Valeria/Jamilah's POV:
What does he mean by that?
I thought to myself, frowning. I had just finished bathing and dressed quickly after Alexander told me to get ready for our wedding.
He left minutes ago, leaving me to process what was happening. Surely, Father wouldn't allow me to be married off so soon, especially right after I recovered from my fall.
Before I could even get up to find him, the door swung open, and Owen entered, followed by two maids pushing a trolley laden with breakfast. The aroma filled the room, warm and savory, making my mouth water. My eyes lit up, and I shot Owen a huge smile.
"Wow," I mumbled, giving him a thumbs-up. "You're truly the best cook, aren't you? The smell alone is making me salivate!"
He grinned, playfully cocky. "You shouldn't expect less from me. But are you sure you can eat all of this?"
"Just watch," I laughed, my heart lifting as I looked over the feast. It had been so long since I'd had good food, I could barely remember what it tasted like.
I didn't hold back, diving in eagerly.
First, I tasted the roasted rabbit, savoring the flavors. I could see why Valeria loved this food—everything was rich and perfectly prepared. I ate until the rabbit, pies, pudding, and cheese were gone.
The food was so delicious I hardly noticed the maids watching in surprise as I polished off each dish.
"I'm so full," I groaned, collapsing back onto the bed. The maids quickly wheeled the trolley out, leaving me alone with Owen, who looked beyond stunned.
"You finished all that? You've really changed, haven't you?" He laughed, taking a seat on the black velvet couch in front of the bed.
Suddenly, a thought struck me. I sat up, eyes wide.
"Wait…were the meats halal?" Owen raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Halal?"
I forced a small smile, brushing it off. "It's nothing. Just something that came to mind." I made a mental note to avoid meat for a while—or find some I could prepare myself. Ya Allah, forgive me.
Then I remembered, it's allowed in certain cases if you're in an unfamiliar place and have no choice. I sighed in relief, sinking back into the bed.
"Owen?"
"Hmm?"
"What was I like…before?"
He smiled, though there was something insincere in it.
"You were kind, of course."
But I'd seen how the others acted around me, the way Taylor and even the maids seemed uneasy, no one saying a word about the scarf I'd started wearing. It was as if they were afraid to ask.
"Only the truth, Owen," I pressed. "It's better to hear it from you than anyone else."
He sighed, reluctant but honest. "You were… ruthless, Valeria. People hated and feared you. How can I put it? You didn't care for anyone but yourself."
I winced at his words. This "Valeria" reminded me of my former self—driven, yes, but not heartless. I kept to myself, worked hard, and sent money to my family. People thought I was aloof, but really, I just didn't have the energy to socialize. The only one who'd ever gotten close was Abdul Quadri, who patiently broke through my walls.
When it was time for Owen to leave the palace, I walked with him to the entrance of the hall. He turned back, his face softened with regret.
"I feel bad about what I said earlier. I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry, Valeria."
I smiled, accepting his apology.
"But you're different now. Better, I think. Don't get me wrong, I liked you just the way you were." He hesitated, then added,
"Good night, Princess Valeria."
"Good night, Owen."
I watched him disappear down the hall, shadows swallowing his retreating figure. It was late, and I noticed Taylor hadn't returned since she left with Owen.
And Father—he hadn't come to see me at all today. Was he avoiding me because of the marriage with Alexander?
Deciding to seek him out, I asked a passing maid where to find him.
She flinched at my presence but quickly pointed toward the King's quarters, then hurried away once I dismissed her. I followed the path she indicated, moving down a dimly lit hall where candles cast flickering light against stone walls.
Oddly, it felt familiar, though I knew I'd never been here before.
Turning down a narrower corridor, I emerged into a spacious gallery lined with portraits. My gaze settled on one in particular: a painting of an older woman, a middle-aged man I recognized as my father, and… a younger version of Valeria.
Her face, however, had been scratched out. I wonder why her face was scratched out? With a quiet sigh, I continued down the hall and entered the King's quarters.
There were more people here, guards and attendants moving about with a calm efficiency. Spotting a man dressed as a butler, I approached him.
"Do you know where my father is?" I asked, surprised by his composed demeanor. Unlike most, he didn't seem afraid to look me in the eye.
"He is currently in the courtroom, Your Highness," the butler said with a slight bow.
