The first thing I noticed was the scent of rosemary. It clung to the air, sharp and familiar, curling into my lungs like an old friend who'd betrayed me once before. I was lying in my own bed, the four-poster monstrosity of carved oak that dominated the master chamber of Valenhart Manor. The velvet drapes were drawn, but slivers of dawn crept through, painting the room in shades of gold and shadow. My heart pounded, not from fear but from the sheer impossibility of it all. I was alive. Again.I sat up, my hands gripping the silk sheets as if they could anchor me to this reality. My body felt wrong—too young, too unscarred. The mirror across the room caught my eye, and I stumbled toward it, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. The face staring back was mine, but not the one I'd last seen. No lines of exhaustion etched my brow. No gray streaked my dark hair. I was twenty-five again, the Kael Valenhart of a decade ago, before the world turned to ash and blood.Before she turned on me.My fingers traced the smooth skin of my jaw, searching for the scar that should've been there—the one Elira's dagger had left when she'd whispered her final lie. "For love," she'd said, her voice trembling as she drove the blade into my chest. I could still feel the steel, cold and unyielding, splitting flesh and bone. I could still see her eyes, those pale green eyes that shimmered like jade in the firelight, brimming with tears she'd conjured to mask her betrayal.I staggered back, my breath hitching. The room spun, and I gripped the edge of the dresser to steady myself. This wasn't a dream. The weight of the air, the creak of the floorboards, the faint hum of magic pulsing through the manor's wards—it was all too real. I was back, somehow, thrust into the past, one year before my death. One year before Lady Elira Valenhart, my beloved wife, orchestrated my murder.Why? The question gnawed at me, as it had in those final moments when my blood pooled on the marble floor of our great hall. Why had she done it? Power? Greed? Another man? I'd spent my dying breath searching her face for answers, but all I'd found was that maddening, enigmatic smile. Even now, it haunted me, curling like smoke in the corners of my mind.I forced myself to breathe, to think. If this was truly a second chance, then I had one year to change my fate. One year to uncover her plans, to outwit her, to survive. But the thought of facing her again—her laughter, her touch, the way she'd once made me believe I was her entire world—twisted my gut into knots. I hated her. I loved her. And I hated myself for still loving her.A soft knock at the door snapped me out of my spiral. "My lord?" The voice was tentative, familiar. Mira, my chambermaid, her tone as deferential as ever. "Are you awake? Lady Elira requests your presence in the garden."My blood ran cold. Elira. Already? I wasn't ready. Not yet. My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms. The pain grounded me, reminded me I was no longer the fool who'd trusted her blindly. "Tell her I'll be there shortly," I called, my voice steadier than I felt."Yes, my lord." Mira's footsteps faded down the hall.I dressed quickly, choosing a simple tunic and breeches, the kind I'd worn before I became the hardened duke who trusted no one. The mirror mocked me as I adjusted my belt, the weight of my sword at my hip a small comfort. I was Kael Valenhart, Duke of Eryndor, master of this estate and its arcane secrets. I'd faced assassins, monsters, and rival houses. I could face her.The garden was a riot of color, roses and lilies spilling over stone paths, their petals glowing faintly with the enchantments woven into the soil. The air was warm, heavy with the promise of summer, and the distant hum of the city of Eryndor drifted over the manor's walls. I paused at the edge of the garden, my heart a traitor that quickened at the sight of her.Elira stood beneath the ancient willow, its branches cascading like a veil around her. She wore a gown of pale blue, the fabric catching the light like water, her auburn hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. She was plucking petals from a rose, her movements delicate, almost childlike. The sight was so achingly familiar that for a moment, I forgot the blood on her hands. For a moment, she was just Elira, my wife, the woman who'd laughed with me under starlit skies, who'd promised me forever.Then she turned, and her eyes met mine."Kael!" Her voice was bright, warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds. She dropped the rose and ran toward me, her skirts rustling against the grass. Before I could brace myself, she threw her arms around me, her cheek pressing against my chest. "You're up early. I thought I'd have to drag you out of bed."Her scent—lavender and something sharper, like cloves—enveloped me, and I stiffened. Every instinct screamed to push her away, to draw my sword and demand answers. But her warmth, her softness, the way her fingers curled into my tunic—it was all so real. So perfect. Was this the same woman who'd stood over me as I bled out, her face a mask of cold triumph?I forced my arms to move, to return her embrace, though it felt like betraying myself. "I couldn't sleep," I said, my voice rough. "Bad dreams."She pulled back, her hands resting on my arms, her eyes searching mine. Those eyes. Gods, those eyes. They were wide, innocent, brimming with concern. But I knew better. I knew the monster that lurked behind them. "You look pale," she said, her brow furrowing. "Are you