The gallery doors closed behind me with a resonating thud. I could feel the echo reverberate through the cold stone corridors, like the heartbeat of the palace itself—a living, breathing entity that watched, judged, and threatened to consume anyone who dared move carelessly within it.
Prince Alaric's presence beside me was a weight I could feel even without touching him. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, not to threaten me but to guard against the assassins who had failed—or maybe only delayed—their deadly mission. His eyes, cold and assessing, did not soften as he studied me.
"You are lucky," he said quietly, his voice low and measured, carrying authority that made the air itself seem to bend toward him. "Most would not survive what just happened."
I didn't flinch. Luck had nothing to do with it. I had memorized every detail of this night in her—no, my—previous life. I had been the queen who died, and I would not make the same mistake twice.
"I survived because I chose to," I replied evenly. "Not because fate was on my side."
His gaze sharpened. "Bold words for someone you don't even know if you can trust."
Bold words were all I had tonight. Trust had been my undoing once.
Scene 1: Secrets in the East Wing
He led me swiftly down the gallery toward the east wing, a section of the palace I had only glimpsed in the memory of her life. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting victories of the Aurelian Empire—wars, coronations, and treaties—but tonight they looked less like art and more like witnesses, silent and judging.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked finally, daring to break the tense silence. My voice echoed softly in the corridor, mingling with the distant sound of guards rallying.
Alaric did not answer immediately. His gaze swept over every door, every shadow, calculating, predicting, assessing. When he finally spoke, his words were deliberate:
"Because it is my duty. And because someone wants to use you to destroy this kingdom."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the stone beneath my feet. Someone inside the palace wanted me dead. Someone with power, someone who knew the queen well enough to plan her assassination flawlessly.
"And you believe me?" I asked, my tone careful, guarded.
He glanced at me sharply. "Belief is irrelevant. Action is what matters."
It was a lesson I would need to remember if I were to survive.
Scene 2: The Prince's Perspective
We moved in silence, the only sounds our footsteps against polished marble. I studied him secretly—the way he carried himself, the sharp line of his jaw, the flicker of emotion behind eyes that otherwise remained unreadable.
From the corner of my memory, I recalled the man who had appeared at the queen's deathbed—the prince who had arrived too late to save her. He had watched, unmoved, as betrayal claimed her life. I could not yet determine if the man before me was the same. I only knew that he could either be my salvation or the instrument of my destruction.
"This palace is filled with ghosts," I said softly, almost to myself. "Some are literal, some… political."
He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "Are you referring to the dead, or the living?"
I considered lying. I almost did. Almost told him that I was a queen in name only, a pawn among kings and ministers. But the memory of her screams—the last sound that had ever passed her lips—kept me honest.
"Both," I said finally. "And I intend to navigate them all."
Alaric's lips curved into something that resembled a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Not yet.
Scene 3: The Council Room Revelation
We reached the council room, a place usually reserved for ministers and royals discussing matters of state. The doors were closed, yet through the small gaps I could see figures moving—shadowy, hurried, tense. They did not notice us.
He gestured for me to remain behind him as he eased one door open. I froze.
Inside, a group of nobles huddled around a long table. Scrolls were spread, and hands pointed accusingly. Voices were low, but every word carried weight. I could hear it clearly, despite the distance:
"…she is too weak to rule. The queen must be removed before the council loses confidence."
"…the prince cannot intervene without risking rebellion."
"…the chamberlain has connections to the east faction… if we act carefully, the palace itself will do the work for us."
My pulse slammed against my ribs. These were not random assassins. This was organized. Planned. The queen's death had been orchestrated by those sworn to protect her.
I pressed my fingers to my lips to keep from shouting. History was repeating. And I was watching it happen, this time with the power to intervene.
Alaric glanced at me, a subtle nod indicating he had heard as well. His jaw tightened. He whispered: "They have begun."
"Yes," I replied under my breath. "And I will finish it differently."
Scene 4: First Strategy
The council room cleared after a tense exchange. Alaric guided me back to a safe corridor. My mind raced, replaying every memory of her past life—every political misstep, every minor betrayal that had escalated to the blade in her heart.
"We need allies," I said finally. "We need to know who can be trusted… and who will kill for a crown."
Alaric looked at me sharply. "You have no allies in this palace. Everyone has their own agenda."
I nodded slowly. "Exactly. Which means I need to make them believe they have one with me—while secretly dismantling the web."
His eyes studied me, calculating, reading. For the first time, I felt him hesitate. Then:
"Your mind… is sharp. Too sharp for your own good, perhaps. But I will follow you. For now."
I allowed myself a small, imperceptible smile.
This was the first step. The first move in a game where the stakes were life, death, and power itself.
Scene 5: The Prince's Test
Later that night, he escorted me to a private chamber hidden from the main halls. Candlelight flickered across tapestries, casting shadows that seemed alive, stretching toward us. He closed the door quietly and turned, his gaze piercing.
"I need to know," he said softly, "why you survived when death came for the queen before. Why should I trust you to survive tonight?"
I met his gaze directly. "Because I remember. Because I know the moves that will come, the lies that will be told, the knives that will be raised. I am no longer her. I am… something else."
"Something else?" he repeated, intrigued. "Explain."
I stepped closer, carefully, keeping my distance, letting the tension simmer between us. "I am the queen who refuses to die twice."
He studied me silently. Then, unexpectedly, he allowed the faintest smile. A dangerous, unreadable smile. "Very well. Let's see if you can prove it."
The candlelight flickered between us, illuminating a space that was both intimate and deadly. I knew, in that moment, that trusting him—or loving him—would be the most dangerous game of all.
Scene 6: A Whisper in the Dark
Sleep remained impossible. I lay on the small bed in the secret chamber, listening to the palace breathing around me—the distant shuffle of guards, the soft moans of wind through broken windows, the faint laughter of courtiers celebrating in rooms that felt miles away yet dangerously close.
A whisper came then, soft and deliberate, sliding under the door:
"Do you think she can outsmart us?"
I froze, straining to hear. Then, silence.
Someone was already inside the palace walls who knew. Someone waiting. Watching. Testing.
I pressed my hand against my chest, calming the hammering pulse.
Tonight had only confirmed one thing:
I had survived the first move.
The next would require all my wits, my courage, and my cunning.
And if I failed… I would not get a third chance.