Page 3 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

S elene’s eyelids flutter open to a world that shouldn’t exist. Soft, hazy sunlight trickles through heavy velvet curtains the colour of smoke, casting the room in a dusky blue tint.

“Meow?”

A cat lies beside her on the pillow. She hasn’t woken up to a cat beside her since…

Since she left her parents’ house over a year ago, leaving her beloved cat behind.

She turns in the bed. A huge ball of fluffy cream fur with a tabby face stares back at her.

“Mistress Stripe?”

She sits up, reaching out to stroke the cat as if it might vanish into smoke, a figment of her imagination. Perhaps she’s dead, and this is the afterlife. It would make sense for her afterlife to include her cat.

What makes decidedly less sense is finding herself in her parents’ house.

She blinks at the polished mahogany of her childhood bed, the faint whiff of lavender polish, the musty scent clinging to the thick damask walls that haven’t seen much ventilation in years.

Her fingers sink into the plush duvet she used to hate, its weight pressing her down as if to remind her: yes, this is real.

This is home. It’s all so achingly familiar, yet so completely, impossibly wrong.

She can’t be here. She can’t.

Every detail feels surreal, over-sharpened—her fingers seem lighter, more delicate than she remembers, her body somehow less worn.

Her hair tumbles around her shoulders, brushing against her elbows.

She touches it gingerly, noting that it’s shorter than it was yesterday by a good few inches—and softer, too.

If she isn’t dead, then how, by the goddess’ grace, is she here? Had someone found her and brought her back to her parents’ house? Had her hair been such a mess they had to cut off several inches? How had they washed it without her waking? Why does her body feel so much lighter?

It’s a journey of at least two days from Nocturne Hall to Roselune Abbey. If she slept the entire way—if she had been unwell the whole journey—surely she wouldn’t have woken feeling so… refreshed?

And how would anyone have managed to get her back here with half of Ashvold pouring through the mountain?

She clutches her middle to confirm what she already knows.

There’s no wound.

The door swings open, and Cassie appears, her expression softening when she sees Selene awake. Cassie looks lighter than she did at Nocturne Hall, her golden-brown hair carefully tucked beneath a lacy cap, her bright eyes alive with the gentle humour she once wore perpetually.

Until she followed Selene to Blackthorn House, Drakefell’s primary estate, where life squeezed the softness out of her as surely as it dimmed Selene’s own brightness.

Selene has missed Cassie’s slightly crooked smile. It lights up the freckles on her face, like clusters of daisies in the grass.

Selene can’t remember the last time she saw Cassie in this uniform—the soft mint-green dress and white apron of the Duskbriar estate. Cassie has been trapped in magenta for nearly a year.

Nearly a year. Maybe Selene does remember the last time she saw Cassie in this uniform after all. It was the day of her wedding.

Oh no , she prays to whatever gods might hear her, please let it not be that day.

Even if this is just some impossibly vivid dream—some memory her mind has conjured as she bleeds out somewhere far away—she doesn’t want to experience that day again. She doesn’t want to face the Duke. She doesn’t want to see his face, knowing what he will do.

“Lady Selene!” Cassie exclaims, placing the breakfast tray down on the table. “I didn’t think you’d sleep this late, today of all days.”

Today. The word stabs through her, sharp as glass. Her mouth goes dry. “What… day is it?” she whispers, barely audible.

Cassie raises her eyebrows, as if she thinks Selene might be teasing her.

I’m not teasing , Selene wants to explain. I don’t think I’ll ever tease anyone, ever again.

“Oh, no day in particular!” Cassie laughs. “Not yet , anyway! But we all know the Duke will be proposing today, don’t we? ”

Selene’s brow furrows. The Duke can’t be proposing today, because he proposed to her a year ago. He can’t propose, because she is already his wife.

Isn’t she?

“Are you quite all right, my lady?”

My lady. Not ‘Your Grace’.

Has Selene lost her mind? Perhaps she hasn’t died. Perhaps the entire year was some incredibly detailed dream brought on by nerves over her impending engagement. Maybe nothing happened at all.

No. That’s ridiculous. No one could dream anything in such awful, excruciating detail.

She members dozens of balls, engagements, births.

She remembers ships sinking, mountains trembling.

