"We've come back for blood. So let's start with the one who smiled at your execution."
Her words echoed through the room long after she had vanished. That twisted reflection of me. The girl who looked like me but moved like smoke, sharp as shattered glass was gone. But her presence lingered like frost on my spine.
I was still shaking. Not with fear. With clarity.
The past was no longer just memory. It was a blueprint. A roadmap soaked in blood, betrayal, and the echo of laughter I would never forget.
Sylena.
I whispered her name like a curse, letting the taste of it settle on my tongue.
Sylena Hargrove. My cousin. My closest companion. The girl who used to steal pastries with me in the kitchens and braid flowers into my hair. The girl who wore trust like perfume and poisoned everything she touched with it.
She was the first face I saw when I collapsed at the banquet. She had held my hand and whispered soothing words into my ear, all while ensuring the forged documents reached the palace guards.
Her betrayal hadn't been clumsy. It had been surgical.
I moved to the vanity and opened the bottom drawer. A soft click. I pulled out the hidden journal bound in navy leather, the pages thick with ink and secrets. My real journal. Not the polished, curated lie I left out for nosy maids or curious attendants. No. This was the one that had cost me my life.
I turned the pages slowly, and the names spilled out like open wounds.
Names. Whispers. Inconsistencies. Glances.
It had begun as a paranoid compulsion. A secret I told no one. A shield I barely knew I was building. Now? It was a weapon.
I flipped to a marked page.
Sylena. Of course.
The Duchess Mireille. Smiled too hard when I was accused.
Lord Hestrom. The one who hesitated, Who might still be swayed.
And then
Kael.
I paused.
Kael Valenhardt. My fiancé.
No my ex-fiancé.
The one who had sworn eternal love and loyalty, then stood silently as I was dragged in chains through the throne room. He hadn't defended me. Hadn't protested. Hadn't even blinked.
He had kissed Sylena's hand at my funeral.
I pressed my palm flat against the page, smothering the urge to scream.
I closed the journal, heart steady.
I had written everything, even when I didn't fully grasp the game I was caught in.
I should have been terrified. But instead… I was steady.
Something had changed.
Someone had changed.
Me.
The sharp knock on the door startled me but this time, it wasn't that ghostly version of myself. It was human. Real. Measured.
"My lady?" a servant called from the other side, hesitant. "You… you have a visitor. He awaits in the drawing room. The Duke of Thorns."
I froze.
Lucien.
Of all people.
A thousand questions bloomed in my mind, but I masked them with a calm, practiced voice. "Very well. I'll be down shortly."
I crossed the room to the washbasin, splashing cool water on my face, patting it dry with trembling hands. My gaze met the mirror. This time, no shadow self stared back.
Just me.
But the eyes… they were older than the face that held them. Wiser. Deeper.
I walked to my wardrobe and pulled on a deep burgundy gown. Rich velvet, regal and commanding. Power had a color, and I would wear it like armor.
Now, with my second chance, I understood the pieces. And I intended to move them.
I tucked the journal away in the hidden compartment beneath my dressing table, concealed under a false bottom. No one would find it.
Not this time.
Not ever.
The drawing room was quiet when I entered.
Lavish, gold-accented, flooded with soft morning light. I walked like I belonged to every corner of it because I did. No matter what they'd done, this was still my world.
And then I saw him.
Lucien Vaelthorne.
The Duke of Thorns.
Tall. Composed. Dressed in black with only a silver pin at his collar. A serpent coiled around a rose. His presence filled the room without a word spoken. He wasn't just power. He was danger, veiled in velvet.
He turned as I stepped in, his gaze meeting mine.
Those eyes.
Grey. Icy. Watching me with quiet calculation.
We stood in silence for a breath too long before I spoke.
"Duke Vaelthorne," I said smoothly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He inclined his head. "Your… episode at the banquet has stirred concern."
My lips twitched. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
His gaze flickered. Not quite amusement, But interest.
"The Emperor sent me to assess your condition," he said simply. "Though I suspect your recovery will be… more eventful than expected."
That tone.
It was always impossible to know what Lucien truly meant. His voice was unreadable, Like polished marble. But I caught the subtle shift in his posture. The way he studied me, Not like a man assessing a fragile noblewoman, but like a tactician sizing up an equal.
I stepped closer. Not enough to be improper, But enough to show I wasn't afraid of him.
"I appreciate the concern. Truly," I said, voice cool. "But I assure you, Duke, I'm perfectly fine."
His eyes darkened a shade. "So I've heard."
I blinked.
He was watching me too closely. As if searching for something beneath the surface.
Did he know?
Or worse...was he one of them?
"You've heard a great deal in a short time," I said quietly.
Lucien's mouth curved into something that might have been a smile. Or a warning.
"You'll find, Lady Katerina, that I hear everything."
And there it was.
The game behind the mask.
Before I could respond, he stepped forward, Not threatening, but deliberate. He leaned in slightly, just enough for his voice to be heard only by me.
"Be careful," he said softly. "When you wear a new mask… make sure it doesn't crack."
Then, with perfect poise, he turned away.
"I'll inform the Emperor of your… resilience."
And with that, he was gone.
Leaving the scent of smoke, steel, and questions behind.