The rose room was too bright.
Sunlight poured through the glass dome overhead, warming the marble floor into a golden sheen. Everything smelled of lemon cakes and summer roses. A harp played somewhere faintly down the hall.
Elira sat stiffly at the white-wood table, staring into a cup of chamomile tea she hadn't touched. Her hands were steady now. Not burnt. Not bound. But her heart—
'This isn't peace. This is a performance. And everyone's playing their part. Except me.'
Across from her, Maren chatted cheerfully as she buttered a biscuit.
"...and the Second Prince is arriving early next week," Maren was saying, "so your father's hosting another banquet, of course. There's a new gown being tailored already—green velvet, I think? They said the color brings out your eyes."
Elira forced a smile.
"How thoughtful of them."
'I remember that banquet. I wore the dress. I met the Prince. And a month later, I found the first dead crow nailed at entrance of duchy. '
'It would be better to avoid him. '
"Will His Highness The First Prince Caelan be attending?"
she asked lightly, swirling her tea with a silver spoon.
' In this life I wanna see who this man is. And choose him as my alley.'
Maren blinked. "His Highness The First Prince?" She shrugged. "I doubt it. He never shows himself. I don't think I've ever seen his face. They say he's frail."
'They say a lot of things. Most of them lies.'
Elira nodded, but her gaze drifted—toward the far wall.
Where Lira stood.
Silently. Like a shadow cast from a memory.
The maid held a silver tray, her posture perfect. She didn't speak. She didn't blink. She simply watched—eyes downcast but always… aware.
Elira's pulse quickened.
'She's waiting. Watching. She always is, was it was me who never noticed this before. But why bring me back? Who brought me back? Who whispered through the fire?'
Her fingers curled around the porcelain cup.
"Thank you, Lira," she said, forcing her voice steady. "You may leave us."
'Please, just get out of my seight. Even you tries to mask your emotions those are still too empty '
Lira inclined her head. "Of course, my lady."
She stepped back—but didn't turn. Instead, she looked up. Met Elira's gaze.
And smiled.
Just slightly.
'Why does the psychopath like her even stays'
Elira felt the blood drain from her face.
'That smile. I've seen it before. In the fire. In the smoke. When I was burning alive.'
The door shut behind Lira with a gentle click.
Elira stood abruptly.
"Excuse me," she said to Maren.
"I need a moment."
She walked fast. Too fast. Down the marble corridor, past portraits of her ancestors, past the courtyard where birds sang like nothing was wrong.
She ducked into her private reading room and slammed the door shut behind her. Then leaned against it, breathing hard.
'I'm not crazy. I'm not. This is real. She was there when I died. She watched. Smiling. Why? And who was the voice in the fire?'
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the side table drawer. She pulled out the old book—the one she remembered hiding here when younger.
"Curses of the Old World."
She flipped through pages until she found it.
A sketch. A flower. Dried. The White Lotus.
And beside it: a single line, scrawled in faded ink.
« When one dies in fire unjust, the flame remembers the lie.»
Elira stared at the words until her vision blurred.
Then—a knock.
Too soft. Too slow.
Not Maren.
"Who is it?" she called.
A pause.
Then Lira's voice, muffled through the wood:
"Forgive me, my lady. You left your tea behind."
'What the— '
Elira's skin crawled.
'She's not here just for the tea. She's checking on me. Watching for cracks.'
'Why'
"I don't want it,"
Elira snapped.
A silence followed.
Then:
"As you wish lady."
Her footsteps drifted away.
Elira let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
She turned back to the book. The White Lotus. Remembering The cult.
And the fire's words echoed again—
«Right pawn. Wrong play. Let's try again.»
She stared out the window, heart pounding.
'I don't know who brought me back. But it wasn't mercy. It was a game. And someone powerful moved the first piece.'
Her eyes narrowed.
'The First Prince… he was always hidden. Always distant. But I remember that voice. The one in the fire... it sounded like someone weeping. Was it him? But he has no reason to reach me then. So who ?'
She closed the book and whispered to the air:
"I need to find him. I need to know who he really is."
