The servant's quarters were quiet, but Elara or rather, Thalia now could hear the rustle of dresses and boots echoing through the upper halls. Her heart pounded in her chest, still struggling to accept the truth.
She had died. Burned alive at the royal pyre. Betrayed by her lover. Humiliated before the kingdom.
And now, impossibly, she was back.
Thalia's reflection in the cracked mirror stared back with hollow eyes. She lifted her hand, watching the calloused fingers of the maid tremble. She was in a body too young, too weak, too forgettable. And yet, inside, the fury of the former crown princess burned hotter than any flame that had consumed her.
There was a soft knock. "Thalia, we're going to be late for chapel!"
She opened the door to find the young Lady Lysara again. Her hair braided in a crown of gold, her cheeks still pink with youth. Five years ago, Lysara had smiled just like this before she grew into the cold noblewoman who would watch Elara burn. Now, she looked innocent.
Too innocent.
Elara forced a polite smile. "Coming, my lady."
She dressed quickly in Thalia's plain maid uniform and followed Lysara through the servants' staircase into the upper wings of the palace. Every step brought memories back like sharp stones underfoot.
The palace hadn't changed. The same velvet banners embroidered with the golden phoenix crest of House Ravaryn. The same polished obsidian floors. The same scent of incense and roses. It was like walking through a memory frozen in glass.
Except now she walked behind the nobles, not among them.
They passed a hall where she remembered hosting a diplomatic dinner. There, the High Priestess had complimented her use of peace magic to calm tensions. A week later, the woman was found dead and Elara had been blamed.
She clenched her jaw. That murder had triggered everything.
"Lady Lysara," came a voice up ahead.
A figure approached a tall boy in silver-trimmed armor, his dark curls falling into his eyes. Young. Maybe seventeen.
Elara froze.
"Prince Kaelith," Lysara said with a blush.
Kaelith.
So young. So full of charm, not yet the cold-blooded king who had sentenced her. His smile was careless, golden. "You dropped this," he said, handing Lysara a lace handkerchief.
Lysara giggled. Elara watched in silence, her emotions warring. She wanted to rip his smile off his face. But she couldn't. Not yet.
Not until she understood everything.
Kaelith glanced at her briefly. His gaze slid past Thalia as though she were nothing.
And that's what she needed to be.
Nothing. Invisible. The perfect spy.
She curtsied. "Your Highness."
He didn't respond.
Good.
Elara followed Lysara to the chapel. She needed time to plan. She needed to find out who had really killed the High Priestess.
Because if she could stop the murder this time, she might stop the entire war.
But first, she had to survive.
She sat at the back of the pews, eyes scanning the nobles in attendance. House D'Ama. House Lysarin. All the smiling faces that would later turn to venom.
And then she saw it a flash of blue sigils along the chapel wall. Magic.
Forbidden magic.
Her blood ran cold. It wasn't hers. Someone was already working in the shadows. And it wasn't her.
She wasn't the only one who came back prepared.
A low chant began at the front of the room as the High Priest took the altar, murmuring prayers that masked the whispered incantation Elara heard beneath the surface.
She shifted on the wooden bench, her gaze sharp. There across the aisle, a noblewoman she didn't recognize, robed in ash grey, was tracing her thumb across her palm in a rhythm too precise to be casual.
Blood magic.
Elara's breath caught. She hadn't encountered blood spells before her execution. This was new someone else was interfering with the timeline.
Was she alone in her return?
The spell ended abruptly. The sigils vanished. The noblewoman's eyes flicked up and met Elara's for the briefest second, her expression unreadable.
Then she looked away.
Elara leaned forward, pressing her shaking hands together. There was no question anymore. She wasn't simply reliving the past.
She was walking into a battlefield she hadn't seen the first time.
One where the players knew more than she did.
And if she was going to change anything, she needed allies.
She needed power.
And she needed to start watching her back.