This is my father’s house, after all. Maybe it was a test. Maybe he needed proof. There are women who lie about paternity—maybe he’s been burned before. If that's the case why not ask before bringing me here.

 I was a fool to think he wouldn’t second guess. Many have probably approved it as a chance for a free luxury life or to manipulate him. He has a right to question my birth, the smooth sailing just felt too good.

That night, I tossed and turned with nightmares. Dreams of betrayal, of lies, of my parents’ past. Mother never gave me her full story. She taught me how to survive and shared stories that made her eyes shine—but never the full truth.

 What if this was the part she kept from me? How am I not truly his daughter? It seems even more evident that I probably shouldn't tell him that I'm from another world and took over his daughter. The same daughter that he’s just now finding out about.

When I wake the next morning, I feel drained. Haunted. I trudge into my spa-like bathroom and draw another bath. While waiting, I walk to the row of bottles and jars—soaps, oils, herbs. I picked two: one lavender, one citrus. Their scents mix beautifully.

While searching for towels, I find a closet filled with robes—robes of every color and design. “How many robes does one person need?” I mutter.

After another soak in paradise, I dress quickly. I need to find Father and talk about Sabastian. But his office proves harder to locate than I thought. I wander past guest rooms, bedrooms, the kitchen, a boardroom-looking office, a supply room, more bedrooms… and one mysterious door that leads down to what I think is a basement—or a dungeon. I don’t go in.

Is that where they keep the prisoners? Do they even use it? 

I pass several servants but don’t ask for directions. Stubborn pride. Eventually, I stumbled into the infirmary. I’m about to walk past when I spot Sabastian lying on one of the beds—shirtless, his chest wrapped in bandages.

“What happened to you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. 

I am slightly pleased at the sight. Was this his karma?

Sabastian looks up with that same fake smile.  “Miss, I’m honored you came to visit,” he says. “I can’t apologize enough My Lady”

“I didn’t. I was just being nosy. Where’s my father?”

So he feels bad? I'm rolling my eyes.

He hesitates, then “I truly am sorry about my stunt, Miss. As you can see… your father didn’t like it either.”

My father did that? He did a number on him.

I say nothing. Let him keep talking. His face shifts—guilt, pain, maybe something deeper.

“There’ve been people before…Rumors… people who lied about being his child or finding you. People have lied and say they discovered your mother. One even created a magical puppet just to get close to him. He may never admit this, but when your mother left… something in him broke. I just wanted to make sure you were real. Not another possibility.”

So others have tried maternity fraud. Poor dad, so did he know mom was pregnant? Or was there a false hope that she was and it kept him going?

I let his words hang. I never thought of the staff reactions or past traumas.

“And… what was the answer?” I ask, blunt as ever.

“You’re his,” he says softly. “Everyone knows”

I inhale slowly, trying to temper the rising swirl of emotions. “I don’t forgive you,” I say, voice cool. “Because of you, I doubted my mother. I doubted my own truth and I became a fool. And besides if asked i would have given you … if he asked I would have given my blood”

We are his child Rena. We have a loving father. I understand his loyalty to my father but the stunt was sketchy, rude and disrespectful. This is day one …. Day two and I'm getting DNA tested.

His face crumples in shame. “You won’t forgive easily,” he whispers. “I understand. I never meant to make you question your parents. I only wanted to protect the Duke. I almost caused more harm than good. I’m lucky to be alive.” He winces and places a hand gently over the bandages on his chest. 

If I show pity he’ll probably milk it. He seems like that type. He does look guilty, he has to earn my trust now …. Or wait until I forget about it. 

“You know, Princess,” he began, his voice low but steady, “there will be many times when you’ll have to put people in their place. Many will look down on you if they don’t fear you. They won’t respect you if they don’t fear you. That’s how this society often works.”

He shifted slightly, wincing, but his gaze stayed locked on mine. “Not many give—or accept—kindness without some underhanded reason. Be it me, or any other servant, even all nobles who rank lower than you… do not hesitate to put them in their place.”

So he's happy that I assaulted him? This is those older times eighteen hundreds I believe the rich did often beat the poor and lower class people as a form of discipline.

I tilted my head, arching a brow at him. “So you’re not upset that I smacked you?”