"He can be my powerful pawn. "
The mirror caught her reflection—amber eyes gleaming faintly gold.
'They burned me once. Now I burn for truth.'
The mirror didn't blink, but she thought it watched.
Her reflection looked… more alive than it should. Like something had stepped into her skin with her. The gold in her eyes was too vivid, like candlelight behind glass. Like the fire never left.
Elira reached forward, touched the mirror.
"First Prince Caelan…" she whispered, "...why are you hiding?"
A gust of wind rattled the windowpane behind her.
She startled, turning fast.
Silence.
She walked over, unlatched the window, and leaned out.
The summer air kissed her face, but the chill she felt didn't come from outside.
'Was someone here?'
From the balcony below, a figure moved across the garden path. Hooded. Cloaked. Robes too heavy for the heat, trailing like smoke across the flagstones.
She squinted.
Tall. Straight-backed. Too tall for any servant.
His head turned, just slightly—just enough for her to see the sliver of a face edge.
The curve of a jaw. A glitch.
But it was the way he walked—graceful, measured—that made her pulse spike.
' That gait. I saw it once—no, twice—under moonlight, masked in shadow, the night the mage tower burned.'
She pressed a hand to her heart.
' Could it be him? Could it be…?'
Before she could call out, the man turned sharply and disappeared into the hedge wall.
'Gone?'
Elira stood frozen for a long time, eyes wide.
——>>>>●●●●<<<<——
That night, she didn't sleep.
She sat by the hearth, firelight flickering across the spines of old books, and flipped through her journal. The one she'd once filled with every unnatural thing she'd seen before her execution.
A new page.
Her handwriting, steady:
'DAY THREE,
A man in black robes walked through the east gardens at dusk.
Tall. Silent. Face half-hidden. He moved like someone trying not to be remembered.'
She paused, then added in a whisper:
"If you're watching me… I'll do same for you."
——>>>>●●●●<<<<——
The next morning, a letter arrived.
Unmarked. No seal.
Folded in silk and tucked beneath her breakfast plate like it had been there all along.
'A letter?'
Elira's stomach turned.
She waited until Maren left, then unfolded it with cautious fingers.
The parchment was pale gray.
No greeting. No signature.
Just five words, written in clean, deliberate ink:
«Do you still burn, Elira?»
She stared at the paper.
And the room tilted just slightly.
' Who knew?
Who dares send this? Lira? No—this isn't her way. She would carve it into my skin, not deliver it in silk.
Then who?'
'Is this person the one turned the time back ....or... '
Her hands shivered on rising goosebumps.
'OR... does this person also have memories of past and knows time has turned back?'
She turned the page over.
A faint symbol—barely visible under the light.
A sun, shattered in half.
Elira's eyes widened.
'I've seen that before.
In the royal archives. On the edge of a forgotten prophecy. A half-sun crest… it wasn't the imperial emblem. It was older. Pre-collapse.
Belonged to a line erased from record…'
'If it were earlier me I would have throwed this implementing it as nonsense. But all this makes sense, not entirely yet it does.'
She shoved back her chair.
'I need access to the high archives. I need records. I need to find the truth buried beneath this empire's ashes.
And I need to see him—before he sees me again.'
She left the letter burning in the hearth.
But the words refused to vanish from her mind.
'Do you still burn, Elira?'
She whispered her answer to the flames:
"Yes."
' And this time, I'll destroy everything that destroyed me.'
The fire hissed as it devoured the silk.
Outside, the bells of the western tower tolled the eighth hour. A summons Elira recognized immediately.
' Father expects me in his solar. On time. Alone. As always.'
She smoothed her skirts, fastened her hair into a neat twist, and slipped the half-sun sketch between the pages of her journal—hidden, but close.
'This will be 1st time I'll be seeing Father in years. Or maybe after regression. '
The halls to the Duke's private wing were colder. Lined with hunting trophies and war maps. The carpets were classic. The chandeliers bled silver light.
A guard opened the tall door at her approach.
Inside, Duke Aldren Rothermere stood by the wide window, arms clasped behind his back, gazing over the southern valley.
