The chains cut into my wrists so deep the metal feels warm.
Not from heat.
From my blood.
"Confess," the High Inquisitor says, voice bored, like he's asking the weather. "And His Highness may grant you a clean death."
Clean.
I almost laugh, but my throat is raw from screaming earlier—when they dragged me through the palace corridors in a ripped wedding gown and let the servants throw spit like rice.
My wedding day.
My execution day.
Across the stone chamber, Prince Adrian sits on a carved chair as if this is a performance staged for him. His hair is perfect. His uniform is spotless. His eyes don't touch mine for more than a blink, like I'm something stuck to his boot.
Beside him, Lady Liora—my stepsister—leans into his arm with soft, trembling hands.
Soft.
Trembling.
The hands that slipped a sealed letter into my desk. The hands that led the guards straight to it. The hands that will be crowned for it.
She dabs her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Sera," she whispers, turning her face toward me just enough for the torchlight to paint her as pure. "Please. Just tell them the truth. If you summoned it by accident, we can still—"
"Still what?" My voice comes out cracked. "Still kill me politely?"
A murmur ripples through the room. Nobles. Priests. Officers. Hungry faces packed tight around the circle where I kneel.
Adrian finally looks at me. His mouth curves, faint and cold. "Don't be dramatic. If you confess, you die quickly. If you keep lying, you'll be… examined."
Examined.
I know what that means. I've already felt the first tools.
My stomach twists, not from fear this time, but from something worse—understanding.
I force myself to meet Liora's eyes. "You did it."
Her lashes flutter. She looks wounded. "Sera, you're sick with jealousy. Even now…"
Even now, she's acting.
I remember her whispering into my hair when she hugged me last night. *Don't worry, sister. Tomorrow will be perfect.*
Perfect.
I drag in a breath that tastes like damp stone and candle smoke. "The letter—"
The High Inquisitor slams his staff on the floor. "Silence. The accused will answer only what is asked."
He gestures.
A guard steps forward with a silver goblet. The liquid inside is pale and shimmering, like moonlight trapped in water.
Holy poison.
My pulse hammers. I flinch back before I can stop myself, chains clinking.
Adrian's tone is almost gentle. "You see? You're afraid because you're guilty."
"No," I whisper. "I'm afraid because you're—"
Because you're enjoying it.
Because you planned it.
Because I loved you.
My mouth won't form the last words. They would be too humiliating to die with.
The guard holding the goblet isn't a palace soldier.
He wears black.
Not the glossy ceremonial black of court, but matte, worn leather and steel, like the night itself decided to become armor.
The room shifts around him, subtly. People make space without meaning to. Even the High Inquisitor's staff lowers a fraction.
Duke Kael Rivenhart.
The Black Duke.
The Emperor's hound.
The man the empire sends when it doesn't want someone to exist anymore.
I've seen him only twice in my life. Once from far away, a shadow at the edge of a battlefield parade. Once from closer… in nightmares.
Now he stops in front of me, towering, face carved from ice and violence.
His eyes are the color of a winter river—dark, merciless, clear.
He holds the goblet out.
No insult. No pity.
Just a professional ending.
My lips tremble. "So it's you."
He doesn't react. "Drink."
That single word knocks the air from my lungs.
I want to hate him. I should hate him.
But the person I hate most is sitting on a carved chair with a calm smile, watching his disposable fiancée die.
My gaze snaps to Adrian. "Why?"
His brows lift, as if I'm silly for asking. "Because you were in the way."
Liora's fingers tighten on his arm. Her voice turns syrupy. "Because you wouldn't accept your place, Sera. You always wanted more. Adrian needs a wife who supports him. Not one who—who makes him feel small."
I stare at her. "Supports him by crawling into his bed while I'm still alive?"
Gasps. A priest hisses a prayer.
Liora flushes, then presses a hand to her stomach, tearful. "I didn't want it to happen. But love is… love."
My vision tilts.
Not from the dungeon.
From the simple, brutal fact that she's saying this in public and the world is letting her.
Adrian leans forward. His voice drops, intimate, for me alone. "You were useful, Seraphina. Your family's money steadied my faction. Your face made me look virtuous. But I don't marry a woman who can't be controlled."
Controlled.
I remember every time I apologized first. Every time I swallowed my suspicion because he smiled. Every time I defended Liora because "she's family."
My fingers curl around the chain until the metal bites.
"If I drink," I say, forcing the words through my teeth, "will you at least tell them the truth after I'm gone?"
Adrian laughs—soft, warm, practiced. "Why would I do that?"
He stands.
Liora rises with him, clinging, beloved.
Adrian raises his voice for the room. "Seraphina Vale, convicted of consorting with darkness and plotting treason against the imperial line, will be purified. Let this be a warning."
My ears roar.
This is how I die.
A warning.
A lesson.
A story they'll tell about the foolish noble girl who aimed too high.
Duke Kael's hand doesn't waver. The goblet glints.
My mouth fills with the taste of copper.
I look up at him, searching for something—anything—that says he's human.
His gaze doesn't flicker.