"At this hour?" I asked, surprised.
"It concerns the one who attempted to harm you, Your Highness."
I nodded, dismissing him and deciding against interrupting the meeting.
Instead, I turned toward the king's chambers, hoping to wait for him there. He must be working hard to catch whoever did this, I thought.
Somehow, I knew exactly which room was his, as though Valeria herself was guiding me. Slipping through the heavy wooden doors, I entered the king's bedchamber.
The air was thick with beeswax and incense, layered with the faint smoke from a low-burning fire. Shadows clung to dark beams and heavy velvet tapestries that lined the walls.
At the center of the room was a grand four-poster bed draped in rich, dark curtains trimmed with gold—like a throne in its own right. A single candelabrum cast a soft glow, illuminating a silver tray, a letter with fresh ink, and scattered hints of a life both powerful and solitary.
Taking a breath, I stepped further inside, the silence settling around me. As I moved toward a lone blue velvet couch by the fire, a faint memory flickered, just out of reach.
I sat down and noticed a necklace lying on the cushion beside me. Picking it up, I felt another memory flash—sharp and painful, as though Valeria herself was trying to break through. I closed my eyes, bracing against the ache in my head, but nothing clear came through.
Just then, the door opened, and I quickly tucked the necklace into my pocket. The king entered, his eyes widening when he saw me.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, striding toward me.
"I wanted to speak with you about Alexander, Father." He sighed heavily and sat beside me, a weary expression crossing his face.
"You should marry him, Valeria," he said, almost defeated.
"It's the least you can do to protect your image."
I gave him a small smile. "Very well, I'll marry him, Father."
He looked genuinely taken aback by my quick agreement.
"That's all I wanted to say. I'll retire to my room now."
"Wait." His voice stopped me, and my heart skipped a beat. "Good night, sweetheart. Be safe."
The words sounded less like a farewell and more like a warning. I quickly left his chambers, my mind racing as I made my way back to my room.
This palace, these people… they killed Valeria, I thought as I closed my door, feeling the weight of the memories that flashed through my eyes pressing in around me.
It was ironic, really. Owen claimed to love Valeria, yet he hadn't truly known her, much like the way people had misunderstood me in my old life. As I turned down the empty hallway, I nearly collided with Alexander, who was alone.
"I came back because I forgot something earlier," he explained, holding up a necklace. I nodded.
"Would you like to see the garden?" he asked, and I nodded again, following him.
I wondered why Valeria had once called off their engagement. Alexander seemed like one of the few who genuinely cared for her, for who she really was beneath her harsh exterior.
Though I still lacked all her memories, pieces were starting to come together.
We stopped in front of the garden, where moonlight spilled over flowers and vines, making the space seem almost enchanted under the starry sky. It was breathtaking.
"I've been curious," he said, his gaze steady on me. "Why are you wearing a scarf on your head?"
"Because I'm a…" I hesitated, unsure if they'd even understand. Then I decided it didn't matter. "Because I'm a Muslim now."
He raised his eyebrows, looking both confused and intrigued.
"A Muslim?" He chuckled, his expression softening with genuine curiosity. I laughed too, feeling a strange lightness.
"Are you serious?" he asked, recovering his composure.
"That's… a human thing to believe in."
I frowned. "You mean, I'm not human?"
"You thought you were?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Then what am I? A witch? A demon? A… vampire?" I asked, half-jokingly, but when his expression suggested that I was right slightly, I stopped laughing.
"Wait—demon? Vampire?" He nodded, and I gasped. I nearly shouted. "I'm a vampire? Aren't vampires supposed to have red eyes?"
Alexander sighed, shaking his head with a look that almost seemed like pity. "You're really… unwell," he muttered.
"That's actually kind of cool, though," I said, mostly to myself.
He looked at me with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
"I had no idea memory loss could change someone so much." He turned his gaze back to the garden, lost in thought.
"Alexander," I asked quietly,
"did I love you before?"
He looked back at me, his expression softening. "Why don't you find out for yourself?" He paused, then added gently, "It's late. You should head back to your chambers, Princess."
He gave a small bow and turned to leave.
"About the marriage—" I called after him.
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
"Oh, that? You're free to—"
"I'll marry you," I said, my voice steady.