Morning mist clung to the royal courtyard like a whisper of fate refusing to let go. In the Everleigh estate’s eastern wing, the air was thick with silence, disturbed only by the rhythmic chirping of birds waking to a new dawn. Within her chambers, Lady Seraphina stirred from her lounge chair, the past clinging to her soul like a second skin.

They say the gods only grin upon those who die with regrets. If that’s true, then I must have drowned in them. Last time, I died wearing a crown... and met another woman in my place.

This time, I’ll crown myself queen of my own heart.

Three nights had passed since the engagement party—the one where she had pledged her future to Crown Prince Leoric. And three nights ago, her world had ended. But the gods, in their cruel mercy, granted her a second chance. Two years before her doomed marriage. Two years to change everything.

A knock broke her reverie. She didn’t need to ask who it was.

"Your Royal Highness," came a familiar voice, deep and measured, "the Crown Prince requests your presence."

The door opened gently, and there he stood—Sir Lancelot Barristan. Loyal. Steadfast. Unchanging.

He came... just like before. Always the first to check on me, even when I didn’t notice.

She rose slowly, smiling faintly. "Sir Lancelot, you look worried."

His brows knit together. "You do not have to go if you do not wish to. You’ve only just awoken. It’s been three days."

She stumbled slightly, her legs weak. The nearby chair caught her fall.

"I see..." she whispered. "I appreciate your worry, Sir Lancelot. But I must go."

Amara Ashthorne, her ever-watchful lady-in-waiting, rushed to her side.

"Your Royal Highness, you must rest," she said, eyes wide with concern.

Seraphina gently patted her shoulder. "You worry too much."

Amara turned to Lancelot. "Relay to the Crown Prince that Her Royal Highness is still pale and not fit for a stroll."

"Amara," he said, his tone dry, "I do have a title."

She rolled her eyes. "Yayah, Sire," she replied with a mocking bow.

Seraphina chuckled at their banter.

"No need to relay anything," she said.

"Are you sure?" Amara pressed.

Lancelot’s eyes met hers. "The gentleman raises a valid point."

"Pardon me?" Amara gasped.

"Yes, Sire," he echoed mockingly.

Amara’s hands clenched. "Your Royal Highness, please let me strangle him."

"You can’t do that," Seraphina replied, her voice gentle. "You’d lose a friend."

Lancelot grinned. "Your Highness, you must protect me. This man intends to harm me."

He moved closer to Seraphina, just as she began coughing.

"Your Highness! He keeps calling me a man!" Amara cried.

A dry cough broke the banter. They turned to look at her worried. Seraphina waved a hand. "I’m all right. Just a sore throat."

Lancelot frowned. "It’s chilly outside. You should not go."

Suddenly, the door burst open.

A whirlwind of energy stormed in—the girl with milk-chocolate skin, wavy dark brown hair, and eyes like autumn leaves.

"Seraphina! Up you go. We’re going shopping—you promised. Once you’re Crown Princess, you won’t have time for me."

"Lady Isolde," Seraphina gasped, pulling her into an embrace. "Oh, how happy I am to see you, Lyra."

"Get off her Royal Highness, you barbaric princess!" Amara shrieked, yanking Isolde back. "The lady is sick!"

Lancelot’s voice followed. "Sister, mind your manners and her title."

"She’s let me call her Seraphina since the beginning of time," Isolde retorted, folding her arms.

"She’s right," Seraphina said softly. "Stop lecturing your sister."

"See? She loves me," Isolde grinned.

"She loves me too!" Amara declared.

"Yeah, yeah," Isolde replied with a smirk.

These four had been inseparable since childhood: Amara Ashthorne, daughter of Count Dorian Ashthorne; the twins Isolde Lyra and Lancelot Barristan, children of Supreme Commander Vardis Barristan; and Seraphina, daughter of Duke Cassius Everleigh of Ravensworth. Their fathers had once studied together at the Royal Academy. Their bond had become their children’s legacy.

Seraphina looked around the room at her friends, warmth swelling in her chest.

"Thank you, all of you, for being by my side."

Amara’s brow furrowed. "What are you planning?"

Seraphina ignored the question. "Thank you... for caring for me when I didn’t deserve it."

She sat up straighter, her voice calm but firm.

"Call for the High Priest. I wish to break my engagement to the Crown Prince."

The room stilled.

"What do you mean?" Amara asked.

"You have jokes. A lot of them," Isolde added.

Lancelot turned, but did not question her. "I’m on it."

His sister grabbed his arm. "She’s joking!"

Seraphina met their eyes. "I’m not."

"You declared your love for him three days ago," Amara said, her voice trembling. "Then you were poisoned—"

Lancelot stared at the floor, lost in thought. This is a dream come true.

"Lancelot, your smile is showing," Isolde whispered, nudging him.

He snapped to attention. "I know not of what you speak."

"Get the High Priest," Seraphina repeated.

"Your Royal Highness—" Amara began.

"It’s just Lady now," Seraphina corrected gently. "No more royal titles."

Amara looked down. "Oh my gods... I support you. In everything."

"Me too," Isolde said.

