Ariella didn't sleep that night.
How could she? After the prince's chilling visit—and the shadowy figure that whispered secrets into the darkness—her mind refused to rest. She sat upright in bed, staring at the crackling fire across the room, wrapping the velvet blanket tighter around her arms like it could shield her from memories and unanswered questions.
Every flicker of the flames reminded her of something from her past life. A lie told under candlelight. A stolen kiss in a hallway. The blade that ended everything.
But this wasn't the same story anymore.
She was back. And whoever brought her here hadn't done it out of kindness.
Morning light spilled through the windows like spilled gold, too bright for the heavy thoughts clouding her mind. Ariella rose from the bed and approached the long wardrobe. Dresses of fine silk and brocade hung in perfect order—clothes she used to wear in another lifetime, before betrayal had reshaped her into someone harder, colder.
She chose a dark burgundy gown—elegant, but not soft. She didn't want to appear weak.
A knock interrupted her just as she was fastening the final clasp.
"Ariella," came a familiar voice. "Permission to enter?"
It was Thalia.
The only person she had trusted in the old life.
"Come in," she said, voice still rough from silence.
Thalia stepped inside, eyes widening when she saw Ariella fully dressed and alert.
"You didn't sleep," Thalia said, not as a question. She walked over, arms folded over her lavender maid's uniform. Her blonde curls were pinned back severely, but her blue eyes still held the same warmth Ariella remembered. "You look ready for war."
"Maybe I am," Ariella muttered, turning to the mirror to adjust a stray strand of hair. "Leander came last night."
Thalia froze mid-step. "He what?"
"He didn't stay long. Just enough to threaten me and remind me of my so-called place."
Thalia's expression darkened. "He's already started playing his games."
Ariella turned away from the mirror and faced her fully. "And that wasn't even the worst part."
Thalia's brows furrowed. "What happened?"
"After he left… someone came in. Or something. I didn't see their face. They wore a cloak. They said they knew what I was planning."
Thalia went still, then whispered, "No one was supposed to know you remembered."
"I haven't told anyone else."
Ariella crossed the room and closed the door behind Thalia, locking it quietly.
"Thalia," she said slowly, "do you know who else might have had a reason to bring me back?"
Thalia bit her bottom lip, hesitating. "There are rumors. Whispers. That a group within the royal court has been manipulating bloodlines… souls. They call it the Red Cycle. It's forbidden magic. Sacrificial. It's said they can trade one life for another."
Ariella's blood chilled. "So someone died… so I could return?"
Thalia didn't answer. She didn't have to.
That knowledge sat heavy on Ariella's chest, more than any crown or corset ever had.
"But why me?" Ariella whispered. "Why not someone stronger? Why someone who already failed once?"
Standing among the advisors, near the edge of the council's platform. Tall, dark-haired, with a sharp jawline and intelligent eyes that burned with curiosity—Lord Cassian Vale.
He didn't look surprised to see her. In fact, he looked like he had been waiting.
Their eyes met.
And she felt it.
Recognition.
But not from memory.
Something else. Something deeper. Like he had seen her soul before.
He inclined his head slightly, not in deference—but in acknowledgment.
Ariella looked away first.
The King gestured toward the guests. "We hope you'll attend tonight's event with all the grace and dignity your family is known for."
"Of course," she said softly. "It would be my honor."
But inside, she was calculating. Who was Cassian Vale? What did he know? Why did he look at her like he already knew everything?
Leander stepped down from the dais and approached her slowly. "Walk with me," he said, offering his arm.
Ariella hesitated—but took it.
They strolled through the royal gardens in silence for several steps before he finally spoke.
"I know what you're doing."
She glanced at him. "Do you?"
"You think this is your second chance. A chance to rewrite your ending."
Her grip on his arm tightened. "And what if it is?"
Leander looked at her, voice low and dangerous. "Then you'd better be prepared to pay the price for playing gods."
She stopped walking. "And what price did you pay to kill me the first time?"
He didn't flinch. "What I had to. You were too close to the truth."
"What truth?" she demanded.
He leaned closer, whispering into her ear. "You'll find out. But by then, it may be too late."
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the roses.
Ariella closed her eyes, forcing her breath to steady.
So it was true. There were secrets worth killing for. And she had died because she'd nearly uncovered them.
But she was back now.
And this time, she wouldn't die before finding out the truth.
—
That night, the palace glowed with light. The ballroom shimmered in candlelight, nobles swirling in silks and gossip. Ariella entered late—on purpose—so all eyes turned to her at once. She wore deep crimson, her hair coiled high with gold pins.
And across the ballroom, waiting at the base of the stairs, stood Lord Cassian Vale.
He offered his hand.
She descended slowly and placed hers in his.
"Lady Ariella," he said smoothly. "I've waited a long time to meet you."
She smiled, but her heart thudded with caution.
"Have you?" she asked lightly. "That's strange. I don't believe we've met."
"Because you didn't fail," Thalia said firmly. "You were betrayed. There's a difference."
