"To the gods and past kings, good evening, Your Majesty," I said, lowering my gaze as I dipped into a graceful curtsy.
"Raise your head, Lily," came a voice as smooth as silk and sharp as moonlight. I looked up to see her, Queen Seraphina. Silver-haired like a sliver of the night sky, with eyes as dark and unreadable as Alistair's. She offered me a smile, soft but studied. "Come, sit."
I obeyed, my steps careful, composed, approaching the single empty seat beside Julian. "Did I keep you waiting, Your Majesty?" I asked politely, just as I was about to take my place.
"No," Julian interjected before the queen could answer. His smile was easy, his tone light. "You're right on time."
I gave him a small nod of thanks. Just beneath his words was a silent message: Don't worry. You're doing fine.
I kept my mask firmly in place—charming, flirtatious, composed. Alistair still believed he had me wrapped around his finger, and I intended to let him believe it a little longer.
The servants entered then, quiet and practiced, placing dish after dish in front of us like ritual offerings. Despite the finery, the meal was cloaked in silence—polite, brittle, and too reminiscent of the life I'd once lived.
This kind of dinner—tense, quiet, laced with expectations—wasn't unfamiliar. It reminded me of evenings with my real parents. My father, with his stern eyes and iron will, had always insisted that dining together would forge a stronger bond. As if proximity could erase fear. As if connection could be forced with shared cutlery and empty conversation. My mother and I had learned long ago that silence was safer. Anything spoken could be used against us.
And now, here I was again. Sitting straight-backed in a chair too ornate, in a room too quiet, with eyes watching—judging.
"Lily," the queen said suddenly, breaking the hush. Her tone was sweet, almost amused. "I hear you're rather fond of my son."
Fond of him? In what world? Perhaps the real Lily had been. But I wasn't.
I forced a shy smile and lowered my gaze, letting a blush creep to my cheeks. "Well…" I said with a small laugh, playing my part. Embarrassment came easily when you'd spent years performing for a tyrant. My father had taught me how to feign innocence, how to make shame look real.
The queen laughed lightly and returned to her food, as though she hadn't been testing me at all.
Still, I wondered—had I slipped? Would Alistair notice?
There were things he might be looking for, signs that I wasn't who I claimed to be. The real Lily had been a musical prodigy. At six years old, she'd performed the works of a renowned composer without flaw. Her fingers had danced across the keys with effortless grace.
I, on the other hand, couldn't even read sheet music.
If I offered to play for them, would Alistair smirk? Just a flicker at the corner of his mouth—quick, amused, cruel. I'd read that in the novel. It was a tale of his. When he knew someone was about to fail, he couldn't help himself.
If he smirked, it would mean he knew that he'd seen a memory. My memory. A glimpse of the world I came from.
But if he only smiled warmly, continuing to eat without pause, eyes meeting mine with gentle curiosity… then perhaps he'd seen nothing beyond Lily. Nothing beyond the girl I was pretending to be.
Either way, I needed to find out.
"Would you like me to play the piano after we eat? I play wonderfully," I said while looking at the piano in the main living room with a piano, and finally looked at Alistair, he smiled at me, excited, whatever I played a tune. Alistair only saw the memories of the original Lily before I took over, I'm glad he doesn't know, but what do I do now if they aggree to play, I'm screwed.
"What a wonderful idea, Lily, I want to see the famous Lily Hartwell," the queen said happily, "Yes, please, I want to hear you pla,y" Alistair said while exited, he must have seen the original lily playing the piano and play it wonderfully, I'm screwed this time. "So, we decided, then after we eat, Lily will play the piano for us," the queen said. I laugh without a hint of terrified.
I continue eating as I regret I didn't plan, of all the things I forgot, what happened next after my plan, this could be the worst day to forget. There must be a special ability to the real Lily, but if she did, I can't unlock it; I don't know how. The original story doesn't seem to focus on Lily too much of Lily the story just seen as a helpless little princess, waiting to be saved by her prince. Wait.. I got it.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty," I said, rising from my seat and folding my hands respectfully. "There's something I must retrieve—something important."
