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Chapter 1 – The Blade and the Bell
The bells of Avenlor tolled like war drums.
Each strike echoed through the frost-bitten air, drowning the square in a grim rhythm that matched the pounding in my chest. The sound carried over rooftops, through narrow streets slick with snow, and into the hearts of thousands gathered to watch me die.
A sea of faces stretched before me—merchants in worn furs, nobles in jeweled collars, beggars with frost clinging to their lashes. They pressed together as if sharing warmth could shield them from the spectacle. Or perhaps they were here to savor it. After all, nothing united the empire like the blood of a traitor.
And today, I was the traitor.
The wind clawed at my thin gown, raising gooseflesh along my arms. They had stripped me of my crown, my furs, my dignity. Chains bit into my wrists, and each step toward the scaffold sent their iron weight rattling in cruel applause.
Three days ago, I was a princess.
Now, I was just Serenya Valecourt—condemned conspirator, murderer of the king, and fiancée to the man who had sealed my fate.
Kaelith.
Even thinking his name made my chest tighten. He stood at the front of the crowd, cloaked in black velvet, every line of his tall frame carved from frost and shadow. His hair—dark as midnight ink—was tied neatly, and the gold crest of the crown prince gleamed at his shoulder. To the rest of the empire, he was the embodiment of justice.
To me, he was the beginning of the end.
The executioner waited beside the block, hood drawn low. The axe in his hands gleamed in the pale winter light. I had dreamed of this moment for years—not my own death, but the day Kaelith would stand where I did now. I'd imagined his defiance, his arrogance, his head rolling across the snow-stained wood.
Instead, it was my knees that would meet the blood-soaked planks.
A herald stepped forward, his voice booming over the square.
"By decree of the Imperial Court, Serenya Valecourt is found guilty of treason against the crown and the murder of His Majesty, King Aldric Valecourt."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some spat at my feet. Others crossed themselves in the old sign of warding, as if my soul were already condemned to the abyss.
I kept my head high. My father—the man they said I murdered—was already rotting in his tomb. But the blade that had ended him had never touched my hands.
Kaelith's gaze met mine across the distance, his expression unreadable. The cold in his eyes was worse than any jeer, worse than the frost seeping into my bones. Once, those eyes had been my salvation. Once, I thought I loved him.
I had been so very wrong.
The herald's voice rang again, sealing my fate.
"Sentence: Death by beheading. May the gods show mercy on her soul."
The crowd roared as the guards shoved me forward. The wood of the scaffold groaned under my boots, and the scent of old blood mingled with the bite of snow. I sank to my knees before the block, the world narrowing to the curve of the axe's blade and the breath misting before my lips.
The executioner raised the weapon.
I closed my eyes.
And then—
The air shattered.
A rush of heat surged through me, burning away the cold. My heartbeat faltered, then roared back to life. The bells rang again—but slower, heavier, as if each chime came from leagues away. My chains dissolved like smoke, the weight falling from my wrists.
I opened my eyes to a world smeared with gold light. Snowflakes hung suspended in the air, caught mid-fall. The executioner froze mid-swing, his blade suspended inches above my neck.
And then, the world turned upside down.
---
"Wake up!"
The voice wasn't the herald's, or Kaelith's, or any soul from the square. It was sharp, urgent, and much younger. My eyes flew open again—and the scaffold was gone.
Instead, I lay in a sunlit chamber draped in silks the color of dawn. A fire crackled in the marble hearth. The scent of lavender hung in the air, and a small maid in a frilled cap was shaking my shoulder.
"My lady, you'll be late for your name-day feast!"
I sat up too quickly, the room spinning. My fingers flew to my throat—no blood, no wound. My wrists were bare, unshackled. The gown I wore was silk and gold thread, not the ragged linen of the condemned.
"Name-day?" My voice cracked. "What year is it?"
The maid blinked. "Year of the Azure Moon, of course. My lady, are you feeling ill?"
Azure Moon. My blood went cold. That was… three years before my execution. Three years before the war. Before my father's death. Before Kaelith's betrayal.
I stumbled to the mirror. The reflection staring back at me wasn't the pale, hollow-eyed woman from the scaffold. It was a girl—sixteen, bright-eyed, her cheeks still round with youth.
My knees weakened.
The gods had sent me back.
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Chapter 1 – The Blade and the Bell
My breath fogged against the polished glass as I leaned closer to the mirror, fingers trembling. Every detail was wrong—or rather, too right.
Gone were the lines carved by grief, the shadows beneath my eyes from years of sleepless nights. My hair was thick again, a waterfall of chestnut silk tumbling over my shoulders. My skin glowed with youth, untouched by frostbite or hunger.
I looked alive.
The maid's voice cut through my spinning thoughts. "My lady, if you don't hurry, His Highness will be most displeased."
My head jerked toward her. "His Highness?"
"Crown Prince Kaelith," she said with the kind of nervous reverence reserved for saints and executioners. "It's tradition for your betrothed to escort you to your name-day feast. He arrived at the palace an hour ago."
The room seemed to tilt. My stomach tightened in a knot I remembered all too well—the feeling I'd had the first time I met him in my first life.
The same man who would one day condemn me.
And now, I was about to see him again… as if the years of betrayal and death had never happened.
---
I dressed in silence, letting the maid's chatter wash over me. She laced me into a gown of golden silk embroidered with tiny blossoms, its skirts pooling like sunlight at my feet. Around my throat, she fastened the Valecourt crest on a fine chain—a miniature crown wrought in ruby and pearl.