He didn't turn when she entered.
"You're late," he said.
'Same voice. Same sharp edge as a sword unsheathed.
But I remember something else too now... how he wept when he thought I couldn't hear, after they pronounced me guilty.'
Elira stepped in, spine straight.
"Only by a minute."
He turned then. Slowly.
His eyes swept over her—once. Measured. Exacting.
"You've grown sharp," he said at last. "You were... dull for a while. Sickly."
"I'm better now."
"Are you?"
'He's testing me. Always has. Always will.'
The Duke gestured toward the far chair.
"Sit."
She obeyed. Not because he commanded, but because she needed his favor intact—for now.
He poured himself wine, then her, and finally sat across from her at the small table.
"You've heard the Second Prince will be arriving within the week."
"I have," she said evenly.
"I expect you to behave accordingly."
"I always do, Father."
The Duke's gaze narrowed. "You used to smile when I said things like that. Now you answer like a knife waiting in silk."
' Because I'm not seventeen anymore. And never will be again.'
'Maybe Father is unaware But on this banquet queen will announce the marriage alliance between Royalty and Duchy, by choosing me as fiancée of 2nd Prince. Making him the only one with strongest supported person to go for throne.'
'The engagement between me and 2nd prince will break eventually. So let all continue as it going. '
Before the air could grow too heavy, the door creaked open.
Bootsteps.
"She's early," said a warm voice. "Now that's rare."
Elira turned.
Her breath caught.
Thorne Rothermere, her eldest brother, strode into the room wearing riding leathers and his ever-effortless smirk.
His golden hair was tousled from wind, a few smudges of dirt at his cuffs, but his eyes—bright bronze, so unlike their father's—lit up when they met hers.
"There she is." He crossed the room and pulled her into a hug before she could react.
'What— Brother....'
For a second, just one second, she froze—
' I forgot how warm he was. How he used to lift me onto his horse and call me Little Thornling.'
"You're squeezing too tight Brother," she muttered, voice thick. Struggling to break free.
Thorne laughed into her shoulder.
"You're lucky I didn't toss you in the air like when you were ten."
She stepped back quickly, blinking fast.
"I would have stabbed you with a fork."
The Duke cleared his throat.
Thorne rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Politics, grim legacy, responsibility—Father, I just rode in from patrol, let me say hello to my favorite Little sister."
"You only have one sister," Elira said dryly and with a pout.
'What is he even thinking by saying this..'
"Exactly. Which makes you my favorite by default and choice."
'How did I ever forget this?
He mourned me too. I saw his face in the crowd… when they tied me to the stake.'
Her hand twitched where the phantom burns used to ache.
"You look stronger," Thorne added, frowning slightly as he sat beside her. "What changed?"
"It's been just few months from our last meet. "
Elira met his eyes.
And for once… told the truth.
"I decided not to die so easily."
A silence fell.
Thorne blinked.
He hided his confusion under his smirk.
Then leaned back, smirking like he always did when unsure how to handle her sharp tongue.
"Remind me never to cross you, Thornling."
' Don't worry. You never did.'
She didn't say out loud.
The Duke exhaled slowly, setting his glass down.
"You've both grown inconveniently stubborn," he muttered. "But perhaps that's the only way to survive court now."
He rose. "Elira. I've arranged for your presentation at the upcoming banquet. Be ready."
'It's going same as past, I'll make my debut and by the very end of banquet things will surprise everyone present there.'
"Will His Highness the First Prince attend?" she asked, watching him carefully.
The Duke paused at the doorway.
"Unlikely. He never appears. But even shadows cast long over this empire, Elira. Remember that."
He left.
Leaving her alone with Thorne, who was now watching her far too closely.
"You've changed," he said again, quieter this time. "Not just stronger. Colder."
Elira sipped her wine, gaze steady.
"Maybe I burned something old out of myself."
"Just don't burn too much, Little Thornling." His smile softened. "I'd rather you stay."
She didn't smile. But her eyes softened.
But something in her chest stirred.
' For you, brother… I'll try.'