Aveloria woke to the sound of her own gasp. Her lungs burned like she'd been underwater too long. She clutched her chest, eyes wide, heart pounding. The ceiling above her was not the forest sky but carved stone, painted with moons and constellations.
For a moment, she couldn't move. Her hands trembled as she touched the soft silk sheets beneath her. The familiar silver drapes of her bed swayed gently, the morning light seeping through them. She knew this place. She had slept here thousands of nights before the abduction, before everything went wrong.
It was her bedchamber in Lycanthria's royal palace. But that was impossible.
She remembered the Wanderers. The burning ropes. Marek's eyes as he chose Rowena. The pain that tore through her flesh. And her last breath beneath the moon. She remembered dying.
Aveloria sat up sharply, the sudden movement making her dizzy. Her throat was dry, but not torn. Her skin was unmarked. She looked down at herself, no wounds, no blood, no bruises. Her hands were clean. Whole.
"This…can't be," she whispered.
The heavy doors creaked open, and two maids froze in place when they saw her upright.
"Heiress Aveloria!" One gasped, nearly dropping her silver tray. "You're awake early today!"
Aveloria stared at them, her mind reeling. She knew these faces; the older one was Seren, her chambermaid who had died during the palace siege two years before her kidnapping. The younger, Alin, had left service months after Seren's death. They were like two peas in a pod.
"How long…" she started, her voice shaking. "What day is it?"
The maids exchanged a puzzled look.
"Your coming of age is in four days, my lady," Seren said gently. "Your father asked that your gowns be fitted this morning."
Four days. Aveloria's heart dropped. Her coming of age before everything fell apart? Before the Wanderers ended her life?
She swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet touching the cold marble floor. The world felt too real, too bright. Every scent, lavender soap, beeswax polish, distant incense struck her senses like lightning.
She was alive back before it all began.
Aveloria rushed out of her room, ignoring the startled calls of her maids. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she ran down the golden hallway. Servants she hadn't seen in years stopped mid-bow as she passed. Some whispered, confused by her expression, but she didn't stop. She needed to see them to be sure.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a tall, familiar figure.
"Careful, big sister," a teasing voice said.
Aveloria froze. Evander.
He looked the same, tall and broad-shouldered, with a boyish grin that always annoyed her and brown hair tied loosely at his nape. The last time she saw him in her previous life, he was in chains, accused of a crime he didn't commit, and exiled to the Waste.
She grabbed his arm before he could move past her. "Evander," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
He frowned. "What's gotten into you?"
Her lips trembled. "You're alive."
He blinked, then laughed awkwardly. "Of course, I'm alive. Did you dream I wasn't?"
Aveloria just stared at him, overwhelmed. His laughter filled the corridor, a sound she hadn't heard in what felt like lifetimes. She wanted to tell him everything, but the words stuck in her throat.
"Father's waiting in the solar," Evander said, nudging her lightly. "You might want to hurry before he thinks you overslept again."
Aveloria raced as fast as her legs could carry her. The solar doors opened, revealing a tall man standing by the window. His silver hair caught the sunlight, his back straight despite the years on his shoulders.
Alpha King Alaric Valenor of Lycanthria. Her father.
He turned when he heard her steps. His face softened. "Aveloria," he said warmly. "Finally awake. I was about to send for you."
She didn't speak. She just stared, memorizing every line of his face. In her old life, she had watched this same man waste away, poisoned slowly by betrayal. Seeing him healthy again shattered something inside her.
"You look pale," he said, stepping closer. "Are you unwell?"
She shook her head quickly. "No, Father. I just—" Her voice broke. "I'm glad to see you."
He smiled, though confusion lingered in his eyes. "And I am glad to see you, daughter. The Kingdom awaits your coming of age. I've already sent invitations to every noble house from here to the Crescent Vale. The Festival of the Moon will be grander than ever."
The Festival of the Moon is the night when all packs gather to honor the Moon Spirit, celebrate their wolves, and witness new bonds. Her coming-of-age ball had always coincided with it. Each year, her father believed that would be the night she'd finally shift. Each year, she didn't. And the whispers grew louder yearly after that, the Heiress of Lycanthria was wolfless.
