The morning drills at the Silver Guard barracks began before sunrise. Steel rang against steel, the sound sharp enough to slice through fog.
Sir Jiheon Ardent wiped his blade clean, his breath steady despite the ache in his shoulders. He was used to pain — the kind that came from discipline, not from wounds. Pain was proof of purpose.
But lately, the purpose has started to feel… hollow.
The Countess's voice — the calm authority with which she'd spoken his name the day before — echoed in his head like a forgotten melody. He'd guarded hundreds of nobles, bowed to dozens of ladies, but never had one look at him as though she'd already known the shape of his soul.
"Ardent."
He turned. Captain Daejun Kareth — his mentor, and the empire's most calculating officer — approached, cloak brushing against the gravel. His sharp gaze missed nothing.
"You're distracted," Daejun said flatly.
"With respect, sir, I'm not."
Daejun's lips curved. "Then why did you swing at a ghost during sparring?"
Jiheon exhaled slowly. "It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Daejun replied, his tone mild but his eyes cold. "The Council of Lords will review your command in three days. They value precision, not sentiment."
"Yes, sir."
As Daejun left, Jiheon's hand lingered on his sword hilt — not out of defiance, but because it steadied him. He had no room for distraction. He'd fought his way up from nothing — an orphaned soldier elevated by discipline alone. Nobles like Countess Valestria existed in a different sky, one he could never touch.
So why had her eyes looked at him as though they remembered something he'd never lived?
⚜️
At Valestria Manor, Eunha sat beneath the open veranda, reading through old estate ledgers. Ten years ago, these same books had been the roots of her downfall — every transaction, every alliance, every signature that had later been twisted into proof of treason.
She smiled bitterly. The past doesn't change unless you tear it apart yourself.
"Milady?" Mirae approached, hesitant. "There's a messenger from the Royal Guard. He brings notice of a banquet."
Eunha set down her pen. "Let me guess — an invitation from His Highness Prince Seojin?"
Mirae's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
Because I remember every lie he ever told.
Eunha sighed softly. "Deliver my thanks to the messenger. Tell him I'll attend."
Mirae blinked. "Milady, after what you said yesterday about avoiding—"
"This isn't avoidance, Mirae," Eunha interrupted, her voice low and measured. "This is preemptive strategy."
If she wanted to rewrite her fate, she couldn't run from the prince — she had to control how they met. This time, she'd dictate the rules of their courtship.
Still, her pulse quickened. The thought of facing Seojin again, younger, untainted by betrayal, was enough to unsteady her. He'd been radiant once — the kind of man who smiled with his eyes and made the court believe in his innocence.
But Eunha had seen what lay behind the smile.
Not this time.
That evening, she stood before her mirror as Mirae adjusted her gown — deep sapphire velvet that caught the light like a storm-tossed sea.
"Too bold?" Mirae asked.
"Perfect," Eunha said. "If I'm to face a snake, I may as well wear the color of poison."
Her lips curved slightly as she pinned a small silver hawk into her hair. The same pin Seojin had given her — the one she'd bled holding yesterday. Tonight, it would serve as her reminder: never again to trust without calculation.
⚜️
The royal palace glittered under chandeliers of crystal flame. Nobles twirled in silks, laughter soft as perfume. Eunha entered the hall with the ease of someone born to be admired — every step measured, every smile rehearsed.
Whispers rippled as she passed.
The Countess returns to court.
She's even more beautiful this year.
I hear the prince still remembers her name.
Good, she thought. Let them talk. Let them feed on illusions — she had learned to weaponize them.
And then she saw him.
Prince Seojin Lirandor, second heir of Ardanielle, in a white ceremonial uniform that shimmered like snow. He turned, eyes locking onto hers with practiced warmth.
"Countess Eunha," he greeted, voice honeyed. "It's been far too long."
"Has it?" she replied, her smile polite and unyielding. "I could have sworn it was only yesterday."
His brow furrowed, briefly confused. She took satisfaction in that — a small fracture in his perfect mask.
"May I have this dance?" he asked.
She hesitated for effect, then offered her hand. "Of course, Your Highness. After all, what is history but repetition?"
They stepped onto the marble floor as the orchestra began to play. Seojin's hand rested on her waist with the same practiced gentleness she remembered — the touch that had once felt safe.
Now it burned.
"You've changed, Countess," he murmured.
"So have you," she replied. "Though I can't decide if it's for better or worse."
He laughed softly. "Still sharp-tongued. I've missed that."
She smiled sweetly, concealing the storm beneath. You missed it enough to kill it once.
Across the ballroom, her gaze caught a figure near the entrance — a man in polished armor, standing at silent attention.
Sir Jiheon Ardent.
Their eyes met across the crowd. For a moment, time folded — her pulse stilled, and the music dimmed. She could almost feel the memory of his blood staining her hands, the last words he'd whispered before dying.
"Milady…" Seojin's voice broke through. "You seem distracted."
Eunha blinked, composing herself. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I was thinking of something inevitable."
⚜️
Later that night, as the court dispersed, Jiheon remained on guard near the eastern wing. The Countess passed by, her gown trailing light. She slowed briefly.
"Sir Ardent," she said quietly.
"Milady."
"Tell me — do you believe a man's fate can be changed?"
He hesitated. "If he has the will, perhaps."
"And if he doesn't remember why he should?"
His brows furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"You will," she said softly, then moved past him.
Jiheon watched her go, unease curling in his chest. There was something about her — not just beauty, but recognition, as though her soul had called his name long before her lips ever did.
And though he didn't know why, he found himself whispering after her,
"I think… I've seen you in a dream."
Eunha paused, the faintest tremor in her breath — then continued walking, leaving only silence and the scent of jasmine behind her.