Chapter 1: The Execution of the Empress
They called me the Cursed Empress.
It was a name whispered behind veils and through trembling lips. A name children used to scare each other at night. A name that once belonged to the girl who stood on the marble execution platform, dressed in white as if she were to be wed—though no one ever weds with shackles around their wrists.
I stood alone, the silk of my gown soaked in blood and ash, my knees trembling not from fear, but fury. Above me, the sky had turned the color of tarnished silver, clouds heavy with unshed tears. They cried for me. The heavens wept where no man dared.
The platform rose high above the courtyard of the Imperial Square, where once I had walked in triumph as the beloved Crown Princess. Now, the same square echoed with silence, broken only by the crackle of fire and the occasional cough from the gathered masses. They had all come to see the end of me—their Empress.
I should have screamed.
I should have begged.
But I held my head high, every part of me aching from the beatings, my skin torn from interrogation, my soul worn thin by betrayal. And yet, I was defiant.
Because I knew the truth.
And so did he.
Kaelith Vortem, the man I once called husband, stood before me. Not dressed in his imperial regalia, but in black, the color of mourning. But he was not mourning me. No, he was mourning the power he thought I would take from him. The prophecy he feared. The destiny he had stolen.
"You stand accused of high treason, consorting with dark magic, and attempting to poison the Emperor," the High Priest read from the decree, his voice cold and practiced. He stood beside Kaelith, his eyes flicking to me without an ounce of remorse.
Every accusation was a lie. Every charge a fabrication.
And every person who knew the truth had either vanished or turned against me.
"Lady Seraphina Virell, once Empress of the Vortem Empire," the Priest continued, raising his voice so it could echo across the stones and statues, "by the authority of the Crown and the judgment of the gods, you are hereby sentenced to death."
Whispers rippled through the crowd. I saw my cousin Celene standing at the front, her head lowered demurely, her pale pink lips curled in the slightest smile. She wore my crown. My jewels. She held my husband's gaze now with the same soft reverence I used to.
Traitor.
She had been the one who forged the letters, who laced the wine, who whispered poison into Kaelith's ear. But she wasn't the one with the blade at her throat.
I was.
I looked up at Kaelith, my voice raw but steady. "Do it yourself, coward."
A flicker. Barely there, but I saw it. A tightening of his jaw. A shift in his eyes—ice-blue and unreadable. Once, I had drowned in those eyes. Now, I saw nothing in them but frost.
"I should have let you die on the battlefield," I spat.
His fingers curled around the hilt of the ceremonial sword, its ruby hilt glinting under the waning light. "You should have never been Empress," he said coldly.
"You made me."
"I made a mistake."
I laughed. It was broken and bitter. "No, Kaelith. You made your grave."
The High Priest lifted a hand. "Let judgment fall."
Kaelith raised the blade. My breath caught, but I did not close my eyes.
I wanted to remember.
The moment his betrayal was complete. The moment the man who once pressed kisses to my temple now raised a weapon against me.
The moment I died.
As the blade came down, a cry split the heavens—not from the crowd, not from me, but from something deep in the earth. A low rumble followed, trembling through the marble floor and stone columns.
Then everything went dark.
But just before it did, I made a vow with what strength remained in my soul.
If the gods have any mercy… let me return. Let me burn them all.
---
I expected the nothingness to last forever.
Instead, I awoke in fire.
But it wasn't fire—it was warmth. The kind I hadn't felt in years. No cold shackles, no blood-soaked silk. Just soft cotton and a dull ache in my chest.
I gasped, my hands flying to my throat. There was no wound.
My skin was smooth. Untouched.
I sat up too fast and dizziness struck. The room swayed, sunlight spilling across the ornate floor like gold paint. The scent of lavender and fresh parchment filled the air.
This was... my room.
My old room in House Virell.
But it had been burned to the ground during the rebellion.
I threw off the covers and stumbled to the mirror.
What stared back was not the broken woman who faced execution, but a girl—sixteen, maybe seventeen. Auburn hair, tangled but rich, tumbled over my shoulders. Gray eyes wide with disbelief.
I touched my cheeks. My lips.
Tears spilled.
I was back.
Not in a dream. Not in a vision. But truly, impossibly back.
A knock startled me. I turned just as the door opened and a familiar figure stepped inside.
"Elora?" My voice cracked.
My handmaiden blinked, clearly startled by my expression. She was younger here too—no creases of worry, no burn scars on her arms. She smiled nervously. "Lady Seraphina, you're awake. You were tossing in your sleep."
"What day is it?"
"...The eve of your engagement banquet, my lady. Are you feeling unwell?"
The words hit me like a storm.
The engagement.
To Kaelith.
It was the day before everything began. Before the palace. Before the marriage. Before the betrayals.
Before I loved him.
I gripped the edge of the dressing table, trying to still my racing heart. The gods had answered me. They had brought me back not just days—but years before my fall.
"Elora," I said carefully, "has anyone come from the palace yet?"
"No, but the Emperor's emissary is due by sundown."
I swallowed hard.
I still had time.
Time to stop the engagement. Time to stop Kaelith from ever placing that ring on my finger.
But most importantly—
Time to destroy the ones who ruined me.
---
Later that evening, I stood before the mirror again, this time dressed in a deep crimson gown, the color of House Virell. Elora fussed over my sleeves while I stared at myself.
"You've never looked more regal," she said.
I didn't answer. My thoughts were a storm, each memory from the future fighting to take control of my present.
I had been naïve before. Kind. Soft.
That version of me died on the platform.
This one would not be so easy to silence.
The arrival of the palace escort came with thunderous fanfare. Trumpets, gilded carriages, and guards in dark blue armor with gold crests. At their head rode a young man I hadn't seen in years—Lord Commander Asric, Kaelith's cousin and loyal knight. His face was younger here, unscarred by the wars to come. His eyes, however, were still as cold.
"Lady Seraphina," he greeted with a respectful nod. "The Emperor awaits you at the banquet hall. His Grace requests your presence at once."
His Grace.
How strange it sounded now. Kaelith would soon be emperor, but the power he'd wield… I knew it too well. The cruelty he'd wield it with—I'd seen it firsthand.
I forced a smile. "Let's not keep His Grace waiting."
The carriage ride was quiet. My fingers curled in my lap, mind racing with every step that must be taken. I would not marry him. I would find a way to break the engagement without drawing suspicion. If Kaelith had even a fraction of the memories I now did… he might resist me.
But I couldn't risk underestimating him. Not again.
The palace came into view—its towers rising like daggers toward the sky. It looked different without the blood, the ash, the smell of war.
I would not let it fall again.
As we entered the grand ballroom, a hush fell over the crowd.
And there he was.
Kaelith Vortem.
The man who killed me.
Younger, yes. Less sharp around the edges. But the eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—were the same.
He looked at me across the marble floor, a smile brushing his lips.
And in that moment, I felt it.
A pull. A flicker.
Like he recognized me too.