---
Aurelia Voss died with poison on her tongue and betrayal in her heart.
The banquet hall had been filled with music and laughter, crystal glasses raised in her honor as nobles toasted the strength of the empire. They smiled at her, bowed before her, praised her brilliance and her iron will. Not one of them warned her. Not one of them hesitated.
When the burning began in her throat, Aurelia understood everything.
She remembered the sound of the glass shattering as it slipped from her fingers. The way the music faltered, then stopped. The way her body collapsed onto the cold marble floor as voices rose around her—some shocked, some relieved.
Most were silent.
As darkness swallowed her vision, she saw him.
Leonhardt Kael stood at the edge of the hall, his expression rigid, his silver eyes unreadable. The man she had pushed away. The man she had never trusted. The man who would later sign the decree ordering her execution.
So this is how it ends, she thought bitterly.
The Iron Empress.
The tyrant history would curse.
Then the world went black.
---
The second time she died, there was no betrayal.
Only exhaustion.
Bright white lights burned above her eyes as she leaned over an operating table, hands steady despite the blood soaking her gloves. Voices shouted instructions around her. A heart monitor beeped rapidly, desperately.
"Clamp."
"Suction."
"Don't lose him—"
Aurelia moved on instinct, her body responding before her thoughts could catch up. She had done this hundreds of times. Thousands. She had become one of the finest surgeons in the country, feared in the operating room for her perfection and admired for her results.
She saved lives.
Every day.
But as the surgery dragged on, something inside her chest tightened painfully. Her vision blurred. The sounds around her grew distant.
Not now, she thought dimly.
Not yet.
The heart monitor screamed.
"Aurelia!" someone shouted.
She never heard the rest.
---
Pain dragged her back to consciousness.
It was sharp and disorienting, nothing like the numb fade she remembered from before. Aurelia gasped, sucking in air as if she had been drowning. Her chest rose and fell violently, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The first thing she noticed was the smell.
Incense. Rich and heavy. Rose and myrrh.
The second was the texture beneath her fingers.
Soft. Luxurious. Silk.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Gold-trimmed ceilings stretched above her, intricate patterns etched into stone she recognized instantly. Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, filtered by crimson curtains embroidered with a familiar crest.
Her crest.
Aurelia froze.
"No…" she whispered.
She pushed herself upright, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washed over her. Her gaze swept the room desperately—every detail burning itself into her mind.
The eastern bedchamber.
Her bedchamber.
Her hands trembled as she raised them before her eyes. Smooth skin. Slender fingers. No scars. No calluses from years in the operating room.
Young.
Too young.
Her breath caught.
This was impossible.
The doors burst open.
"Your Majesty!"
A maid rushed in, tears streaming down her face as she fell to her knees. "Thank the gods you've awakened! You collapsed during the council meeting—we feared you would not survive!"
Council meeting.
Aurelia's mind snapped into ruthless clarity.
She remembered this day.
Nineteen years old.
Three days before the Northern Banquet.
One year before her execution.
She was back.
Not reborn as someone else.
Returned to herself.
Her throat tightened as the truth settled in.
I died… twice.
And somehow, fate had dragged her back to the beginning of her ruin.
"Leave," Aurelia said quietly.
The maid hesitated. "Y-Your Majesty?"
"Leave us."
Something in her tone brooked no argument. The maid bowed hastily and retreated, closing the doors behind her.
Aurelia exhaled slowly and pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breathing.
In her first life, she had ruled through fear. She crushed dissent without mercy, believing power alone would protect her throne.
In her second life, she learned the cost of that belief.
Fear created enemies.
Power invited betrayal.
And mercy—controlled, deliberate mercy—was far more terrifying.
A knock sounded at the door.
Before she could respond, it opened.
"Your Majesty."
Her body stiffened instinctively.
Leonhardt Kael stepped inside.
He was younger than she remembered from her final moments—broad-shouldered, tall, dressed in the black military uniform of the imperial army. His expression was composed, respectful, but his silver eyes missed nothing.
He bowed. Perfect. Precise.
"I came as soon as I heard you collapsed," he said. "I wished to confirm your condition."
In her first life, she would have sneered. Mocked him. Reminded him of his illegitimate birth and his place beneath her feet.
Instead, Aurelia studied him calmly.
So this is you… before everything falls apart (this line might be internal).
"I'm alive," she replied. "Is that not sufficient confirmation?"
Leonhardt straightened slowly.
"You seem… different," he said after a pause.
Good.
She rose from the bed. Her legs wavered, but she forced herself to stand. Weakness, she knew now, was something others sensed instantly.
"I want the infirmary prepared," she said. "Immediately."
Leonhardt frowned. "For what reason?"
"I will personally examine the injured from yesterday's border clash."
The room went still.
"Your Majesty," he said carefully, "you have never involved yourself in such matters."
Aurelia met his gaze.
"Then it is time I begin."
She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his arm. He stiffened, surprised, as though something unseen had struck him.
At the doorway, Aurelia paused and looked back.
"Lord Kael," she said softly, "from today onward, the empire will change."
Leonhardt watched her leave, unease flickering across his face.
He did not yet know it—
But the future he believed unchangeable had just begun to unravel.