 I am happy he’s alive. He must be really crazy or extremely loyal if he knew his stunt was going to get him put here by dad.

His lips curled into a faint, amused smile. “No, my lady. I was a fool who tried to slight his master. You did it right.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, a hint of a smirk tugging at my lips.

“See that you do,” he replied, eyes glinting with something between respect and pride.

I closed my book, tucking it under my arm as I stood. “Thank you for the hierarchy advice, Sabatian.”

He gave a shallow bow from his pillows. “Anytime, Princess.”

I took a step toward the door but paused, glancing back at him. “One more thing,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Why did you call me ‘princess’? I’m not—”

Is he trying to be a sarcastic jackass? Is he saying princess in terms of me being a spoiled rich kid. 

“In this land,” Sabatian interrupted gently, “the one your family owns… the land your father owns… you are our princess.”

I blinked, unsure if I'd believe it.

I thought princesses were only meant for the daughter of a king. 

He sat up a little straighter despite the wince it caused him, his tone firm but reverent. “The Nowrk name carries weight. We—those of us who live under it—recognize it. And if you haven’t yet read up on your family lineage… you should. Your family’s history here, let alone in the whole empire, is long and… formidable. In more ways than one, the Nowrk name rivals the crown itself.”

I stared at him, the words heavy and strange in my ears. “Rival the crown?” I repeated slowly.

So we're like big ballers. Like we're rich rich….. obviously.

A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. “In more ways than you realize, my lady. To the people here, you are not just your father’s daughter—you are part of a legacy.”

I felt something tighten in my chest. Not fear, exactly. Not pride either. Something in between.

Last time I had anything to do with family legacy was back in my world. When my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and I walked away from it. And we didn't speak for years.

“When you leave, make a left, then another left, then a right. There’ll be stairs. The Duke’s office is up there.”

I turn to go.

“And, Miss…” he calls behind me, “we’re truly happy to have you here. I hope… one day, I can earn your trust.”

I followed Sabastian’s directions through the winding halls, eventually reaching the heavy double doors of my father's office. I heard his voice from within—low, composed—so I pushed them open.

He sat behind an enormous desk, the morning sun streaming through the tall windows behind him, casting a soft glow on the papers scattered before him. A commanding aura filled the room, like he belonged there more than the furniture did.

“Good morning,” I said, stepping inside with more confidence than I felt. “Are you having breakfast this morning?”

I would love to have a nice daddy daughter meal together. Plus I still need to have a discussion about Sabatian, his stunt and dad putting him in the hospital. There are other ways to hold your employees accountable.

His eyes lifted from his work, amused by my interruption.

“I’m curious to see how a famous duke feasts,” I added, eyeing one of the regal chairs positioned in front of his desk before casually sitting in it. He smiled at the invitation.

Without a word, he closed the folder in front of him and returned the feathered pen to its holder. Standing, he came around the desk and extended his arm toward me. I jumped up and confidently looped my arm through his. As we walked, passing towering portraits and ornate tapestries that lined the hallway, I broke the silence. “I saw what happened to Sabastian.”

I saw the damage after you kicked his ass. He look like a wounded soldier

He arched his brow. “Are you upset about what I did?”

“No,” I answered honestly thinking back on what Sabatian said. “He stepped out of line… I Agree with the anger. Besides I hit him too. I didn't almost kill him though” I chuckled.

He chuckled, interrupting, “I was expecting a lecture for a moment.”

I grinned. “However, it was a bit extreme. I’m glad he’s not dead. Bandaged pretty badly, though. We shouldn’t be out here abusing people, father. Your temper should be watched, you know. We can’t always strike when in wrath….. besides you don't want to be known as a tyrant.” I chuckled half seriously.

Lower classes can have an uprising trying to overthrow the tyrant duke. We can't have our own people coming after our heads.

“Sabatian is very competent at what he does. And he's loyal to a fault. So loyal it will get him killed…… and besides I already known as a tyrant.” he joked that ended in him rolling his eyes.

I'm not sure if I have a comment for that…. Is it good to really be known as a tyrant? As for Sabatian that is an insane loyalty or strong loyalty.

“Do you often put others who misbehave in the infirmary struggling for life as their misdeed flashes them by.” I pause for a second thinking b on how nobles really often abuse their workers. 

