations than Thompson. "Queen Rista isn't one that can be persuaded so easily. Do not trifle with her. If you truly wish to reject her proposal, you'll have to stand your ground, and fight harder than you've ever fought."
Thompson kisses my forehead, and slips in a "you can do it" before leaving. Garrison's right. Tomorrow's a battle, and I intend to win.