unwell?"Unwell. The word almost made me laugh. I was a man unmoored, a ghost in my own life, haunted by a future she'd already written for me. "Just a headache," I lied, stepping back to put distance between us. Her hands fell away, and I caught the briefest flicker in her expression—something too quick to name. Doubt? Guilt? Or was I imagining it, projecting my paranoia onto her perfect facade?"Come, sit with me," she said, gesturing to a stone bench beneath the willow. "The air will do you good."I followed her, my movements mechanical, my mind racing. Every step felt like walking into a trap. The garden, once my sanctuary, now seemed alive with secrets. The roses watched me, their enchanted glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The willow's branches swayed, though there was no breeze. Was this her doing? Had she already begun weaving her web, even now, in these early days?We sat, and she tucked her legs beneath her, her hands folding neatly in her lap. "You've been so distant lately," she said, her voice soft, almost wounded. "Is it the council? Lord Draevan's been pressing you about the border taxes again, hasn't he?"Her words were so mundane, so normal, that they caught me off guard. For a moment, I was just Kael, the duke, sitting with his wife, discussing the petty squabbles of Eryndor's noble houses. But then I remembered the dagger, the blood, the way she'd whispered my name as I died. "Something like that," I said, my tone clipped. "Politics. You know how it is."She tilted her head, studying me. "You're not yourself, Kael. Talk to me. Please."The sincerity in her voice was a blade to my heart. I wanted to believe it, wanted to fall into the lie that she was still the woman I'd married. But I couldn't. Not again. "I'm fine, Elira," I said, forcing a smile. "Just tired."She reached for my hand, her fingers cool against my skin. I fought the urge to flinch. "You don't have to carry it all alone," she said. "I'm here. I've always been here."The words were a poison, sweet and deadly. I stared at her hand in mine, at the delicate curve of her fingers, the faint scar on her knuckle from a childhood accident. I'd kissed that scar once, a lifetime ago, when I thought love was enough. Now, it was a reminder of how well she'd played me."Elira," I said, my voice low, "why did you ask me to come out here?"She blinked, surprised, then laughed—a sound like bells, bright and disarming. "Do I need a reason to see my husband? I missed you, that's all. The garden's so lovely this time of year, and I thought…" She trailed off, her smile faltering. "Kael, what's wrong? You're looking at me like… like I'm a stranger."My heart stuttered. Was I that transparent? Could she see the suspicion in my eyes, the ghosts of a life she hadn't yet lived? I forced myself to relax, to lean back against the bench, to play the part of the devoted husband. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to worry you. It's just… the dreams. They've been vivid.""Tell me about them," she said, her voice gentle but insistent. She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing mine, and I felt the old pull, the one that had made me fall for her in the first place. It was dangerous, that pull. It was a siren's call, luring me to my doom.I hesitated, searching her face for any sign of deceit. But there was nothing—just her, beautiful and earnest, waiting for me to bare my soul. "They're… dark," I said finally. "Blood. Betrayal. A knife in the dark." I watched her closely, waiting for a crack in her mask, a flinch, anything.Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—fear, perhaps, or guilt. But then she squeezed my hand, her expression softening. "Oh, Kael. That sounds awful. But they're just dreams. They can't hurt you."Can't they? I wanted to scream. You hurt me. You killed me. Instead, I nodded, my jaw tight. "You're right. Just dreams."We sat in silence for a moment, the garden's hum filling the space between us. I studied her, memorizing every detail—the way her hair caught the light, the curve of her lips, the faint freckles dusting her nose. She was so beautiful, so perfect, that it made my chest ache. How could someone so lovely be so cruel? Or was I wrong? Was this Elira different, untouched by whatever had driven her to betrayal in that other life?The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit. What if she wasn't plotting yet? What if I could change her, save her, save us? The hope was a poison of its own, creeping into my veins, whispering that maybe, just maybe, I could have her back."Kael," she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever feel like… like we're running out of time?"My blood froze. "What do you mean?"She looked away, her gaze fixed on the roses, their glow pulsing in time with my racing heart. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like there's a shadow over us, like something's coming, and we won't be ready." She turned back to me, her eyes glistening. "I don't want to lose you."The words hit like a blow. I stared at her, my mind a storm of doubt and fear. Was this a confession? A warning? Or just another layer of her game, designed to pull me closer before she struck? I wanted to grab her, shake her, demand the truth. But I couldn't. Not yet. If I showed my hand too soon, I'd lose everything.Instead, I stood, pulling my hand from hers. "We won't lose each other," I said, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I'll make sure of it."She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I hope so," she whispered.As I turned to leave, her voice stopped me. "Kael?"I glanced back, my heart pounding."Be careful," she said, her expression unreadable. "The world's not as kind as it seems."I nodded, my throat tight, and walked away, the weight of her words pressing against my chest. Was it a threat? A plea? Or something else entirely? One thing was certain: Elira was no innocent. Not then, and not now. But as I left the garden, the memory of her touch lingered, and with it, a dangerous question.What if I was wrong about her?