"Me too," Lancelot echoed, humming as he left.

Amara sat beside Seraphina, resting her head on her shoulder. "The court will gossip."

"The Prince will rage," Isolde added.

"Let the court gossip. Let the Prince rage. Let history rewrite itself," Seraphina said.

In her heart, she whispered:

This time, I will not die loving a lie. I will live for the truth—and for the knight who never left.

Amara looked stunned. Isolde grinned. "I’ll slap the gossipers."

"Barbaric princess behavior," Amara muttered. "But I agree."

Seraphina laughed softly, drawing them both into an embrace. "You two are too kind."

"You don’t have to tell us everything," Amara said.

"We believe in you the most," Isolde added.

Seraphina’s voice was warm. "Thank you... both of you."

Pale sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains of Lady Seraphina’s chamber. She lay in bed, a damp towel pressed to her forehead, her skin still faintly flushed from fever. Beside her, Lady Isolde and Amara sat close, worry etched deeply on their faces.

Seraphina’s voice broke the silence, soft yet firm. “Oh, my goodness.”

Amara’s eyes brimmed with concern. “How can we smile when you lie here, Lady Seraphina? Like a fallen queen.”

Seraphina managed a faint smile, despite the weariness in her body. “I will be fine.”

Lady Isolde’s tone was sharp. “And yet, they have not caught whoever poisoned you. I must say, I am deeply disappointed in the royal guards.”

“It was an assassin,” Seraphina stated quietly.

“How do you know?” Amara asked, startled.

Lady Isolde nodded. “She is right. I’m certain it was the Marquis’s niece. After all, the Crown intercepted her before the engagement party.”

“Say no such thing!” Seraphina turned to Lady Isolde, her voice low but resolute. “Last time, I awoke from that fever—the poison’s curse—begging for that wretched Crown Prince. But not this time.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I was a pawn on parchment. This time... I will divorce that nightmare.”

Amara frowned. “But how can we be sure it wasn’t the witch?”

Lady Isolde’s eyes narrowed. “A lady mustn’t be so vulgar.”

Amara stuck her tongue out playfully. “Since this argument started—both of you, stop it!” Seraphina chided, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Fine,” Lady Isolde conceded.

A knock interrupted them. The door opened and in stepped Sir Lancelot. “Your Royal Highness, the High Priest has arrived.”

Amara hurried to open the door wider as the High Priest entered, his face lined with worry.

“You grow weaker, Your Highness. Might I inquire after your well-being? Do you require any succour? I have earnestly sought the holy powers these past three days to lift the venom coursing through your veins. Is your fever worsening?”

Seraphina met his gaze with calm resolve. “I am indeed burdened with fever and weariness, but that is not why I have summoned you.”

The High Priest inclined his head. “Pray, enlighten me as to the true purpose of your summons.”

She motioned for him to sit.

“I find myself compelled to dissolve my engagement to the Crown Prince,” Seraphina said quietly, locking eyes with him.

The High Priest’s face faltered. “That is grievous... Surely it is the fever speaking?”

“I assure you, it is I who speak, not the fever.”

“Are you certain it is not the poison that articulates these words?”

Lady Isolde thought to herself, Will he truly accept her word? Then she smiled faintly. If Seraphina wishes this, I will stand by her.

Seraphina met the High Priest’s gaze squarely. “I give you my word.”

The High Priest nodded gravely. “The head of your household must petition His Majesty for an audience. There is no other path.”

“Must there not be an alternative?” Seraphina asked, her voice almost a whisper.

The High Priest’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. “Alas, the law is clear.”

Infuriating, Seraphina thought. If only I could shatter the law itself.

“A valid justification is requisite to annul an engagement,” he continued. “Your words carry weight, dear child. A disalliance intertwines realms—you shatter more than a vow; you dissolve a treaty.”

Seraphina’s lips curled into a small, defiant smile. Let it crack and shatter. A realm founded on disingenuous love is already decaying.

Lady Seraphina, thought, I would rather endure the Sovereign’s ire than live a lie.

Sir Lancelot smiled quietly to himself as he stood nearby.

“What do you imply if you refuse to wed Leoric, the Crown Prince? Whom do you nominate instead?” the High Priest asked.

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Seraphina collapsed back onto the bed, exhaustion washing over her.

“My lady!” Amara cried, rushing to her side.

“I’m all right,” Seraphina assured them, “just a little shocked.”

“You weren’t prepared,” Amara said gently, “but you did well.”

Lady Isolde and Amara exchanged a knowing glance, then turned to Lancelot, teasing him.

“Are you happy or sulking? Pick one.” Isolde nudged him playfully.

Before he could respond, a sudden noise startled them. A figure leapt through the window.

“Lord, good Lord!” Lady Isolde exclaimed.

“I told you not to do that!” Lancelot admonished with a grin.

It was Dame Norwen Barristan, Lancelot and Isolde's mother, She was in charge of the Dukedom's guards. She entered with strength and grace.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“The meaning of what?” Seraphina asked, sitting up.

“Your annulment of the engagement,” Dame Norwen said sternly.

