The castle had always been a place of whispers. Behind its stone walls, beneath the flickering torchlight and the steady rhythm of soldiers' boots, words carried like smoke—silent, dangerous, and suffocating. Emma had learned quickly that truth was a rare luxury here. And yet, the burden of secrets weighed more heavily on her now than ever before.
For days, her dreams had been haunted by shadows. Voices called to her in the silence of night, fragments of the life she thought she had left behind in death. Sometimes she awoke trembling, convinced she was still caught in that fateful moment of her first life—the betrayal, the blood, the bitter taste of helplessness. Other times, she woke to find Franck beside her, his face softened by sleep, and wondered if the universe had granted her this second chance only to test how much pain she could endure.
On the morning after yet another restless night, Emma stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Below, soldiers trained in the crisp dawn air, their swords clashing like thunder. Her hands gripped the cold stone railing as her mind drifted elsewhere.
The rebirth that had brought her here was both a gift and a curse. She had sworn to herself never to repeat the mistakes of her past life, yet the threads of fate seemed determined to weave the same patterns around her. The nobles' distrust of her, the veiled hostility of those who envied her sudden rise, and the ever-present danger lurking in the shadows—it was all too familiar.
"Emma."
The voice drew her back from her spiraling thoughts. Franck approached, his cloak trailing behind him. His expression was calm, but she could see the tension in his eyes. He carried the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, and though he tried to shield her from it, she felt its echo in his every word.
"You didn't sleep again." His tone was not accusatory, but laced with concern.
She hesitated before answering. "Dreams," she murmured, as though naming them aloud might make them more real. "Dreams of a life that no longer exists."
He reached for her hand, his fingers warm against her chilled skin. "You are here now. With me. Let the past fade."
Emma wanted to believe him. Desperately. But the past did not fade. It lingered like smoke in her lungs, a poison she could not exhale. And worse still—there were secrets she had not yet shared with him. Truths about who she once was, truths that might shatter everything they were building together.
Franck studied her face for a long moment, then released her hand with a sigh. "I need to meet with the council. Another envoy from the eastern provinces has arrived. Their loyalty is… uncertain."
The mention of the provinces tightened something in her chest. In her first life, she had seen alliances crumble, treaties dissolve, and blood spill because of such uncertainty. The memory made her speak before she could stop herself.
"Do not trust their words too easily," she said sharply. "They will smile and bow, but their knives are already drawn behind their backs."
Franck's brow furrowed. "How do you know that?"
Her lips parted, then closed again. She could not tell him the truth—not yet. Not that she had already lived through the treachery of these same provinces, not that she had once died because of them.
"I… I've seen the signs," she lied softly. "History repeats itself in patterns if you know where to look."
He did not press her further, though suspicion lingered in his gaze. Instead, he simply nodded. "Then I will be cautious. But remember, Emma, trust must exist between us as well. Secrets are a dangerous poison."
His words cut deeper than he knew.
---
That evening, as shadows lengthened across the halls, Emma found herself in the library. It was her sanctuary, the only place where she could lose herself in silence. The scent of parchment and ink filled the air, comforting in its familiarity. She pulled a worn tome from the shelf, not because she needed it, but because holding it gave her hands something to do.
"Secrets are a dangerous poison."
Franck's words echoed in her mind. He was right. Yet how could she tell him the truth? How could she admit that she had died once already, that her very existence was a defiance of nature's laws? Would he see her as blessed by the divine—or cursed by it?
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the cool surface of the book. "If only I could believe this life is truly mine," she whispered to herself.
The sound of footsteps startled her. She quickly composed herself as Lady Selene entered the room. Selene, with her sharp eyes and softer smile, had always been difficult to read. She was neither friend nor foe, hovering somewhere in between, her loyalty as fluid as water.
"My lady," Selene greeted with a graceful bow. "The council grows restless. Rumors spread faster than truth, as always."
Emma tilted her head. "Rumors about what?"
"About you." Selene's words hung heavy in the air. "They whisper that you wield knowledge no ordinary woman could possess. That you… see things before they happen."
Emma's heart clenched. The walls were closing in faster than she had expected.
"And what do you believe?" Emma asked carefully.
Selene's lips curved into a faint smile. "I believe that power often comes with a price. Whether you are willing to pay it, my lady, remains to be seen."
Emma's eyes narrowed. "And if I am willing? Will you stand with me, or against me?"
Selene's gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly. "Sometimes the line between standing and falling is thinner than a whisper. Choose carefully whom you trust."
With that, she departed, leaving Emma alone once more.
---
Later that night, Franck returned from the council, his expression dark.
"The provinces speak honeyed words," he said, pacing the chamber. "But I can feel the venom beneath them. You were right."
Emma said nothing, only watched him.
Finally, he stopped and turned to her, his eyes fierce. "Emma, if there is something you are not telling me, I need to know. The stakes are too high for half-truths."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him everything—to unburden herself of the weight of her past—but fear held her tongue. "Franck…" she began softly, but the words faltered.
Before she could continue, a servant burst through the door, pale and breathless.
"My lord, my lady—the envoy has been found dead. Poisoned."
The chamber fell silent. Franck's eyes met Emma's, searching, questioning, demanding.
"Poisoned?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "How?"
"The servant said… a vial slipped into his wine," the boy stammered. "No one saw who—"
Franck clenched his fists, white-knuckled. "This was deliberate. Someone wants to test us."
Emma swallowed, knowing the truth in her heart: it was more than a test. The network of betrayal she had glimpsed was far deeper than either of them imagined.
Franck stepped closer, his gaze piercing hers. "Emma. Tell me. Tell me what you know. You have… insight into things others cannot see. Do you know who did this?"
Her breath caught. Could she reveal her knowledge without exposing the memory of her past life? If she did, would he believe her—or fear her?
"I… I have suspicions," she said carefully. "But it is not certain. The threads are tangled. Whoever did this has friends, supporters. They are everywhere."
Franck's eyes darkened, his jaw set. "Then we have to act. We cannot wait for shadows to strike again."
Emma nodded. "We must move carefully. One misstep, and they will exploit it. And…" she hesitated, "…Franck, you must trust me. More than anyone else."
He studied her for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded slowly. "I do. But if this comes at a cost…"
"It always does," she whispered.
---
The next morning, Emma found herself once more in the library. Selene appeared quietly, almost gliding across the floor.
"You still carry the weight of secrets," Selene said softly. "And so do they. The council is shifting, watching you. Waiting. They suspect you know more than you reveal."
Emma's eyes met hers. "And you?"
Selene's lips twitched. "I watch. Always. I have my loyalties, yes, but the winds of power shift. I will aid those who can survive them."
Emma's heart sank. She understood. Allies and enemies were not always distinct here. Every smile, every bow, every polite word could be a dagger cloaked in silk.
The chapter of whispered threats was only beginning, and Emma knew one thing: she had been reborn not to live quietly, but to navigate storms no one else could survive.