"Drink," he repeats, quieter now. "Or they will make it slower."
I swallow hard.
Fine.
If I'm dying, I'm not giving them the pleasure of dragging it out.
I lift my chained hands as far as I can and tilt my head forward to the cup.
The poison touches my lips—cold as snow.
I drink.
It burns like a living thing.
My throat seizes. My stomach clenches so violently I nearly fold in half. Spots explode behind my eyes.
Someone laughs in the crowd.
Liora makes a small sound like she's heartbroken.
Adrian watches, satisfied.
I choke, saliva and blood spilling from the corner of my mouth. My body tries to vomit, but the poison is faster.
The stone floor rushes up and then away and then up again.
The torches smear into orange streaks.
My heart stutters.
Duke Kael lowers the empty goblet. For the first time, something shifts in his face—so small I might be imagining it.
Regret?
No.
Recognition.
His lips part as if to speak.
I can't hear him over the thunder in my skull.
My fingers go numb. The chain slips from my grip.
I fall sideways, cheek hitting cold stone.
The last thing I see is Adrian bending to whisper into Liora's ear, smiling as she cries.
The last thing I feel is humiliation so sharp it's almost worse than death.
*This can't be it.*
*Not like this.*
*Not without making them pay.*
Darkness swallows the room.
Then—
A gasp rips out of me.
I sit up so fast my spine snaps with pain.
Air floods my lungs, clean and sweet, scented with roses instead of damp stone.
Light hits my eyes—not torchlight, but chandelier glow.
Music.
Laughter.
The scrape of shoes on polished marble.
My hands fly to my wrists.
No chains.
Smooth skin.
No cuts.
I stare at my palms, trembling.
They're smaller. Softer.
Unscarred.
My heart slams like it's trying to break free.
I'm not in the dungeon.
I'm in the Imperial Academy ballroom.
I know this room. Gold pillars. White banners. The crest of the imperial sun everywhere you look.
I know this night.
Because this is where it began.
A sharp voice slices through the music. "Oh no—Seraphina!"
Cold liquid splashes down my chest.
Wine.
Red.
It stains my pale dress in a spreading bloom, the exact shape I remember.
The crowd turns like a single animal, drawn by the scent of weakness.
My stepsister stands in front of me holding an empty glass, eyes wide and innocent, lips already forming an apology she's rehearsed in a mirror.
Liora.
Alive.
Young.
Perfect.
My stomach drops through the floor.
I whip my head to the side.
There—by the marble steps, surrounded by nobles and officers—Prince Adrian, younger too, watching with the same detached interest.
Behind him hangs the banner for the Spring Selection Ball.
Three years ago.
The night he broke our engagement in public and set the rumor hounds on me.
The night Liora "accidentally" spilled wine and made me look like a clumsy, jealous fool.
The night Adrian decided he could replace me.
The night that led, step by step, to chains and poison.
My breath comes in shallow bursts.
This is impossible.
I died.
I felt my heart stop.
I saw—
My gaze snaps to the far side of the hall.
A line of black-clad guards near the wall. A man among them, taller than the rest, standing like a blade planted in the floor.
Black Duke.
Kael Rivenhart.
He's here.
Of course he's here.
He was here that night too—silent in the corner, watching the court's pretty games like they were insects.
I didn't notice him back then.
I was too busy bleeding socially.
Now my skin prickles as if I can still feel the poison.
Liora reaches for my hands. "Sera, I'm so sorry! I tripped. Please, don't be angry—"
Her fingers touch me and my vision flashes: her hand slipping the sealed letter into my desk. Her voice crying in court. Adrian's smile.
A sound comes out of me—half laugh, half sob.
I jerk my hands away.
The crowd leans in, eager.
This is the moment they expect me to shrink.
To apologize.
To be grateful that Liora is "kind" enough to make it look like an accident.
I stare at the wine soaking into my dress, then look up at her face.
So young.
So harmless.
So full of lies.
My hand moves before my fear can stop it.
I slap her.
The crack is loud enough to punch through the music.
Liora staggers back, a red mark blooming on her cheek. Her eyes go huge—not just shocked, but furious under the shock.
The crowd goes silent.
For a heartbeat, no one breathes.
Then whispers explode.
"Did she—?"
"Lady Seraphina—!"
"How cruel—Liora didn't mean—"
Adrian steps forward, expression sharpening like a knife.
"What do you think you're doing?" he says, voice carrying.
I turn to him.
In my last life, this was where he looked at me with disappointment and said I was unfit to stand beside him.
This was where I begged him not to listen to rumors.
This was where I lost everything by trying to be loved.
My nails dig into my palms.
Not this time.
I lift my chin. "I think," I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my ribs, "that I'm done being your entertainment."
Adrian's eyes narrow. "Seraphina."
He says my name like he owns it.
Like I'm already his.
Liora clutches her cheek, tears spilling on command. "Adrian, it's alright—she's upset. I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," I snap, and Liora flinches like I struck her again. "Don't pretend you're gentle. Not tonight. Not ever."
A few nobles gasp as if I've cursed.
