A sharp intake of breath filled the air, followed by silence.

Diana Hinsdale's eyes snapped open. Wide. Unfocused. Her chest heaved as she took in her surroundings—the silk sheets pooling around her, the sheer weight of her embroidered nightgown pressing against her skin, the faint scent of jasmine incense lingering in the morning air.

Her fingers curled into the fabric beneath her.

No.

This wasn't the battlefield. The acrid stench of smoke and blood didn't hang in the air. The agonizing pain of her wounds, the numb coldness of death—none of it was here.

But she remembered.

A burning palace. Blood on her hands. Lucien's terrified screams. The golden-eyed Emperor watching, distant and unmoved. Liliana's laughter, delicate and cruel.

Diana's breath came in short, uneven bursts.

She had died.

Hadn't she?

She forced herself to sit up, her head spinning. Her body felt… light. Young. The aches and scars she had carried for years were gone. Her skin was smooth, untouched by battle.

A maid stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, it is time for your morning preparations."

Diana's throat tightened. The words felt surreal.

Your Majesty.

She was still the Empress.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She had to be sure.

"...What year is it?"

The maid hesitated. "Your Majesty?"

"The year," Diana repeated, her voice sharp. "Tell me."

Startled by the intensity in her tone, the maid quickly answered, "It is the 5th year of His Majesty's reign."

The world blurred.

The 5th year.

Five years since her marriage. Five years before her downfall. Before the Emperor stripped her of power, before Liliana rose to her full influence, before Lucien—

A shaky exhale left her lips.

She was back.

Diana squeezed her eyes shut, her hands trembling in her lap. The Empress who had died in agony would not make the same mistakes again.

This time, she would play the game properly.

---

A splash of cold water struck Diana's face.

The shock ripped her from the numb haze, forcing a sharp inhale. Water dripped down her chin, soaking into the high collar of her gown. The whispers of the court filled her ears, but she barely heard them.

Because right in front of her, kneeling gracefully with tears in her eyes, was a woman she had hoped never to see again.

Liliana.

"Your Majesty, please forgive me!" Liliana sobbed, bowing her head. "I—I did not see you there—my hands slipped—I never meant to—!"

Her voice trembled, a perfect mix of guilt and helplessness. Large, honey-brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears, soft curls framed her delicate face just so, and her small frame trembled as if she were truly terrified of Diana's wrath.

It was an act.

It had always been an act.

Diana had fallen for it once.

She had screamed, thrown tantrums, lashed out at Liliana while the entire court watched in silent disapproval. She had been the 'jealous' Empress, the 'cruel' wife, the 'arrogant' noble who bullied a poor, helpless commoner.

Not this time.

Diana inhaled slowly, forcing down the sharp sting of rage in her chest. She had more important things to do.

She turned on her heel.

Gasps echoed around the hall. Nobles whispered.

"Did you see that? Lady Liliana was drenched too—she's shaking."

"The Empress must be furious. She always hated Lady Liliana."

"How can she be so cruel? That poor woman did nothing wrong!"

Diana barely heard them.

Her mind screamed at her to move.

Lucien.

Her feet moved before her thoughts fully caught up. She lifted the hem of her heavy, wet dress and ran.

"Y-Your Majesty!" A voice called after her, but she didn't stop.

Her heart pounded as she sprinted through the imperial palace halls. Servants froze. Guards exchanged glances, startled by the sight of their Empress running—running—like a madwoman.

But none of it mattered.

She had to see him.

She had to know.

Had she neglected him in this life too? Did he still flinch at the sight of her? Did he hesitate before calling her "Mother"?

The thought made her stomach twist.

At last, she reached the Empress's palace and shoved the doors open without thinking.

A young boy sat by the large window, a book resting in his lap.

Lucien.

Diana nearly collapsed.

He was here. He was alive. He was still her Lucien.

Soft black hair fell slightly over his forehead. Grey eyes—so much like the Emperor's yet infinitely gentler—widened at the sight of her.

Then he flinched.

Slight. Barely noticeable.

But Diana saw it.

Her heart shattered.

Of course, he was afraid of her.

She had ignored him. Chased after an Emperor who had never truly loved her, while the son she had given birth to had been left to fend for himself.

Tears burned at the back of her throat.

"Mother…?" Lucien's voice was small. Cautious.

Diana moved before she could stop herself.

She stumbled forward, fell to her knees, and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

Lucien stiffened.

He smelled like ink and parchment, like the faint traces of sunlight streaming through the window. He was warm and solid—real.

Diana clenched her eyes shut, her grip tightening.

I lost you once. I won't lose you again.

Lucien remained tense in her arms. His small hands didn't return her embrace.

She had no right to expect anything else.

Still, she whispered, voice raw, "I'm sorry."

Lucien stiffened even further. His fingers curled against her damp dress.

"For what?" he asked carefully.

Diana swallowed thickly.

For everything.

For leaving him behind. For failing him as a mother. For making him fear the one person who should have protected him the most.

"For everything," she murmured.

Lucien was quiet.

The warmth of his small frame was the only thing anchoring her to the present, stopping her from spiraling completely.

Then, slowly—hesitantly—his hands lifted.

Soft, small fingers pressed against her back.

Not an embrace. Not completely.

But it was something.

Diana felt her throat tighten.

She held onto him for a long time, her grip gentle but firm, as if afraid letting go would make him disappear.

When she finally pulled back, she cupped his small face in her hands, drinking in every detail.

"You've grown," she murmured.

Lucien frowned slightly. "You saw me yesterday."

Diana let out a soft, breathless laugh.

No, she thought. I saw you a lifetime ago.

"I missed you," she admitted.

Lucien studied her, suspicion flickering behind his grey eyes.

Then, carefully, he asked, "Mother… are you sick?"

Diana blinked.

A genuine laugh bubbled up in her chest—light, unrestrained.

"Yes," she said, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "I was very sick."

Lucien hesitated. Then, voice soft, he asked, "Are you better now?"

Diana's smile faltered.

Not yet.

But she would be.

For him.

"Yes," she promised. "I will be."

Lucien tilted his head, watching her.

Then, finally, he simply nodded.

"Okay."

Diana exhaled, relief washing over her.

It wasn't forgiveness. Not yet.

But it was a start.

And this time, she wouldn't waste it.