In my first life, I'd worn it with pride. Now, it felt like a shackle.
When the last pin was set in my hair, I dismissed her with a nod and made my way to the great hall. My slippers whispered against the marble floors, each step echoing in the vaulted corridors lined with tapestries and gilded sconces.
The palace smelled of beeswax and roses, the air warm from the sun pouring through high arched windows. It was a place meant for beauty, for laughter, for safety. Yet I knew these walls would one day run with blood.
Two guards flanked the carved oak doors at the hall's end. At my approach, they bowed and pushed them open.
And there he was.
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Kaelith stood near the far windows, his back to the light. The sun caught in the dark waves of his hair, turning the edges to fire. He was dressed in black and gold, the cut of his coat sharp enough to slice air, a single sapphire glinting at his throat.
Even at sixteen, he carried himself like a man who had already decided the world would kneel for him.
When he turned, the force of his gaze hit like a blade's edge. His eyes—storm-gray and unblinking—swept over me, not as a man seeing a girl for the first time, but as a hawk assessing prey.
"Princess Serenya." His voice was smooth, low, threaded with an authority no boy his age should have possessed. "You've kept me waiting."
I forced my lips into the faintest smile, masking the thrum of my pulse. "My apologies, Your Highness. I didn't realize punctuality was the crown prince's greatest concern."
Something flickered in his eyes—interest, perhaps, or warning. In my first life, I had simpered, bowed my head, tried to please him. This time, I would give him nothing but the performance he deserved.
He stepped closer, the faint scent of cedar and frost curling around him. "It is when it concerns my future wife."
The words made my stomach twist. Future wife. I'd been that once, in everything but ceremony… and it had ended with my head on the block.
"I will strive not to offend you again," I said coolly.
He studied me for a heartbeat longer than was polite, then offered his arm. "Shall we?"
My fingers brushed his sleeve as I accepted. His arm was solid beneath the fine cloth, the warmth of him a dangerous reminder of the boy I had once wanted to trust.
---
We descended the marble staircase into the feast hall, the murmur of voices swelling into a roar as we entered. Nobles rose from their seats, bowing low. The scent of roasted pheasant and spiced wine mingled with the heady perfume of lilies arranged in crystal vases along the tables.
Kaelith led me to the high table at the room's end. As we walked, I caught fragments of conversation—soft gasps at my gown, whispers about the beauty of the betrothed pair, a sharp hiss from someone I recognized as Lady Ceryn, whose family would one day help frame me for treason.
My nails bit into my palm. Not this time.
---
The feast began with a flourish of silver lids and the clink of goblets. I kept my expression serene, but my mind raced. Three years. That was all the time I had to prevent the empire's fall, to unravel the conspiracy that would end with my father's death and my own.
And every piece of that conspiracy began with the man sitting beside me, lifting his goblet with that same unreadable gaze.
"Tell me," Kaelith said, his voice soft enough that only I could hear. "Why are you looking at me as though we've met before?"
My breath caught. He couldn't know. He couldn't.
I smiled faintly, tilting my goblet to my lips. "Perhaps I was simply trying to remember whether the tales of your sharp tongue were exaggerated."
His lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a threat. "And?"
"I think," I said, holding his gaze, "they were understated."
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Chapter 1 – The Blade and the Bell
The conversation at the high table swirled around us—nobles discussing trade routes, troop deployments, and the latest scandal from the southern courts—but Kaelith's attention never drifted far from me.
It was unnerving. In my first life, I had been the one stealing glances at him, desperate to earn his approval. Now, I felt his gaze as a weight, as though he were dissecting my every breath.
I was saved from answering another too-perceptive question when the herald announced the first toast.
"To Princess Serenya, may her years be long and her reign be prosperous."
Goblets were raised. The crowd cheered. Kaelith's glass touched mine with a delicate chime.
The first sip of wine was sweet, rich with spice. I set the goblet down, masking my distaste. My father always ordered the vintners to over-season the name-day wine.
And then—
The room tilted.
---
A cold thread curled down my spine. My vision blurred at the edges, darkening like ink spilled on parchment. Voices warped, stretching into hollow echoes.
In my first life, I'd never been poisoned at my name-day feast. But the sensation—the heavy weight dragging at my limbs—was one I knew well.
Kaelith's chair scraped against the floor. His voice cut through the ringing in my ears. "Serenya?"
I forced my head up. His face swam before me—sharp lines blurring into shadow.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The goblet still sat in front of me, the wine untouched save for that first sip. My fingers curled around its stem, and I caught it then—the faintest scent beneath the spices. Bitter. Metallic.
Poison.
---
A hundred thoughts collided in my skull. Who? Why now? Was this part of the same conspiracy… or something else entirely?
Kaelith's hand closed over mine, steadying me as I swayed in my seat. "You're pale."
It was the first time I'd heard his voice colored with something like concern. It made me distrust him more.
I swallowed hard, forcing my lips into something that resembled a smile. "Too much wine," I whispered, though my vision was dimming fast.
The music faltered. Chairs scraped as nobles turned toward us. Somewhere in the distance, my father's voice rose in alarm.
Kaelith's eyes flicked to the goblet still in my grip. His jaw tightened, and the air between us shifted—colder, sharper.
Without another word, he stood, scooping me into his arms as though I weighed nothing. Gasps rippled through the hall.
"She's unwell," he said to the room, his tone like steel wrapped in silk. "The feast will continue."
---
The last thing I saw before the darkness closed in was Kaelith's profile against the flicker of torchlight, his expression unreadable… and the faintest glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
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