The halls of Valenhart Manor felt like a labyrinth of ghosts as I walked away from the garden, Elira's words echoing in my mind like a curse. Be careful. The world's not as kind as it seems. Was it a veiled threat, a subtle jab to test my resolve, or just the musings of a woman I no longer understood? My boots echoed against the polished marble, each step a reminder that this was my home, my domain—yet it felt like enemy territory. Every shadow seemed to hide a dagger, every whisper a plot. I was a man resurrected, but for what? To play her game again, only this time with my eyes wide open?I pushed through the heavy oak doors of my study, the scent of old leather and ink a faint comfort. The room was as I remembered it: towering bookshelves lined with tomes on magic and history, a massive desk cluttered with maps and correspondence, and the faint glow of the wards etched into the walls. They pulsed softly, a reminder of the power that coursed through this place—power I'd wielded with confidence in my past life, until it had been turned against me.I sank into the chair behind the desk, my hands trembling as I reached for a quill. I needed to think, to plan. If Elira was already weaving her web, I had to be three steps ahead. But where to start? The memories of my death were vivid but incomplete, like a tapestry with threads missing. I knew she'd betrayed me, knew the dagger had been hers, but the why eluded me. Had she acted alone? Were there others—nobles, mages, perhaps even someone closer? The uncertainty was a blade twisting in my gut.A knock at the door startled me. "Enter," I called, my voice sharper than intended.The door creaked open, and Torren stepped in, his broad frame filling the doorway. My steward, my confidant, the man who'd stood by me through every crisis in my past life—until the end, when he'd been conveniently absent. His dark hair was cropped close, his face weathered but loyal, or so it seemed. I couldn't trust him, not anymore. Not anyone."My lord," he said, bowing slightly. "I heard you were up early. Is everything all right?"His tone was warm, concerned, but I searched his eyes for deceit. Was he part of it? Had he known what Elira planned? The Torren I remembered had been steadfast, a brother in all but blood, but memory was a treacherous thing. "Fine," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Just restless. What brings you here?"Torren hesitated, his gaze flickering to the desk, where a half-finished letter to Lord Draevan lay. "The council meeting is tomorrow. Draevan's been stirring trouble again, rallying the southern houses against your trade reforms. I thought you might want to review the reports before Lady Elira joins us for the briefing."My stomach clenched at her name. "She's attending?" I asked, too quickly.Torren raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She insisted. Said she wants to support you, especially with the tensions rising. You know how she is—always wanting to be at your side."I forced a nod, my mind racing. Elira at the council meeting. In my past life, she'd been a fixture at those gatherings, her charm disarming even the most hostile lords. I'd thought it was love, her desire to share my burdens. Now, I saw it for what it was: a chance to listen, to manipulate, to plant seeds of discord. "Good," I said, the word tasting like ash. "Let her come."Torren lingered, his expression unreadable. "Kael," he said, dropping the formality, "you seem… off. If something's wrong, you can tell me. You always have."The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to crack my resolve. Almost. I wanted to trust him, to spill the truth of my reincarnation, my death, her betrayal. But what if he was complicit? What if he'd stood by as she'd planned my murder? "It's nothing," I said, waving a hand. "Just a bad night. I'll be fine by tomorrow."He didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "If you say so. I'll have the reports sent up." He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Elira asked me to remind you about the masquerade ball next week. She's been planning it for months. Says it'll be a chance to mend fences with the northern houses."The masquerade. I remembered it vividly—a glittering night of masks and secrets, where alliances were forged and broken in the same breath. In my past life, it had been a triumph, a moment when Elira's beauty and grace had won over even my staunchest rivals. But now, the memory felt tainted. Had she used that night to lay the groundwork for my death? To whisper poison into the right ears?"Tell her I haven't forgotten," I said, my voice tight. Torren nodded and left, the door clicking shut behind him.Alone again, I opened the drawer of my desk and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal. It was a habit from my past life, one I'd kept hidden even from Elira. In it, I'd recorded my thoughts, my fears, my plans. If I was to survive this time, I needed to start again. I dipped the quill in ink and