Ariella exhaled slowly and moved toward the window. Outside, the palace grounds buzzed with activity—servants, guards, nobles. All wearing masks. All playing their parts. She had played hers before too.
But this time, she would write her own script.
Thalia crossed the room and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "You should know something else."
Ariella turned toward her. "What?"
"There's a new advisor in the court. Lord Cassian Vale."
The name meant nothing to Ariella.
"He arrived six months ago," Thalia went on, "around the same time your body began to show signs of recovery. He's young, brilliant, but there's something… off about him. He asks too many questions. Watches everyone."
"And you think he's part of this Red Cycle?" Ariella asked.
"I think he's either the reason you're back… or the one sent to end you before you remember too much."
Ariella's heart pounded faster. "Then I need to meet him."
Thalia looked alarmed. "No! Not yet. You don't know what game he's playing."
"That's exactly why I need to meet him," Ariella said, steeling her voice. "If I wait too long, I'll just be another pawn."
Before Thalia could argue further, a sharp knock echoed at the door.
"Lady Ariella," a guard called, "you are summoned to court."
Thalia and Ariella exchanged a look.
It was starting.
—
The throne room hadn't changed. Massive marble columns, gold inlay, stained glass windows that filtered the sun like a cathedral. The nobles stood in clusters, whispering behind fans and sleeves. All eyes turned as Ariella entered, flanked by two guards.
She kept her chin high, her face unreadable.
The King and Queen sat atop the dais, but it was Prince Leander—standing at their right—who drew her attention. His icy stare tracked her every move like a predator circling prey.
She stopped before the royal family and curtsied low, her heartbeat a steady drumbeat in her ears.
"Lady Ariella," the King said in his usual formal tone. "We're pleased to see you have recovered."
"I thank Your Majesty," she replied, rising smoothly. "It's good to stand in your presence once again."
Prince Leander tilted his head. "You look stronger than ever."
Was that amusement in his tone? Or warning?
"I feel stronger than ever," Ariella replied evenly.
The Queen, ever elegant, interjected with a cool smile. "We're holding a ball in your honor this evening. A celebration of your return to health."
A ball? It felt like a trap.
"Your generosity humbles me, Your Grace," she said with forced grace.
And then she saw him.
Standing among the advisors, near the edge of the council's platform. Tall, dark-haired, with a sharp jawline and intelligent eyes that burned with curiosity—Lord Cassian Vale.
He didn't look surprised to see her. In fact, he looked like he had been waiting.
Their eyes met.
And she felt it.
Recognition.
But not from memory.
Something else. Something deeper. Like he had seen her soul before.
He inclined his head slightly, not in deference—but in acknowledgment.
Ariella looked away first.
The King gestured toward the guests. "We hope you'll attend tonight's event with all the grace and dignity your family is known for."
"Of course," she said softly. "It would be my honor."
But inside, she was calculating. Who was Cassian Vale? What did he know? Why did he look at her like he already knew everything?
Leander stepped down from the dais and approached her slowly. "Walk with me," he said, offering his arm.
Ariella hesitated—but took it.
They strolled through the royal gardens in silence for several steps before he finally spoke.
"I know what you're doing."
She glanced at him. "Do you?"
"You think this is your second chance. A chance to rewrite your ending."
Her grip on his arm tightened. "And what if it is?"
Leander looked at her, voice low and dangerous. "Then you'd better be prepared to pay the price for playing gods."
She stopped walking. "And what price did you pay to kill me the first time?"
He didn't flinch. "What I had to. You were too close to the truth."
"What truth?" she demanded.
He leaned closer, whispering into her ear. "You'll find out. But by then, it may be too late."
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the roses.
Ariella closed her eyes, forcing her breath to steady.
So it was true. There were secrets worth killing for. And she had died because she'd nearly uncovered them.
But she was back now.
And this time, she wouldn't die before finding out the truth.
—
That night, the palace glowed with light. The ballroom shimmered in candlelight, nobles swirling in silks and gossip. Ariella entered late—on purpose—so all eyes turned to her at once. She wore deep crimson, her hair coiled high with gold pins.
And across the ballroom, waiting at the base of the stairs, stood Lord Cassian Vale.
He offered his hand.
She descended slowly and placed hers in his.
"Lady Ariella," he said smoothly. "I've waited a long time to meet you."
She smiled, but her heart thudded with caution.
"Have you?" she asked lightly. "That's strange. I don't believe we've met."
Cassian's lips curved ever so slightly. "No. But I've read all your chapters."
Ariella's blood ran cold.
"What did you say?"
Cassian leaned in closer, his voice a whisper meant only for her.
"You've been rewritten, Ariella. But not erased."
Before she could respond, music swelled—and he pulled her into the dance.
As they twirled under the chandeliers, Cassian's fingers brushed her wrist—and something burned beneath her skin.
Not pain.
A mark. A symbol.
One that hadn't been there before.
And Cassian smiled like he had just lit the first match.