[Lady Miren's POV]
The courtyard smelled faintly of roses and marble dust.
The noblewoman beside me — Lady Isabel, if I remembered correctly — was saying something about the summer festival, but her words were a distant hum. My attention had shifted, tugged by a pull I knew all too well.
A gaze.
From the balcony above, just for a heartbeat, his eyes had found me. Prince Kael.
I did not look up. Not openly. I had learned long ago that some moments were ruined if acknowledged. But the corner of my mouth curved, just slightly, before smoothing back into polite composure.
He doesn't remember.
Of course he doesn't.
In this lifetime, there had been no wedding vows spoken between us, no quiet mornings when he'd linger a fraction longer before leaving for court. He was still the prince, and I was simply another piece on the board.
But I remembered everything.
---
The sound of water from the fountain pulled me back years — no, lifetimes. The day they accused me of treason, the icy dread in my veins as the guards dragged me through these same gardens. I had searched for him even then, but Kael had been away on a diplomatic journey.
By the time he returned, I was gone.
Gone, but not entirely.
---
My soul had not crossed over. It had remained here, tethered to the palace like a shadow that refused to fade. At first, I had thought it was punishment. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I realized the truth — I had stayed because of him.
I saw the way they hounded him, their whispers sharp as blades: Remarry. Produce an heir. The kingdom needs stability.
He refused. Again, and again, and again.
They thought it was stubborn pride.
I knew better.
I had watched him alone in his chambers late at night, his hand pressed to the empty space on the bed where I once lay. I had seen the letters he never sent, the ones with my name written over and over.
And on the day they finally cornered him — the day they told him he would marry another by royal decree — I had been there.
I had watched as he dismissed everyone, as he poured a goblet of wine, as his hand trembled only once before he drank.
---
The palace bells had tolled for hours.
And for the first time since my death, I had cried.
---
Now, in this new life, the air between us felt like glass — fragile, unshattered, yet holding the memory of what it could be.
I would not make the same mistakes.
Serina had played her game well in the last life, turning my restraint into absence, my silence into guilt. But this time, I was not afraid to stain my hands. If I had to weave a web around the prince before she did, so be it.
He might not r
emember loving me.
But I remembered enough for the both of us.