began to write.Day 1, reborn. Elira is playing the part of the devoted wife, but I see through her. The garden meeting was too perfect, too calculated. She's watching me, testing me. I don't know her endgame yet, but I will. Torren may be involved—his absence at my death was too convenient. The council meeting tomorrow is my first chance to observe her in public. If she's already plotting, she'll slip. She has to.I paused, my hand shaking. The words felt like a betrayal of the man I'd been, the one who'd loved her without question. But that man was dead, and I was something else now—a hunter, a survivor. I closed the journal and tucked it back into the drawer, sealing it with a minor ward that would burn the pages if anyone but me tried to open it.The rest of the day passed in a blur of routine. I reviewed the council reports, met with the manor's head mage to reinforce the wards, and avoided Elira as much as I could without arousing suspicion. But her presence was everywhere—in the lavender-scented linens, the roses she'd planted outside my window, the servants' whispers about how lucky I was to have such a devoted wife. It was suffocating.That evening, I found myself in the great hall, standing before the massive tapestry that depicted the Valenhart lineage. My ancestors stared down at me, their faces stern, their eyes accusing. I'd failed them once, let my house fall to ruin because of my blindness. Not again.Footsteps broke my thoughts, soft but deliberate. I didn't turn, but I knew it was her. The air changed when Elira entered a room, like a storm gathering on the horizon. "You're brooding again," she said, her voice teasing but laced with something heavier. "The tapestry doesn't have the answers, Kael."I turned slowly, steeling myself against her beauty. She stood at the base of the stairs, dressed in a simple gown of deep green that made her eyes glow like emeralds. Her hair was braided now, a single strand falling loose against her cheek. She looked so innocent, so vulnerable, that for a moment, I doubted everything. What if I was wrong? What if this Elira was different?"I was thinking about legacy," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "What we leave behind."Her smile faltered, just for a second. "A heavy topic for dinner," she said, stepping closer. "Come, the table's set. I had Mira prepare your favorite—roast pheasant with honeyed figs."The mention of the dish sent a chill down my spine. It was what we'd eaten the night before my death, a meal she'd overseen with that same serene smile. Was this a coincidence, or was she toying with me, testing how much I remembered? "Thoughtful of you," I said, forcing a smile. "Lead the way."Dinner was a quiet affair, just the two of us at the long oak table. The great hall was dimly lit, the chandeliers casting flickering shadows across the walls. Elira chatted lightly about the masquerade, the guest list, the musicians she'd hired. I nodded along, my fork moving mechanically, my eyes never leaving her. Every word, every gesture, felt like a puzzle piece, but I couldn't see the whole picture yet."You're quiet tonight," she said at last, setting down her wineglass. "Is it the council? Or something else?"Her tone was gentle, but there was an edge to it, a probing quality that set my nerves on edge. "Just tired," I said, the lie coming easily now. "The border disputes are weighing on me."She reached across the table, her hand brushing mine. "You don't have to face it alone, Kael. Let me help. I could speak to Lady Veyra—she's always liked me. Maybe I can soften her stance on the tariffs."The offer was so reasonable, so her, that it made my skin crawl. In my past life, she'd made similar offers, charming allies and enemies alike. I'd thought it was love, her desire to ease my burdens. Now, I saw it for what it was: a way to insert herself into my plans, to know every move I made. "I'll handle it," I said, pulling my hand back. "You have enough to worry about with the ball."Her eyes narrowed, just for a moment, but she covered it with a laugh. "Always so stubborn. One day, you'll let me in, Kael Valenhart."I forced a chuckle, but my mind was screaming. You were in. And you killed me for it.As the meal ended, she stood, smoothing her gown. "I'm going to check on the preparations for tomorrow. Don't stay up too late brooding, my love." The endearment was a knife, twisting in my chest. She leaned down, her lips brushing my cheek, and I froze, every muscle taut. Her breath was warm, her scent intoxicating, and for a fleeting second, I wanted to pull her close, to pretend none of it had happened.But then I saw it—the glint of something in her eyes, something that wasn't love. Not quite. It was gone as quickly as it came, and she was gone, her footsteps fading down the hall.I sat there, alone, the pheasant cold on my plate. My hand drifted to my chest, where the scar should've been. The memory of her dagger was so vivid I could almost feel the blood pooling again. But there was something else now, something new. A flicker of doubt. Her words, her touch, her tears—they were too real, too conflicted. Was she playing me, or was something different this time? Was there a chance, however small, that I could save her from herself?I pushed the thought away, my jaw tightening. I couldn't afford hope. Not with her. Not when my life hung in the balance. Tomorrow, at the council meeting, I'd watch her closely. If she was plotting, I'd see it. And if she wasn't…The thought hung unfinished, a dangerous whisper in the dark