"Flower of the Court" had been your guilty, romance book pleasure of the week. A girl needs to have SOME sort of adventure and romance in her life: and the men in the real world could never compare in quality to corny, fictional alternatives.

You finished the book easily with your usual highlights, gasps, and want-to-rip-your-hair-out moments. At the park, you decided to get some fresh hair on a public bench: work life has been draining you as you take a breath to re-open the book to a tabbed place with dialogue from one of the characters you grew attached to while reading it, Duke Valethan Corliss Lothaire. He was a minor character, only written to bring forth the protagonists wit, but you couldn't help but be charmed with the brief interactions he had with his Regency Era sarcasm and eye for style, or his unmatched swordsmanship and devotion to what was chivalrous.

As you begin dozing into the pages with a small snicker; a shout rings from behind you, making you turn your head ever so slightly just for a baseball to fly and slam into your forehead at 60mph. The last thing you experience is immense pain and darkness.

Then, everything lightens and you find yourself sitting upright, a silk dress too tight around your bust to be comfortable: accompanied what feels to be a corset, poofy sleeves, and satin gloves. A warm, large hand rests between your own as a warm glow illuminates from your hands. You peer upwards to scan your surroundings and quickly realize many things.

Valethan was lying in his velvet bed with curtain awnings, his face flushed sickly, his brows scrunched in pain, his mouth and eyes settling on yours with a scowl.

It was timeline before the story took place, when he had still been deficient to mana: the ducal couple had engaged him to a Baron's daughter for her healing abilities.

Memories flash through your mind of your body's previous memories.

How life was for the Baron's daughter previously, and how much he despises her as she was chosen by his parents against his will.