The chamber still smelled faintly of herbs, the sharp bite of ginger and something bitter coating the air. My head throbbed from lying too long, but that wasn't what unsettled me.
It was him.
The boy sitting across from me, his posture too straight for someone his age, his gaze too sharp for comfort. Crown Prince Leonel.
He shouldn't have been here. In my last life, I was nothing to him until much, much later. So why now? Why did he stand by my bedside as though he'd been waiting for me to wake?
"You woke quicker than expected," Leonel said, his voice calm, composed—too composed. "The physician said it might take days."
I shifted under his stare, forcing a polite smile. "Your Highness flatters me. Perhaps I am… stubborn."
His lips curved faintly, but the expression never reached his eyes. "Stubborn. Yes. I remember that."
The words struck like ice against my spine. Remember? What could he possibly remember? He was only a boy of thirteen now, a prince too young to carry such weight in his tone. And yet—his gaze pinned me the way it had in the future. That same suffocating scrutiny, as though he could peel back layers of me until there was nowhere left to hide.
I looked away, pretending to study the carved patterns on the ceiling beams. My heart hammered too loudly.
"You've changed, Eryndor," he murmured suddenly.
I froze. "Changed?"
"Yes." He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head, watching me with the idle curiosity of a predator toying with its prey. "Your eyes don't look the same. It's as if you've seen too much."
I swallowed, forcing myself to laugh softly. "Your Highness gives me too much credit. I'm just relieved to be alive after collapsing so pitifully."
He didn't answer. He only kept looking at me—long, steady, unnerving. The silence pressed against my chest like a hand around my throat.
In the past, this boy had been light itself: carefree laughter, warmth I had clung to in my darkest days. But this Leonel… his smile was gone, his voice laced with secrets.
The thought flickered unbidden: Could he, too, have been reborn?
I clenched my fists beneath the blanket, nails biting into my palm. If so, then what role would he play in this second life of mine—savior, or executioner?
The heavy doors creaked open. The faint sound of hurried footsteps reached me before the voices did.
"Eryndor!"
My heart clenched.
Mother swept in first, her pale green gown swaying as she rushed to my side. Her hands trembled as they cupped my face, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She had always looked beautiful, but in this moment—desperate, relieved, terrified—she looked achingly human.
"My son… you frightened me half to death!" Her voice cracked, and she pressed her forehead to mine. "Don't you ever scare me like this again."
Behind her, Father entered with his steady, controlled stride. He was always the pillar of our house, strong shoulders carrying the dignity of the Vale name. His gaze softened when it met mine, but I could see the worry in the tight lines around his mouth.
"You're stronger than this," Father said gruffly, though his hand lingered on my shoulder longer than usual. "But rest now. You've pushed yourself too far."
And then—
"Brother!"
My chest ached at the voice. My little sister, Elira, no more than nine, bounded forward, her golden curls bouncing. She nearly toppled over as she threw herself at the bed, clinging to me with all her tiny strength.
I froze.
In my last life, I hadn't been here to save them. Mother's screams still haunted my dreams, Father's body left broken, Elira's small hand slipping from mine as flames devoured everything.
"Brother, don't leave me again," Elira whispered against my chest, her voice muffled. "I was so scared when you fell."
I shut my eyes, my throat burning. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing in the scent of her hair as though it would vanish if I let go.
"I won't," I whispered, the vow raw and jagged in my chest. "I promise, Elira. I'll never leave you."
The room quieted for a moment. Mother's hand rested over mine, Father's shadow loomed protective at the bedside, and Elira's small form trembled in my arms.
For the first time since I woke in this cursed second life, warmth broke through the suffocating dread. But that warmth twisted into something sharper—resolve.
This time, no one would burn.
This time, no one I loved would be ripped away.
I lifted my gaze, and my eyes landed on the Crown Prince, who still sat silently in the corner, watching the scene unfold. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze locked with mine once again, a silent promise—or a warning—I couldn't yet decipher.
Eryndor's POV
The chamber settled into hushed relief. My mother smoothed the blanket over me as though I were still a child, Father muttered to the physician about herbs and rest, and Elira curled at my side, refusing to let go.
Yet through it all, the Crown Prince lingered. Silent. Watchful.
His presence weighed heavier than the carved stone walls around us.
Finally, Father turned, bowing respectfully. "Your Highness, forgive us. We were so overcome with concern for our son that we forgot to acknowledge you properly."
Leonel rose from his chair, every movement slow, deliberate. "No need for apologies, Lord Vale. I only came because…" His gaze slid back to me, sharp and unsettling. "…your son collapsed at the palace gates. It would have been improper not to check on him."
Collapsed. Yes. That was the excuse. A weak body, overexertion—perfectly reasonable. But the way he said it… as though he knew there was more beneath the surface.
My mother bowed deeply, voice trembling with gratitude. "Your Highness honors us with his care. Eryndor owes his life to your presence."
"No," Leonel said simply, his eyes never leaving mine. "He owes me the truth."
The room froze.
Father stiffened, exchanging a sharp glance with Mother. Elira looked up at me, confused. My throat went dry.
What truth did he mean? Was it only suspicion over my strange demeanor… or did he know? Did he truly know?
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Your Highness," I forced out, keeping my voice steady.
Leonel stepped closer. Too close. The boy was only thirteen, yet the air shifted around him like a storm tightening its grip. He leaned slightly, his words pitched low for me alone.
"You look at me as though we've fought a hundred battles together. As though you've seen me bleed." His eyes narrowed, piercing. "And yet, this is the first time we've ever spoken like this. Tell me, Eryndor… why?"
My heart thundered in my chest, cold sweat prickling my palms beneath the blanket.
This wasn't right. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. In my past life, Leonel had been light, careless, warm. Not this shadow with suspicion lurking in his gaze.
Unless—
Unless I wasn't the only one who carried memories of another life.
I forced a laugh, brittle and hollow. "Perhaps Your Highness misjudges me. I've always admired you from afar. Surely that explains it."
Leonel smiled faintly. But the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Perhaps," he murmured.
But I knew, in the silence that followed, that he didn't believe me.