I woke up knowing I had already died.
That certainty pressed against my chest before I even opened my eyes, heavy and suffocating, like a memory my body refused to forget. The last thing I remembered was darkness—cold, final, absolute. The kind that comes after breath leaves your lungs and the world decides it no longer needs you.
Yet here I was.
Breathing.
I sucked in air sharply, my lungs burning as if they had been empty for far too long. The scent that filled my nose was unfamiliar—warm wax, dried flowers, and something metallic beneath it, faint but unmistakable.
Blood.
My eyes flew open.
Above me stretched a canopy of deep crimson fabric embroidered with gold thread, the patterns intricate and regal. It was not the ceiling of my small apartment. Not the pale light of my phone screen glowing beside my pillow. Not my world.
I bolted upright.
Silk sheets slid down my arms, impossibly smooth beneath my fingers. My hands—my hands—were slender, pale, adorned with rings heavy enough to bruise skin. My breath hitched as I stared at them, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every other sound.
This wasn't my body.
Before panic could fully claim me, memories crashed into my mind like a flood breaking through a dam.
A woman in this body had screamed once—only once—before a hand clamped over her mouth.
A blade flashed in candlelight.
Warmth spilled across silk.
Betrayal, sharp and intimate.
Death.
I gasped, clutching my chest as the memories settled, heavy and horrifying, not mine yet undeniably real.
I knew this woman.
No—I was this woman.
Queen Elowen of Aurelian.
And she had been murdered in her own bed.
My gaze snapped to the carved wooden doors of the bedchamber. They stood closed, silent, innocent-looking. Too innocent. I remembered those doors being open in the memory. I remembered footsteps crossing the marble floor without urgency. Someone who belonged there. Someone who knew she wouldn't scream loud enough for help.
My stomach twisted.
I wasn't supposed to be awake.
According to the memories burning behind my eyes, Queen Elowen was meant to die tonight.
I slid off the bed slowly, every movement deliberate despite the tremor running through my limbs. The cold marble floor grounded me, sending a sharp chill up my spine. My legs nearly gave out, but I forced myself to stand, gripping the bedpost until the dizziness passed.
A tall mirror stood near the window, framed in gold.
I approached it as if walking toward my own execution.
The woman staring back at me was breathtaking in a way that felt almost cruel. Long dark hair spilled over bare shoulders, eyes sharp and luminous despite the fear trembling beneath them. Her face held an elegance shaped by power and restraint, lips naturally curved as if unused to pleading.
A queen.
A dead queen.
"I'm alive," I whispered, my voice unfamiliar—lower, steadier, trained to command. The mirror did not contradict me, but the memories did.
Tonight, someone would come.
Tonight, Queen Elowen would die.
Unless I changed everything.
A soft knock echoed through the chamber.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
"Your Majesty?" a woman's voice called from beyond the doors. "Are you awake?"
I stared at the door, every muscle coiled tight. In the memory, this knock had come earlier. Much earlier. Something was already different.
"Yes," I answered after forcing my breath to steady. "Enter."
The doors opened, and a young maid stepped inside, her head bowed respectfully. She wore the colors of the royal household, her expression calm, practiced, loyal.
Loyal.
The memory flinched at that word.
This maid—Lysa—had been the one to bring the evening tea. The tea that dulled Queen Elowen's senses. The tea that made it easier for the blade to slide between her ribs.
My fingers curled slowly at my sides.
"Your Majesty," Lysa said gently, "you retired earlier than usual. I was worried you might not have eaten."
She gestured to a silver tray she carried, porcelain cup steaming faintly.
Tea.
My gaze lingered on the cup, my pulse roaring in my ears. I could almost taste the bitterness lingering beneath the herbs. Could almost feel the heaviness that would settle into my limbs minutes after drinking it.
So history was trying to repeat itself.
Not tonight, it wasn't.
"Set it down," I said, my tone cool. "Leave."
Lysa hesitated, just a fraction of a second too long.
That was all I needed.
"Is something wrong?" I asked softly.
Her eyes flickered. Fear? Guilt? I couldn't tell yet.
"No, Your Majesty," she said quickly, placing the tray on the table. "I'll return later."
"Don't," I replied.
She froze.
I met her gaze fully now, letting the weight of the crown—of authority—settle into my stare. "I won't require anything else tonight."
Lysa bowed deeply and backed toward the door. The moment it closed behind her, I released the breath I'd been holding.
One move avoided.
One thread cut.
But the web was vast, and I was standing in its center.
I crossed the room and examined the cup closely without touching it. The scent was subtle, expertly masked. Whoever planned this had done so carefully. Which meant this wasn't a crime of passion.
It was politics.
I straightened slowly.
Queen Elowen had been weak—not in mind, but in trust. She believed the palace was her home. That loyalty came with titles and silk uniforms.
I knew better.
This palace was a battlefield dressed in gold.
I moved to the window and parted the heavy curtains. Moonlight spilled into the chamber, illuminating the palace grounds below. Guards patrolled the outer courtyard, their armor glinting softly. Safe. Visible. Useless against enemies who didn't need to climb walls.
A memory surfaced uninvited.
He knew.
A man stood in shadow, his face half-lit by firelight. Calm. Watching. Saying nothing as the queen bled.
My chest tightened.
The Crown Prince.
Prince Alaric.
In the history written by memory, he had arrived moments too late. Or perhaps… exactly when he intended to.
I didn't know yet.
But I would.
A sudden chill crawled up my spine, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Slowly, I turned back toward the room.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—everything felt wrong.
I walked to the doors and slid the bolt into place. It wouldn't stop someone determined, but it would slow them. Force noise. Buy time.
Time was life.
I pressed my palm against my racing heart.
"I won't die again," I whispered into the silent room.
Outside, somewhere deep within the palace, a clock chimed once.
Midnight was approaching.
And someone was already moving.