She remembers her grandmother’s funeral, right down to what was served at the wake and the deep purple petals on the mahogany coffin.

She remembers what it’s like to be kissed, to be touched, to experience marital relations—things she knew nothing about before marrying.

She remembers what it’s like to be shot.

She’s experienced a hundred sensations, a thousand memories.

Everything that happened, happened. She married the Duke. He took her grandmother’s estate, tunneled through to Ashvold, and helped King Eirik invade their lands.

And yet… she doesn’t think she’s dreaming now, either.

Her heart pounds as she gathers the sheets tightly in her fists. “The date, Cassie,” she manages, her voice hollow. “Tell me the date.”

Cassie’s frown deepens, but she humours her. “The third day of Springrise. Why? Are we wanting to commit it to memory? ”

Selene barely hears her. She is back, impossibly, on the very day that started it all—the day she accepted the Duke’s hand, and his terrible plan was set in motion.

Something happened to her in that temple. She isn’t dead.

Somehow, for whatever reason, the gods have sent her back in time.

She isn’t married to the Duke of Drakefell. Her grandmother is alive. He hasn’t taken her land or allied with their enemies. The border between Haverland and Ashvold still holds.

It means she is free.

Her pulse quickens, her mind racing to grasp this impossible, delicate web of opportunity before it vanishes like smoke. She can stop him this time. All she needs to do is refuse his proposal, and he will never gain control of her grandmother’s land.

Cassie’s gaze lingers on her, brows pinched with concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, my lady?”

“Yes,” Selene lies, forcing herself to meet Cassie’s eyes. “Just… a strange dream.”

But the word “dream” doesn’t settle in her throat the way it should. Everything around her is too vividly, achingly real—the faint prickle of goosebumps on her arms, the distant trill of morning songbirds, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath Cassie’s steady feet.

Cassie’s fingers brush Selene’s shoulder. “Shall I pour you some tea, my lady? You look as if you could use a bit of a boost.”

“Yes, please,” Selene murmurs, her voice tight with a mix of gratitude and lingering disbelief.

Cassie pours her a cup, and Selene rises slowly from the bed, each step testing the floor’s solidity, as though it might vanish beneath her at any moment.

She sits at the table and lifts her cup with shaking fingers.

Cassie butters her toast and spreads marmalade for her—something she hasn’t done in years.

Selene feels too weak to swallow at first, but somehow, she manages.

After she finishes, Selene sits at her vanity.

Cassie brushes out her ash-blond hair until it shines like silk.

Selene’s reflection catches her eye in the mirror.

She is twenty again. The differences should be imperceptible.

How much could she have changed in the space of a year?

And yet a relative stranger stares back at her.

Her face is younger, her cheeks softer, no shadows yet carved beneath her vivid green eyes.

She can’t remember them being so bright, can’t recall the last time her skin seemed so light and dewy.

The woman she sees is… hopeful, perhaps. Foolish. A stranger to everything she will come to lose.

Cassie helps her into her gown, the soft lavender silk rippling around her as she fastens the dozens of buttons down her back.

The dress is adorned with delicate pink roses and more lace than Selene remembers being strictly necessary, but she had adored it all the same.

She smooths a hand over the bodice, remembering how often she reached for this dress in the early days of her engagement, until the Duke hinted that it was ‘too girlish’ for a future duchess.

She took it with her to Blackthorn House nonetheless, but he had removed it from her wardrobe after a few months, as casually as he might have swatted away a cobweb.

Yet here it is, just as she left it. She’s almost afraid to admit how relieved she is to see it again. It’s just a dress, after all.

Cassie gives a satisfied nod, admiring her handiwork. “There now. You look as lovely as a spring dawn, my lady.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she meets Selene’s gaze in the mirror, so sincere that it nearly undoes her.

Cassie said the exact same thing on this day before. Any lingering doubts Selene has about this all being a dream fade rapidly, although the sensation lingers. She knows this is real. She knows it.

It just doesn’t quite feel that way.

Cassie gathers her hair, pinning it into soft curls as Selene gazes out the window, overlooking the estate’s drive. A few guests have already begun to arrive. Lavish carriages roll up the gravel path, each bringing a noble for her parents’ ‘little soirée’ later this afternoon.

