The rain fell like judgment.
Cold. Relentless. Merciless.
Aveline Noctara stood at the center of the execution platform, her wrists bound in silver chains engraved with suppression runes. Magic pulsed through the metal, dulling her strength — but not her mind.
The crowd roared below.
"Traitor!"
"Witch!"
"Death to the false queen!"
She did not flinch.
The execution square of Valtheris had always been built for spectacle. White marble steps. Towering statues of past monarchs. And tonight, those statues watched her fall.
How fitting.
Across from her stood the man who had once knelt and sworn eternal loyalty.
Prince Cassian Valmont.
Her fiancé.
Her executioner.
His expression was composed — too composed. His silver uniform bore no trace of rain. A barrier spell shimmered faintly around him.
He would not even stand in the storm with her.
Coward.
Aveline's gaze shifted slightly.
To the right.
Lady Seraphine Ardent.
Her childhood companion.
Her closest confidante.
The woman who had testified against her.
Seraphine met her eyes — and smiled.
That smile was worse than the chains.
"You always were too proud," Seraphine had whispered hours earlier. "You thought intelligence was enough. But power belongs to those who control perception."
The accusation had been simple.
High treason. Conspiracy with enemy forces. Illegal magic research.
All fabricated.
All meticulously planned.
Aveline had spent her life studying governance, military logistics, arcane theory. She believed strength lay in knowledge.
She underestimated ambition.
The High Chancellor stepped forward.
"Former Crown Princess Aveline Noctara, you have been found guilty of crimes against the Empire. The sentence is death."
The crowd erupted again.
Cassian stepped closer.
For a moment — just a moment — his eyes softened.
Or perhaps she imagined it.
"You should have stayed obedient," he murmured low enough that only she could hear. "You would have been safe."
Obedient.
The word echoed.
Aveline laughed.
It was not hysterical.
It was cold.
"You mistake me, Cassian," she said softly. "I was never meant to be safe."
Lightning split the sky.
The execution blade was raised.
She lifted her chin.
If there was another life—
If fate dared to return her—
She would not seek love.
She would not seek acceptance.
She would seek control.
The blade fell.
Pain exploded—
Darkness swallowed—
—
A gasp tore through her lungs.
Air rushed in.
Warm air.
No rain.
No chains.
Aveline shot upright.
Silk sheets tangled around her fingers.
Sunlight filtered through gauze curtains.
Her bedroom.
Her childhood bedroom.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
No.
Impossible.
She turned.
On the vanity table lay the calendar.
Imperial Year 472.
Three years before her execution.
Her hand trembled — then steadied.
She rose slowly, crossing to the mirror.
The reflection staring back at her was younger.
Unscarred.
Unbroken.
Alive.
Aveline stared at herself for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
Not with relief.
Not with joy.
With calculation.
"Very well," she whispered.
"If this Empire wants obedience…"
Her eyes darkened.
"It will kneel instead."