I watch my father start to move toward the door, his mind already racing toward public decrees and official scribes.
"Wait," I say, my voice sharp enough to make him stop in his tracks.
He turns back, a look of confusion crossing his face. "You changed your mind? But we need to explain this to him before the rumors of the poisoning spread."
"No," I say, shaking my head firmly. I sit up, I feel little worried about Elanore's father. I know that it's not my place but still I can't leave him alone.
"Don't worry, Trust me. I can handle it." I tell him with a calm voice. Then he looks at me with a smile... an unexpected smile. I can't express it in words... but he looks quite good.
" Now go and call Arthur back in here," I advise him. We tell him that I've lost parts of my memory—significant parts—but that I am working to regain them. We ask for his silence. We'll tell him that for the sake of both our families, this must remain a secret. It will make him a partner in the secret instead of just a spectator."
My father looks at me for a long time. I can see him weighing the logic. A public scandal is a fire, but a private secret is a bridge.
"You want to handle him with a pact of silence," he muses. "It is... a dangerous game, Elanore. If he feels deceived later—"
"He won't," I interrupt. "Because we are being 'honest' with him now. We are trusting him with our vulnerability. In politics, Father, that is the most powerful gift you can give an ally."
The Duke nods slowly, a look of profound realization dawning on him. He doesn't see a crying girl anymore; he sees a strategist. He goes to the door and signals for Arthur to return.
While the Duke and 'Elanore' were whispering behind closed doors, Arthur paced the length of the outer corridor. His mind was a storm.
Something is wrong, he thought, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Terribly wrong.
He remembered Elanore from their childhood. She was a girl who lived in constant fear of her own body. She treated every meal like a potential execution. She was the person who once cried for an hour because a single shrimp had been seen on a buffet table across the room. She didn't just 'know' about her allergy; it was the center of her world. It was her trauma.
"But she is Elanore," he whispered empty hallway, "but she breathes like someone else. She is an another girl."
The Duke opens the door and beckons Arthur back in. I am sitting up, my "Professional Mask" firmly in place, ready to deliver my speech about the secret pact.
"Arthur," I begin, my voice soft and rehearsed. "My father and I have decided to trust you with a secret. The fall caused me to lose—"
"Stop," Arthur says.
The word is like a blade. He stands at the foot of my bed, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes my 'Office Brain' stall. The warmth and sweetness from before are gone, replaced by a cold, sharp intelligence.
"Don't give me the script your father just coached you on," Arthur says, his voice low. "I've known Elanore since we were children. She was afraid of the very air in the kitchen because of that allergy. She wouldn't have 'forgotten' it, even with a head injury. Her body would have recoiled before the fork even touched her lips."
He takes a step closer, leaning over the footboard.
Arthur doesn't sit back down. He stands there, his shadow stretching across my bed, looking at me with a gaze so sharp it feels like he's trying to peel back my skin to see what's underneath. The Duke is standing by the door, his face unreadable, but I can feel the sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
"Elanore," Arthur says, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "You can tell your father your 'logic,' and you can tell the servants you're 'ill,' but look at me. Just look at me."
I lift my chin, meeting his eyes. My Office Brain is telling me to stay calm, to keep the mask on, but my heart is thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"You are hiding something," he says, his jaw tightening. " You're behaving like a stranger. You're talking to yourself, and you just ate the one thing you've feared since you were a toddler."
He leans in closer, his voice shaking with a mix of frustration and genuine worry.
"What are you hiding from me? Just tell me the truth. I feel like I'm standing next to you, but you're miles away. Is there something happening that I don't know about? Are you in danger? Is someone threatening you to act this way?"
I swallow hard. I look at Arthur—this sixteen-year-old boy who is trying so hard to be a man for me—and for a second, I feel a wave of guilt. He thinks there's some dark conspiracy or a hidden threat making me act different. He doesn't realize that the threat is simply that the girl he loved is gone, and a twenty-five-year-old woman is driving her body.
"Arthur, I..." I start, my voice wavering.
I look at my father. He's watching me intensely, waiting to see how I handle the situation. If I tell the whole truth, they'll call me a witch or a demon. If I lie too simply, Arthur will never trust me again.
"I'm not hiding anything," I say, choosing my words with the precision of a legal contract. "But the fall... it changed how I see the world. I don't feel like that scared girl anymore. I feel like I've woken up from a long sleep, and I realized that I've to change myself, otherwise I can never protect myself. I'm hiding my fear, Arthur. That's all."
Arthur searches my face, desperate to find a trace of the old Elanore in my eyes. He doesn't look fully convinced, but the truth of my fear seems to soften him.
"If that's the truth," he whispers, "then let me help you carry that fear. Stop trying to be a General and just be... you."
I give him a small, sad smile. I am being me, I think. That's exactly the problem.
"Arthur," I say, my voice soft but steady. "There is something we haven't been entirely honest about. The fall... it did more than just break my skin. It took pieces of my past." After hearing my confession, Arther looks puzzled.
I turn my head toward the door, where my father, the Duke, is standing like a silent sentinel. "Father," I say, my tone shifting to something more firm. "Can you give us a moment? I wish to speak with Arthur alone."
The Duke looks surprised, but he nods and exits, closing the heavy doors behind him.
I look back at Arthur. "I have lost my memory," I say, letting the words hang in the air. "The faces, the stories, the secrets we shared... it's all behind a curtain I cannot pull back yet. I believe I will regain them in the future. I want to believe that."
I pause, watching the flicker of pain cross his face before I continue.
"But I cannot say how much time it will take. It could be one week, or it could be months of living in this silence. I don't know when the light will come back, Arthur."
I squeeze his hand, my gaze searching his. "Can you please keep your patience with me? Can you trust me and wait for me to find my way back? I am still here, but I am lost in my own mind. I need you to be my anchor while I search for the path."
Arthur doesn't hesitate. He brings my hand to his forehead, closing his eyes.
"Trust is not something you ever have to ask of me, Elanore," he whispers. "I will wait a hundred months if I must. I will be your memory when yours fails you. I will tell you our stories until they feel like yours again."
A wave of guilt washes over me, but beneath it, there is a cold sense of relief. With Arthur's promise, I have won the most valuable thing in this world: Time. "Thank you," I whisper.
I continue " but Arther, you look like you haven't slept in days. You have been so busy worrying about me that you've forgotten your own strength. You must take care of yourself. I am fine now. I have my wits about me, and I will take care of myself too. So please... stop carrying the weight of my fall on your own."
He looks startled, then a small, genuine laugh escapes him—the first one I've heard since I woke up in this world. "You sound so... certain. So different."
"I am just recovering," I lie smoothly, though my heart is racing. "Now, go. Rest. We have many days ahead of us."