Everyone knows what they are actually attending—her engagement party. It has all but been assured.

She remembers her parents’ excitement regarding the proposal, the whispered hints about what a future duchess might bring to House Duskbriar. The honour and prestige she’d bring to her family. Selene had bathed in the praise. Danced in it.

Not this time.

This time, her parents will have to contend with disappointment. She will not be marrying the Duke.

But she will have to marry someone.

The Duke will never cease his suit if she doesn’t, and Selene doesn’t doubt he is the sort of man who will force her hand if she refuses him, finding some other way to make her his wife.

Her parents will never let it rest, either.

If she is to escape his clutches, she has no choice but to find another husband.

She could run away, of course. She could pawn her dresses and jewellery.

But she has no idea where she would go after that, no idea how much money she would need or how far she would have to travel.

Dimly, she considers Montelune across the sea, and the foolish dream of becoming a dancer.

But Selene knows she wouldn’t last two days on her own.

She has survived a poor marriage once before. She is willing to hedge her bets with another .

Selene’s gaze roves over the guests spilling out of carriages, evaluating each nobleman with renewed scrutiny. Who can she endure? Better yet, who will leave her be?

Lord Havering exits his carriage first, leaning into a loud conversation with his mother about some scandal at court last season.

The man loves the sound of his own voice.

Marrying him would mean a life of gossip and trivialities, every secret of hers eventually spilled to Florenwall’s society pages. No, he won’t do.

Next, she spots Sir Embry. His rigid posture and scrutinising eyes make her skin prickle.

He is practically joined at the hip with his politically savvy sister and her equally ambitious husband.

There would be no escaping the agendas of the Embry family, no quiet retreat to the countryside. Certainly not.

Then there is Lord Greyton, whose hesitant smile and slightly shabby coat hint at a title with more heritage than wealth.

Rumour has it he prefers the company of men—a detail Selene never paid attention to before, but now it gleams like a lifeline.

Perhaps Lord Greyton would welcome a wife who expects no romance.

She imagines it: a courteous understanding, two people free to lead their own lives, far removed from each other’s business.

Still, his shy demeanour and well-worn attire suggest he might lack the strength she needs in an ally. Someone less likely to bow to pressure from the Duke or, worse, her parents.

She taps the windowsill with her manicured, perfectly shaped nails, aware that she needs to act fast, though her options are appallingly limited.

“He isn’t here yet,” Cassie remarks.

Selene startles. She has almost forgotten Cassie is in the room at all. “Who?” she asks dumbly .

“Your future husband,” Cassie replies, suppressing a giggle. “The Duke won’t arrive for at least another hour.”

Selene wants Duke Drakefell to never arrive. She wants him to fall into a ditch and perish on his way here.

The dark thought consumes her. She wants a person dead. A person she once cared for. She has hated him for a lot longer than she ever loved him, but wanting him dead ?

That desire only formed yesterday.

For another girl, she tells herself. It hasn’t happened to her yet.

But it will. It will happen to her if she doesn’t find a way out of this marriage.

A prickling sense of urgency bubbles up within her as she considers how narrow her options truly are. She can practically feel the Duke’s shadow bearing down on her, tightening around her like a snare.

She stands.

“My lady?” Cassie starts. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a turn about the grounds to clear my head,” Selene tells her.

She ignores Cassie’s faint protests. She knows guests are arriving.

She knows it is considered scandalous for an unmarried lady to walk the grounds alone with eligible young men around, even in her own home.

She just doesn’t care. Perhaps, if she is lucky, she will cause a scandal, and the Duke will be forced to find another bride.

Except, of course, he won’t. He needs her. He needs her birthright.

It is common knowledge among society that Selene’s grandmother plans to bequeath Nocturne Hall to her upon her death.

While the Duskbriar residence is entailed to the nearest male heir—her cousin Henry—Nocturne Hall belongs solely to her grandmother, who can give it to whomever she sees fit.

It is a remote estate on the country’s border, a decent size for a dowry.

Yet, no young society woman would want to live there, and no man of significance would see it as much of a temptation.

The Duke didn’t see it that way. He saw it as an opportunity.

Selene is not about to let him use her again.