Elira gasped awake.
The rush of air burned her lungs, and her chest ached as if the blade still rested between her ribs. She clutched her heart, expecting to find blood warm and gushing but there was none. Only the smoothness of silk nightclothes and the soft rise of steady breath.
Her wide eyes scanned the room.
Tall arched windows lined with golden drapes. A crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Ivory walls adorned with oil paintings she hadn't seen in years. This was no dungeon. No execution chamber. This was—
Her bedchamber in the Valen Estate.
Her personal wing of the estate, untouched and pristine, as it had been before the engagement.
Before the betrayal.
She stumbled out of bed and rushed toward the mirror above the fireplace, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. The sight that met her shook her more than the dagger ever could.
The face in the mirror was hers, yes but not the one she had died with.
No hollow cheeks. No bloodied lips. No defiance carved into every scar.
This version of Elira was young. Seventeen, perhaps. Barely past girlhood. Her eyes, once dulled with betrayal and grief, now gleamed with life. Her long dark hair flowed down her back in gentle waves, uncut by blades. Her skin was still untouched by war.
A strangled laugh slipped past her lips.
"I'm back…" she whispered, pressing trembling fingers to her face. "I'm truly… back."
She collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed by the cruel mercy of fate. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not again.
She had cried enough in that lifetime.
The universe—gods, demons, or something else—had given her a second chance. She didn't know why. She didn't care.
But she would use it.
She would not waste this miracle on forgiveness.
They would all pay.
---
A knock shattered the silence.
Elira stiffened.
The door creaked open, and a timid voice floated through. "Your Highness? Forgive me I bring a message from the Crown Prince. He has sent a gift and requests your presence in the royal gardens this morning."
Cassian.
Even hearing his name again so soon made her stomach twist.
The man who had once held her hand with tenderness had also ordered her death with indifference. The boy she had loved had smiled as she bled. In this timeline, he was still her betrothed. Still pretending.
She inhaled sharply, pushing herself to her feet. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Not when every fiber of her body screamed to rip him apart.
"No," she said coldly.
The maid, a sweet-faced girl of maybe fifteen, blinked. "Pardon, Your Highness?"
"Tell the Crown Prince I am indisposed. I do not wish to see him today."
A beat of silence followed. The girl's eyes widened, panic evident.
Elira added, her voice like ice, "And next time, knock twice before entering my chambers. Do not barge in like a commoner."
The girl bowed so fast her head nearly hit the floor. "Y-Yes, Your Highness! I-I deeply apologize! I will relay your message immediately!"
As the door shut behind her with a quiet thud, Elira let out a breath.
In her past life, she had always been agreeable. Obedient. She had accepted every invitation, every insult, every veiled threat with a smile. She had played the perfect princess until it killed her.
Not this time.
This time, she would teach them all to fear her name.
---
She dressed herself, refusing help from the nervous maids lingering nearby. No corset, no silks. Just a dark velvet gown from the back of her wardrobe, one that gave her movement and shadowed her sharp eyes. She pulled her hair into a high braid like a warrior and fastened a sapphire pin at her throat the only thing left from her mother.
When she emerged from her chambers, her presence startled the servants in the hallway.
She walked through the estate like a ghost reborn, her gaze taking in every familiar detail the tapestries, the hidden doors, the ornate vase she'd broken once as a child.
Every step reminded her that this was her home.
And it would be her weapon.
---
She made her way to the old library on the second floor, a room the others had long forgotten. It smelled of dust and ancient parchment, and when she opened the heavy doors, the scent welcomed her like an old friend.
Elira's fingers skimmed the spines of books she once used to sneak in and read history, magic, strategy. All the things they said a noblewoman had no business understanding.
She found the hidden alcove behind the far wall, pushed open the latch, and revealed her secret collection. Her old notes still here. Hidden beneath false panels.
Drawings of court networks, maps of noble houses, even scribbled memories of key betrayals. It was eerie how much she had prepared for war, even without realizing it back then.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
It was like the world had been waiting for her return.
---
"Elira."
She froze.
That voice.
Turning slowly, she came face to face with Arren Valen her brother.
He looked the same. Tall, with an aristocrat's posture and a colder edge to his smile. At twenty, he was already managing most of their estate. He had once been her pride. Her family.
He had also been the one who had held her down as the blade sank into her.
"Elira," he said again, stepping closer, a frown crossing his face. "You've been acting strangely this morning."
She smiled sweetly. "Have I?"
"You rejected the prince's invitation," he said carefully. "And sent away two of your handmaids. That's… unlike you."
She tilted her head. "Perhaps I've decided to stop being predictable."
His jaw tensed. "This isn't the time to be defiant. The emperor watches our house closely now. You know how fragile our position is."
"Oh, I know." Her smile dropped. "I know exactly how fragile things are."
Arren looked unsettled, just for a flicker of a second.
She stepped past him. "If you'll excuse me, brother, I have no time for courtly games today. There are more important things to attend to."
And before he could speak again, she was gone.
---
By mid-afternoon, rumors were already spreading among the estate staff.
The young lady has changed.
She speaks with steel in her voice now.
The Crown Prince was seen frowning after her refusal…
Elira welcomed the whispers. Let them talk. Let them fear her.
By nightfall, she had already begun to make her moves. She summoned her old tutor a retired general who had once taught her swordplay in secret. She sent coded letters to a merchant she remembered would become powerful in the coming trade wars. And she went to the vault, withdrawing the small fortune her mother had hidden in her name money she would use to fund her freedom.
As the moon rose over the Valen Estate, Elira stood alone on her balcony, the wind tangling in her braid.
Below, the city glittered like stars fallen to earth.
A soft, amused voice echoed in her mind low, familiar, and cruelly patient.
> "Do you wish to rise, betrayed queen?"
She clenched the iron railing.
"Yes," she whispered.
And this time, she would not rise alone.
She would gather power, allies, and shadows.
And they would all pamper her, worship her, adore her—
before she decided who would be allowed to stay beside her throne.
And who would be crushed beneath it.
---