That made him laugh—a real one, deep and rough, echoing slightly off the stone walls. It caught me off guard. His exterior was so disciplined, so controlled, I hadn’t expected humor to break through so easily. “ If they deserve it, yes…. I ask that you leave those gruesome punishments to me…So when can we celebrate your birthday?” he said heartily. But I can see the slight excitement behind his voice. 

“Next year when my birthday comes around again. You can throw the ball of the century” I joked. 

I don't feel comfortable celebrating Rena's birthday on the day that I died and taking over her body. 

He grumbled rolling his eyes as he defeatedly agreed. We go back to Sabastian. We kept walking, the conversation light but layered with meaning.like his big plans for my … our twenty fourth birthday. How he wants to make the estate not only be my home but also feel like home. I asked how he found out about the stunt. He said one of the estate physicians accidentally handed him a letter—thinking it was his. When he opened it and saw the paternity test, he demanded to know who had submitted it.

I can see he's cautious, trying hard to be subtle to bridge the gap between us. I think even he knows he missed many years of Rena's life. He probably doesn't want to ruin it.

“Sabastian admitted it was him?”  I yelped. My father nods confirming my suspension. I didn’t think he'd tell the truth.

Bold. He has my respect. Originally I was coming to snitch…. Well before I found out he was going to dismember Sabatian.

“And I hit him with a full-force strike,” my father said, almost casually. “He’s lucky to be alive….Though his defense magic is top-tier.” he paused to appreciate Sabatian survival skills.

I wonder was his intentions to kill or did he already know Sabatian was going to survive it? Could be both.

We both laughed at that—at Sabastian’s bold stupidity, loyalty and the fact that somehow, it hadn’t cost him his life. As awful as it was, it felt good to laugh with him. Natural, even. Soon we reached the dining hall. He walked me past a long row of chairs, all lined with perfectly folded napkins and polished silverware, then pulled out a seat near the end of the table for me. When I sat, he took the seat at the head—right beside mine.

“Sir, Miss—we were just preparing to bring your meals,” a maid stammered, startled to see us. Apparently, he didn’t eat here often.

She disappeared and quickly returned with a small cart stacked with covered dishes. Another maid followed with a second cart. They placed the cloches before us and began lifting the lids one by one, revealing a royal spread: warm bread rolls, golden jams, cheeses, roasted sausages, soft-boiled eggs, thin-sliced ham, something that might have been oatmeal—but richer—and even a grilled trout, perfectly cooked.

“Fish?” I muttered under my breath, caught off guard by the elegant display. 

Now I never had fish for breakfast. It smells really tasty. 

“Yes, eat. Feast. We need to get some fat on your bones” he joked watching one of the maids open the curtains to let sunshine in.

Rena is a bit smaller than your average young adult , just a little malnutrition only because food was scarce.

The maids added fresh-cut fruit and poured drinks—coffee for him, juice for me—before bowing and leaving us to our meal. As we ate, my mind wandered back to Acreon. 

Was it really the right choice? A spoiled rich life is nice. I can get used to this fast. Really fast.

If I didn’t go, I could stay here. Learn from private tutors. Avoid the noble drama. Live in safety and luxury. But something tugged at me. The desire to explore, to grow, to live beyond these walls. I’d been in that cabin for so long. Maybe Acreon was more than just a school—it could be the key to understanding my mother and father’s past. 

What will I experience going there? I don't have to stay for five years. Mother didn't even stay long. And all she told me was the vast knowledge and magic experience she had. Also she said she met father there too.

He must’ve sensed my thoughts drifting. “Let me know when you’re free,” he said between sips of coffee, “so I can do your awakening.”

I nearly choked. “What?”

I can't wait! I hope I am not taking too much of his time. Don't dukes have paper work or meetings to do? He was going through some things when I walked in.

“I wouldn’t trust any mage near your mana,” he said flatly. “Your mana is your life force. One wrong move, one reckless casting—and you could die. Or even try to dig for information”

He wasn’t wrong. Mom had warned me too: the awakening process was like shocking your mana awake, opening the pathways that allowed magic to flow through your body. If done improperly—if left open—it could drain your life completely. Some mages didn’t survive. Some were left broken.