"I'm sure you will love it, your majesty."
The queen, still smiling as if every word I said was music, nodded graciously. "Of course, Lily. Go on."
I curtsied, then turned and exited the hall with calm, measured steps.
—
By the time I returned to the drawing room, Emily followed close behind, balancing a tray laden with sweets. I held a folded parchment of handwritten music notes, its edges still warm from my fingers. The doors creaked open, revealing only the queen, Julian, and Alistair. The knights and maids had been dismissed, leaving the atmosphere oddly intimate.
We both bowed. Emily moved ahead, carefully placing the tray on the ornate glass table.
"What's that, Lily?" Julian asked, his tone curious.
"I've brought a special treat I think you'll enjoy," I replied, handing Emily the sheet music. "And I've prepared something else as well—original music, written especially for tonight." I smiled, my voice light, rehearsed. "But first, please try this dessert. It's something from… a faraway place."
Their attention perked instantly.
With a gentle flick, I lifted the cover from the silver tray, revealing soft, golden custards, each topped with glistening caramel. "It's called leche flan," I said. "It's sweet, soft, and melts on the tongue."
I had taught the palace chefs to make it weeks ago—just in case I ever needed this moment.
Each portion had already been cut. I distributed them with delicate precision, placing tiny silver spoons beside each plate.
The moment they tasted it, the reactions came like a flood.
"This is delightful!" the queen exclaimed, her voice lilting with excitement.
"Incredible," Alistair added between bites. "This texture—texture-this flavor-it's unlike anything I've had."
Questions came next, loud and eager: How did I come up with the idea? What inspired it? Where had I learned such a recipe? Their voices overlapped, an onslaught of curiosity so intense it made my ears ring. I answered each question with poise, stalling—buying time.
Nearly an hour passed before the queen finally leaned back and sighed with satisfaction.
"I can't wait to hear you play the piano, Lily," she said, eyes gleaming. "You're full of such surprises. What brilliant idea will you reveal next?"
I smiled, masking the flicker of panic beneath my skin. "Of course, Your Majesty. I'd be honored."
I moved to the grand piano, my gloved fingers hovering over the ivory keys. The hall fell into expectant silence.
Then, I pressed the first note.
The sound rang sharp. Jarring.
A second note followed. Off-key. Crooked. Wrong.
Gasps rippled through the room.
"Oh no," I said, my voice quivering. "The piano… something's wrong with it." I pressed a third key, the dissonance now undeniable. "I… I'm so sorry."
I bowed my head, letting tears sting my eyes, carefully cultivated to shimmer, not fall. "This night was supposed to be perfect," I whispered, voice cracking.
"It's all right, Lily," Alistair said gently, rising from his seat. He approached, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders. "It's not your fault."
I leaned into him, hiding my face. Good. Let him believe I was embarrassed—vulnerable. And with the thick, full-length sleeves of my gown, there was no chance of skin-to-skin contact.
Earlier that evening, as I'd excused myself from the table…
I'd gone to the kitchens, where I intercepted Emily in the corridor.
"Emily!" I hissed.
"My lady?" she whispered, startled.
"Go to the chef. Tell him to make leche flan—the dessert I taught them last week. And it has to be extra sweet. It's for royalty."
She blinked in surprise, then nodded quickly and vanished down the hallway.
As for me, I had another task.
I hurried to Lily's music room. There, buried beneath stacks of polished sheet music, I found what I was looking for: an empty scorebook—and, beside it, a piano tuning kit.
Perfect.
Even at ten years old, Lily had insisted that her piano remain in perfect condition. Of course, she would have tools. And now, I would use them against her.
I scribbled nonsense into the scorebook, scattering notes like fallen leaves. Then I tucked a slip inside—coded instructions for Emily:
Use the tuning kit in your pocket. Loosen the strings just enough to throw off the sound. You have one hour. I'll distract them. Ignore the noise—they won't notice. They're only human.
And humans… are always easier to fool when they're sweetly fed and brilliantly entertained.