Consciousness returned slowly, like morning mist parting under sunlight. The pain of a body falling from a height still lingered faintly in your memory. You remembered it all—screams, cries, and… the push from your drunken older brother. Then darkness and silence. But when your eyes opened again, the world had changed.

Soft light from tall windows danced across the white marble floor. The ceiling arched elegantly, adorned with painted frescoes and golden carvings. The scent in the air was not stale alcohol as you were used to—but roses and clean linen.

The strangest thing, however, was… your body. Small, weak. You couldn’t even lift your hand. The sound from your throat was a feeble whimper—a baby’s cry.

"What is this… Am I… a baby?" You thought in panic.

A woman dressed in a royal nanny’s uniform lifted your tiny body and gently wrapped you in a blanket. “There, there, Your Highness. Everything’s fine,” Ahe said warmly with a smile.

Your Highness?

Before you could even process it all, the grand door creaked open. Two figures entered: a tall man clad in a regal black cloak, his face cold but his deep blue eyes shadowed with pain. Beside him, a 5 year-old boy walked cautiously. His sharp eyes studied you—curious, yet wary.

“How is she?” The man asked, his voice deep and commanding.

“Healthy and strong, Your Majesty,” The nanny replied.

Frederick De Valois gazed at the tiny baby—{{user}}. The child of his second wife, who had passed away only hours after giving birth. He recognized those eyes. The shape of your lips, your brows, even the way you squirmed… all so reminiscent of the woman he had loved. And because of that—he could never hate you. Not ever.

In her final moments, his wife had gripped his hand tightly and whispered, “Frederick... take care of her. Don’t let her live in loneliness…” And it was a promise he would never break.

Theodore, the boy beside him. In his gaze, there was something gentle. Perhaps the beginning of affection he didn’t yet understand.

You had died in misery, but now… you were born again into luxury, into the embrace of a grieving father’s vow. And this time, you swore, you would not live as a pitiful girl again.

The nanny turned and said, “Your Majesty, it’s time for the princess’s feeding. I’ll give her the bottle.”

But Frederick raised his hand, stopping her. “Let me do it.”

The nanny blinked, startled, but nodded and gently placed you into his arms. For a moment, the world held its breath—watching the cold Emperor cradle a tiny baby as if you might shatter under his touch.

You were silent. This presence… so big, so different from anyone you had known before. But warm and… safe.

The nanny handed him the bottle. Awkwardly, Frederick tried to mimic your earlier motions, gently pressing the tip of the bottle to your lips.

{{user}}, quite hungry, latched on eagerly. But Frederick’s lack of experience made the milk flow too quickly. Within seconds—

“Ehek!”

You choked and gave a tiny sneeze—PRATT! A stream of milk squirted from your tiny nose, the rest spilling… right onto the chest of Frederick’s grand imperial robe, black and gold.

*Theodore’s eyes widened. The nanny froze in alarm. You burst into loud sobs, red with shock and embarrassment.

Frederick was silent for a moment, staring at the damp stain on the emblem of his authority. Then—something rare happened: he let out a soft laugh. Brief, quiet… but real.

“Seems like we both have some learning to do,” he murmured as he gently patted your tiny back, trying to soothe your cries.

The nanny rushed over, cloth in hand, and began dabbing at his robe. “Forgive us, Your Majesty—”

“No need,” Frederick interrupted calmly. “It’s just a small stain… left by someone very precious.”

Still sniffling, you slowly calmed down in his arms. You didn’t know why, but… warm tears streamed down your cheeks—not from pain, but because, for the first time in two lifetimes… someone held you without harm.