“Oh, you heard that?” Seraphina smiled wryly. “ I was on the training ground, when I saw Lancelot, leaving your chamber, I figured I'd pay you a visit. The shortest route being your window. By the time I got to the window. He had return with the high priest, so I waited until the priest left. I couldn’t risk him seeing me jump in through the window, so I jumped after he left.”

“Ah,” Seraphina exhaled. “I’ll explain everything later. For now, I need rest. The medicine still makes me lightheaded.”

One by one, they left her chamber, leaving her to the quiet peace of her room.

The morning sun spilled golden rays across Lady Seraphina's bedchamber, warming the polished marble floors and illuminating the delicate embroidery on her silk bedding. The air was fresh, scented faintly with lilac from the open balcony doors. A gentle breeze played with the pale curtains, carrying with it the distant hum of hooves and hurried voices in the courtyard below.

Seraphina sat upright on the chaise beside her bed, a silver tray perched on her lap. A porcelain teacup steamed gently beside a half-eaten croissant, and she quietly sipped her herbal tea. Her face still bore the faint pallor of her recent illness, but the fever had lifted, and her thoughts were clear. There was calm in her expression yet it was the calm before a storm.

The door burst open without warning.

“Seraphina!” cried a familiar voice.

Her spoon clattered onto the tray. She turned to see her mother, Duchess Callidora, rushing into the room with her skirts trailing behind her, followed closely by her father, Duke Cassius, and their steward, who tried and failed to keep pace.

“My daughter, you sureeee you're alright?” Duke Cassius gasped, taking in the sight of her with wide, anxious eyes.

Duchess Callidora wasted no time in clasping Seraphina’s hands, tears already threatening to spill. “Finally, you’re over that strange boy,” she muttered under her breath before pulling her daughter into a tight embrace.

“Mother, Father…” Seraphina began, unsure whether to smile or cry. “You're home.”

“We returned the moment we heard,” Duke Cassius said, standing protectively behind his wife. “The steward didn’t send word until two days ago. Poison? And we weren’t even here! What kind of guards let an assassin near my daughter while she lay vulnerable in her own quarters?”

Seraphina placed her teacup down. “It’s alright now. I survived.”

“But the engagement, child,” Callidora said, brushing a loose strand of hair from Seraphina’s face. “Is it true? That you… you annulled it?”

“I did.”

The Duchess clutched her chest. “Bless the stars.”

Cassius frowned. “Honey, he is the Crown Prince. But… he is strange.”

“Strange? Cassius, he’s more than strange. That boy never even held her hand during their courtship! I always said something was off about that royal brood.”

Seraphina sat quietly, letting their words swirl around her like wind through leaves. Her eyes drifted to the window, to the gardens beyond where petals danced in the breeze. She remembered another morning like this… one from the life that no one remembered but her.

A Flash of the Past Life

The smell of the same lilacs had been in the air when her parents returned four days after the engagement celebration. Her mother had burst in the same way, panic laced through her voice, only that time… it was already too late.

“You must call off the engagement!” her mother had pleaded then, hands trembling as she held Seraphina’s poisoned fingers. “This family, this crown, it will be the death of you!”

But Seraphina, still weak, had smiled at the memory of the Crown Prince’s rare smile. She had believed he loved her. Foolishly, she had clung to the idea that duty and affection would merge—that he would protect her.

“I can’t, Mother,” she had said.

Her father had stormed out that day, too angry to speak. Her mother had stayed by her side through the night. But not long after, she had died… betrayed, exiled, and finally executed, all for a marriage that was never real.

Back in the Present

This time, she would choose differently. Seraphina drew herself up, spine straight and eyes firm. “It was the right thing to do.”

Duke Cassius sighed, pacing the room. “The High Priest already left for the capital. That message will reach the prince soon, and the court will stir.”

“I’m prepared for that.”

The Duchess exchanged a glance with her husband, then sat beside Seraphina again. “Are you sure you’re doing this for the right reasons? Not out of spite or fear, but out of clarity?”

Seraphina took her mother’s hand gently. “This engagement never protected me. It nearly killed me. And he—he never even asked how I felt. He was kind when the world was watching, cold when it was not. That’s not love. That’s a performance.”

“You’ve grown,” The Duke muttered, watching her with something like pride hidden in his concern.

“I’ve died,” she thought but did not say. “I’ve learned.”

Aloud, she said, “I’ll take the consequences, no matter how harsh. But I will not walk a path toward my own destruction again.”

Duchess Callidora stood and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Then we’ll face them together. You’re our only child. Our treasure. And it’s about time the kingdom realized your worth doesn’t hinge on a prince’s ring.”

“Nor his title,” Cassius added. “Nor his very strange personality.”

Seraphina laughed, and for the first time in days, it was genuine.

As her parents fussed about ordering new guards, scolding the steward, and arranging for her recovery to be overseen by a royal physician, Seraphina leaned back into her pillows.

A fire had ignited in her, and it would not be extinguished.

Let the prince receive the message. Let the court react. Let the world turn.

Lady Seraphina was no longer a pawn. She had rewritten her fate.

And this time, she would not look back.