The ducal estate stood under a clear, bright sky, its pale stone washed with morning light, and through the ornate front gates came a grand carriage drawn by two horses.
Two maids leaned together at the top of the steps, too excited to keep their voices low.
"That's His Grace's carriage. The Duke, and the first young master—"
"And the new young lady. She must be inside with them."
"So it's true, then. His Grace has finalized the adoption."
"Then it's official. The Adrien family has a youngest daughter."
The carriage came rattling up the drive and stopped. The household staff formed their line along the gravel, craning for a look, murmuring to one another about what the new girl might be like — whether she, too, would grow into an outstanding swordswoman.
The Duke stepped down, a blond-haired man with a small pink-haired girl held easily in one arm, and greeted them all.
And the girl, Rosette Adrien, looked up at the rows of waiting faces with wide, innocent eyes.
The line broke into delight. They crowded closer, fawning over her, exclaiming over how adorable the new young lady was, how small, how sweet.
The Duke noticed the overwhelmed look on her face and tilted his head to see her better. "What's the matter?" he asked. She looked even younger than he had been told.
"It's just—" Rosette looked down. She could not find the words for what she felt, and let the sentence trail away into nothing.
"They're only like this because they're happy," the Duke explained to his blond-haired son. "They've been waiting for her."
His son smiled warmly. "I'm happy too. I finally have a cute little sister."
Held in the boy's arms now, Rosette turned it over and over in her head. I'm just shocked, that's all. I never expected a welcome like this.
Above the great doors, a banner bearing the crest of the Adrien ducal house stirred against the sky.
The Adriens were one of the Empire's most prominent families, a renowned house of swordsmanship that had produced knights for generations. The current Duke Adrien was the Empire's only swordmaster, and he had lost his wife early.
And into all of that, Rosette thought, she had simply rolled — tumbling end over end out of nowhere, into a new life, as though someone had dropped her through a hole in the world.
She had prepared herself for a cold reception. An orphan of unknown origin, with no name and no history worth speaking of — she had been certain that nobody would welcome her.
"You really are cute," the boy said, squeezing her.
"Stop it," Rosette squirmed. "It's embarrassing."
At the doors a gray-haired butler bowed and welcomed the Duke home.
"Sebastian," the Duke said warmly.
"The young lady's room has been prepared, Your Grace. She may use it at once."
"Good. Thank you."
Then the Duke's expression turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, Rosette. An urgent matter has come up. I had meant to show you the mansion myself."
"I'll guide her instead," his son offered.
"Don't you have your morning training?"
"Then I'll practice in the evening."
"It's okay," Rosette put in quickly. "I don't mind waiting. I'm happy to wait."
"Are you sure?" the boy asked. "You'll be bored on your own."
"I like playing by myself."
The Duke lifted her a little, considering her insistence on being left alone. Then he came to a compromise. "Daniel. After your training, bring your brother and sister to Rosette's room. You can all meet her properly."
"I will," Daniel said, pleased.
He set her down and crouched to her level. "Rest in your room until then. I'll come see you the moment training is over."
Rosette watched him go, turning over what the Duke had said. His siblings. So she was about to meet the second and third children of the Adrien house.
A smiling maid came forward and curtsied. "My name is Joanne. I'll be serving as your personal maid, my lady." She bent gently toward her. "Are you tired? Would you like to go up to your room?"
Rosette nodded shyly.
She had nothing to say when the door opened. The room was enormous, all soft carpet and pale silk and light, and Joanne stood aside and welcomed her into it, and Rosette could only stare. All of this is mine? Then something on the table caught her attention.
Joanne smiled warmly, already knowing what she had seen. "Since we weren't sure of your tastes, my lady, we prepared a wide variety of things for you."
It was a children's gift set, and it was enormous — a heap of dolls with painted faces, ribbons, boxes, and, sitting on top of it all, a rubber ducky. Rosette stared at it, stunned.
"Would you like the duck for your bath?" Joanne offered.
"Not for now," Rosette said, a little overwhelmed. "Thank you."
Joanne's face fell slightly. "If you don't care for these, I'll have more brought—"
"No!" Rosette said, frantic, casting about the table until she found something and pointed at it. She took up a wooden case of colorful crayons and held it against her chest. "I like these. I'll be a good girl and draw pictures while I wait."
She stood beside her maid with the case in both hands, quietly wondering whether she had chosen well.
Then she looked down at the crayons, and her expression turned serious. If she was going to be left alone with her thoughts for a few hours, she would use the time to remember exactly how she had come to be here.
She picked out a crayon and set a sheet of paper in front of her and began at the very beginning of her story.
Her first drawing was a simple cloaked figure with distinct pink bangs showing beneath the hood.
That was me, before I regressed, she thought. An assassin. I killed more people than I could count, and I committed sins that cannot be forgiven.
The next drawing was a dark castle, breaking apart into jagged red pieces.
She remembered the last words Duke Adrien had ever spoken to her. He had looked at her — at the assassin sent to kill him — and told her that she reminded him of his own daughter. In that moment of kindness he had offered to help her escape the life she was trapped in.
She had attacked him instead.
He had not even tried to counter. He had died at her hands.
And afterward the guilt had grown until she could no longer carry it, and she had known there was only one thing left to do. She had to correct the past.
Fortunately, she was a skilled magician. She had laid her hands over a magic circle and begun the spell that turns back time.
A tearful girl with light brown hair, clutching a glowing light in both hands. That was the drawing she made of the moment it worked — the moment ancient magic reached back and took hold.
Now the girl holding the crayon had pink hair, and she scribbled away, thinking about the plan she had made for this new life: stay away from the Adrien family. Keep her distance. Never come near them at all.
She paused, the crayon hovering over the paper. She had never once imagined that they would end up this close.
Then she looked at her hand, and at the paper, and at the little wooden case, and let out a comical squeak of horror. Every single crayon was broken.
A maid with light brown braided hair looked over at the noise.
Rosette seized her by the sleeve. "Joanne, I didn't kill them! The crayons! It's not because I'm a former assassin, I swear—"
Joanne covered her mouth, shocked and thoroughly bewildered by the young lady's outburst.
Then she laughed softly behind her hand and smiled. "You remind me of Lady Isabelle and young Master Lucas when they were small."
"Isabelle and Lucas?"
"Your new sister and brother, my lady," Joanne said. "Would you like to meet them?"
The nervous girl nodded.
A door creaked open somewhere below, and Rosette remembered, with a strange twist under her ribs, that in her past life those two had been renowned members of the Imperial Knights.