Adrian's jaw tightens. "Apologize to Lady Liora. Now. Or I will reconsider—"
"Reconsider our engagement?" I cut in.
The word tastes like poison.
I step closer, close enough that only he can see the hate I'm barely holding back. "Do it."
His brows lift. "Excuse me?"
My pulse pounds. The ballroom feels too bright, too loud, too much like a stage set for my humiliation.
I force my voice to carry. "I said do it. Reconsider. Cancel it. Announce it. Whatever you planned."
The crowd hushes again, sensing blood.
Adrian's lips curl. "You're hysterical."
He turns slightly, projecting to the room. "It seems Lady Seraphina has allowed jealousy to cloud her judgment. I had hoped to make a formal announcement later, but—"
There it is.
The script.
He's going to discard me in front of everyone and make me look unstable so no one will stand with me when the real accusations begin.
My stomach clenches, but I don't freeze.
Because I already know the ending if I let him speak.
I pivot.
My gaze locks onto the darkest corner of the room.
The Black Duke is still by the wall, watching like he's bored.
Like none of this matters.
Like people are ants and he's deciding whether to step on them.
In my past life, he offered me a goblet and told me to drink.
In this life, he's the only weapon sharp enough to cut through the prince.
My feet move before my courage can fail.
Gasps follow me as I cross the marble floor in my stained dress.
Whispers chase my back.
"What is she doing?"
"She can't possibly—"
"Duke Rivenhart is here?"
The closer I get, the colder the air feels.
Kael's guards stiffen, hands shifting toward their swords, but one glance from him stops them.
His eyes meet mine.
Those winter-river eyes.
For a second, the ballroom fades and I'm back on stone, dying, tasting moonlight poison.
My knees want to buckle.
I don't let them.
I stop an arm's length from him.
Up close, he's worse—taller, harder, the kind of man you can't charm because he doesn't believe in charm.
He looks me over in one slow sweep: the wine stains, the trembling hands, the too-bright eyes.
Then his gaze returns to my face.
"Lady Vale," he says, voice low. Calm. Deadly. "You're bleeding in public."
"It's wine," I answer.
He doesn't smile. "Either way, it draws predators."
Good.
Let them come.
I inhale once, sharp and painful, and turn just enough so the entire ballroom can hear my next words.
So Adrian can hear them.
So Liora can choke on them.
"I, Seraphina Vale," I say, voice ringing through the silence, "reject Prince Adrian's engagement."
A wave of shock hits the room.
Adrian's face snaps toward me, pure disbelief.
Liora's mouth opens.
The nobles look like they might faint.
I keep going before anyone can interrupt.
"And I request," I say, forcing my spine straight, "Duke Kael Rivenhart as my fiancé."
Silence slams down.
So heavy it feels like the chandeliers might shatter.
Adrian's voice cracks. "You can't—"
Kael doesn't react at all.
Not a blink.
Not a flinch.
Just those cold eyes, measuring me like a problem.
My heart hammers so hard I think everyone can see it.
If he refuses, I'm dead anyway. Not tonight, maybe, but soon. Adrian will make sure of it.
If Kael accepts…
At least I'll die fighting.
Kael tilts his head a fraction. "Do you know what you're asking for?"
"Yes," I say, and it's the truest word I've ever spoken.
Because I've already felt his ending.
I lift my chin higher, letting the whole room see I won't be dragged.
I won't be shamed.
Not again.
"My life," I whisper, so only he hears, "ended in your hands once. This time, I'm putting it there on purpose."
Something flickers in his eyes—fast, sharp, gone.
Then he steps forward.
The ballroom collectively recoils, like prey sensing the shadow of a hawk.
Kael stops so close the scent of steel and winter fills my lungs.
His gloved hand lifts.
For one terrifying moment, I think he's going to grab my throat.
Instead, he hooks one finger under my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.
"Say it again," he murmurs.
My throat tightens.
Across the room, Adrian's face twists with rage, and I can feel his power turning like a key in a lock.
Liora watches with wide, calculating eyes.
The trap is already moving.
I swallow my fear like poison.
I look the prince dead in the face, then turn back to the man who can crush him.
"I choose Duke Kael Rivenhart," I say clearly, loudly, "and I will not be anyone's victim again."
Kael's thumb brushes my jaw, ice-cold even through the glove.
His voice drops to a promise. "Then survive."
My pulse spikes.
Because behind his shoulder, imperial guards are pushing through the crowd—headed straight for me.
And Adrian is smiling now, like he's just been handed permission.
Kael's hand leaves my chin.
His guard steps aside.
Kael turns his head slightly, watching the approaching soldiers with the calm of a man deciding how many bones to break.
I draw in a breath that shakes, and inside my chest, something hard locks into place.
*This time, I live.*
*This time, I take everything back.*
*And I will make them pay.*
The lead guard reaches us and raises a sealed scroll. "By order of His Highness Prince Adrian—Lady Seraphina Vale is to be detained immediately."
Kael's gaze flicks to me, cold and waiting.
The scroll crackles open.
And the guard's next words hit like a blade.
"—for suspicion of demon pact."