Alaric moved toward his desk, glancing through a pile of scrolls. "I've spared no expense. The halls will be decorated in silver silk, and the balcony overlooking the moon garden will be where you make your first shift. This time, I can feel it. The Moon Spirit will not forsake you."
Aveloria's throat tightened. She wanted to believe him. But she knew how this story used to end.
"Father," she said quietly. "And if it doesn't happen?"
He looked up, surprised by her question. "It will. You are my blood. The moon favors the worthy. Have faith."
Aveloria nodded weakly, hiding the storm inside her. And it did happen. She remembered it. She had shifted on her coming-of-age ceremony.
"Go now, child. Have your dresses ready." He urged her.
She smiled. "Okay, father."
As she left the solar, laughter echoed down the hallway. Two figures darted into view, identical except for the ribbons in their hair.
"Lori!"
Before she could react, Seraphina and Serene flung themselves at her. The twins. Alive.
Aveloria's breath caught as she hugged them tightly, tears spilling freely now. She could smell their wildflower perfume and feel their warmth, proving they were real.
"Whoa," Seraphina giggled, "since when did you start crying this much?"
"She probably had one of those dramatic dreams again," Selene teased.
Aveloria laughed through her tears, clutching them closer. "You two have no idea how happy I am to see you."
They exchanged a puzzled look, then shrugged.
"We're happy too," Seraphina said brightly. "We've been practicing our dance for your ball! Father says we'll lead the procession this time."
The ball. The same one where her doom had begun.
Aveloria forced a smile. "That's wonderful."
As they chattered excitedly, her mind was miles away. The memories of their deaths, their blood on marble floors, eyes wide open after their souls left their bodies, everything replayed behind her eyes. But this time, she could change it.
This time, she wouldn't let them die.
******************
Later that evening, her childhood friend, Galen Ravencourt of Fenricson Clan, came to visit. She found him waiting in the moon garden, tossing pebbles into the fountain. He was the same as ever: tall, slightly clumsy, with his sandy short hair always untidy and his smile easy.
When he saw her, he lit up. "There's the future queen of Lycanthria!"
She laughed softly, though her heart ached. Galen had been her constant support, loyal, kind, always there when Marek wasn't.
"You're early," she said.
"Couldn't wait." He grinned and handed her a small box wrapped in blue ribbon. "An early gift. For your coming of age."
Aveloria opened it slowly. Inside was a silver bracelet, its center charm shaped like a crescent moon, etched with tiny runes.
"I carved the runes myself," Galen said proudly. "It's supposed to bring strength and memory. Remember when we used to sneak out and watch the moon rise by the old watchtower?"
Aveloria's lips curved faintly. "You fell into the river that night."
He laughed. "You pushed me."
They both laughed, the sound easing some of the heaviness in her chest. She fastened the bracelet on her wrist, tracing the cool metal with her fingers. "Thank you, Galen. It's beautiful."
He studied her quietly for a moment. "You've been different today. Quieter. Is something wrong?"
Aveloria hesitated. She wanted to tell him everything, about dying, about betrayal, about the chance to rewrite her fate, but how could she? He wouldn't believe her.
"I just…feel like I've been given another chance," she said softly.
He smiled, not understanding the weight of her words. "Then make it count."
She nodded, staring at the moon beginning to rise over the horizon.
That night, when everyone had gone, Aveloria stood by her window. The moonlight painted her room in silver shades. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, the same face that once died in despair, now alive again.
She thought of Marek. Of Rowena. Of the lies. The betrayal. The fire in the woods.
Her stomach turned. Not this time.
This time, she would not walk unthinkingly into their trap. She would not let her sisters die or her brother be framed. She would not be the helpless heiress begging to be saved.
She touched the bracelet on her wrist, Galen's gift glinting in the moonlight. "I will rewrite my fate," she whispered. "This time, no one will use me as a pawn."
The moon outside glowed brighter, as if it heard her vow. And somewhere deep within her, faint but discernible, she felt a flicker of power stir, like the first heartbeat of the wolf that had once been denied her.