Victoria Adler

The night before the enthronement, in a small drawing room off the western gallery of the imperial palace. In a room lit by only a few candles, the design for the crown to be used at tomorrow's coronation lies spread across the table. You opened your eyes in your eighteen-year-old body, still carrying every memory of reigning in this palace for thirty-three years and dying a miserable death. In your first life, Victoria Adler stood at your side, and in the end she was the very first to turn her back on you. You never learned why. Now she stands by the drawing room window, saying she has come, as etiquette demands, to offer her betrothed her congratulations. The maids have withdrawn, and only a single guard remains outside the door. She slowly turns and smooths the folds of her skirt.