They dressed me in white.

Soft silk, embroidered with golden roses — the crest of House Dravik. The gown shimmered like snow under candlelight, a symbol of purity, nobility... and, as I would soon learn, sacrifice. My reflection in the mirror looked serene, doll-like — as if I belonged to someone else.

The room buzzed with activity. Maids rushed around, adjusting my veil, smoothing wrinkles, placing perfume behind my ears. They fussed over every strand of hair, every misplaced thread, every trembling breath I exhaled. I thought it was excitement. Nerves. The weight of a noble wedding. But now, looking back... it was fear. Pity.

They already knew I was going to die.

Leira, my personal maid, stood behind me with the final touch — a silver necklace with a delicate sapphire drop. Her hands shook as she fastened it around my neck.

"You're beautiful, my lady," she said, her voice a fragile whisper.

I smiled. "Thank you."

I believed her. I believed in a lot of things that day.

I believed that Caelan Dravik loved me. That this union was the beginning of something new, something powerful — not just politically, but personally. I'd grown up watching him from a distance, a noblewoman from a lesser house promised to a man far above me. He was everything a girl could dream of: poised, intelligent, dangerous in the way only powerful men could be.

He had chosen me.

Or so I thought.

The bells tolled. It was time.

The chapel was bathed in golden light, stained-glass windows painting the floor with shards of crimson and sapphire. Nobles filled the pews, dressed in their finest. Whispers floated through the air — about my dress, my house, the alliance this wedding would seal. About Caelan.

And about me.

At the end of the long aisle, Caelan waited. Tall, composed, dressed in black and silver. A blade in a sea of silk. His expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on me.

I held my head high and walked.

Each step echoed like a heartbeat. The world felt surreal — a dream wrapped in flowers and ceremony. My heart raced, not with fear, but anticipation. I was becoming his. We would rule together. Change the kingdom. Rewrite fate.

The priest began his words. Ritual. Vows. Sacred promises.

I barely heard them. My gaze never left Caelan's.

Then —

The doors slammed open.

Steel boots on marble. A line of guards marched in, led by a man in dark armor bearing the royal crest. Murmurs rose into shouts. My father stood. My mother gasped. The priest fell silent.

The man’s voice cut through the chaos.

"Elyria Valenne, by decree of the Crown, you are under arrest for treason."

Silence fell like a guillotine.

I blinked.

"W-what?" I whispered.

The head guard stepped forward, unfurling a scroll. "For conspiracy against House Dravik, espionage, and intent to assassinate Duke Caelan."

Laughter burst from my lips — hollow, disbelieving. "This is absurd. I would never—"

Chains clinked. Iron gripped my wrists.

I turned to Caelan.

He stepped forward slowly, expression cold. Not surprised. Not shocked.

"Caelan," I said. "You know this isn't true. Tell them. Please."

He met my gaze.

And said nothing.

My heart cracked.

"You believe this? You—you think I betrayed you?"

His voice was soft. Final.

"I’m sorry, Elyria."

The world spun. My knees gave out, but the guards held me up.

"This isn’t happening," I whispered. "This isn’t—"

They dragged me away. Past nobles who turned their faces. Past friends who averted their eyes. Past the altar where I had almost spoken my vows.

Almost.

The dungeon stank of mold and blood. My gown was ruined — torn, soiled, the golden roses stained red.

I screamed for hours. For justice. For my father. For Caelan.

No one came.

They said I’d confessed. That I’d been plotting for months. That I had poisoned letters and secret alliances.

I denied everything.

No one listened.

At dawn, they brought me to the courtyard.

Nobles stood in silence. A crowd watched as the executioner sharpened his blade.

Caelan was there.

I met his eyes one last time.

I wanted to see doubt. Regret. Love.

I saw nothing.

"Do you have any last words?" the herald asked.

I looked to the sky.

"I was loyal," I whispered.

The blade fell.

I woke with a scream.

My eyes flew open. My lungs burned. My heart raced.

I was in my chambers. My bed. Silk sheets tangled around me.

Sunlight streamed through the windows.

Leira stood at the foot of the bed, holding a familiar dress — white silk embroidered with golden roses.

"It’s time to get ready, my lady," she said. "Your wedding day has come."

I stared at her. At the dress. At the day I knew too well.

This wasn’t possible.

"Leira," I said slowly. "What day is it?"

She blinked. "The day you marry Duke Caelan, of course."

My hands trembled. I rose, crossed to the mirror.

The same mirror. The same gown. The same necklace.

Everything was the same.

"No," I whispered. "I died. I died."

Leira paused, concern flickering across her face. "Are you feeling unwell, my lady?"

I gripped the edge of the vanity. My reflection stared back — pale, wide-eyed, terrified.

This wasn’t a dream. It was real. Too vivid, too sharp.

The door opened. A maid entered with a tray of tea and sweets.

"For the bride," she said cheerfully.

I recognized the cup.

I had drunk from it that morning — before the wedding.

What if the poison was there? What if this was how they started it?

I slapped the tray away.

Porcelain shattered. Tea splashed. The maid gasped.

Leira rushed to me. "My lady!"

"Don’t touch me!" I shouted. "I—I need to think. Just leave me!"

They hesitated. Then, slowly, bowed and left.

I was alone.

I collapsed into the chair, breathing hard.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t madness.

I had died.

And now... I was back.

Somehow, the day had restarted.

But why? How?

Was it a second chance?

A punishment?

Or something worse?

I didn’t know.

But I did know one thing:

I was not going to walk down that aisle again.

The silence was the first thing I noticed.

Not the cold steel of the blade. Not the crowd's screams.

Not even the blood soaking through my wedding gown.

Just... silence.

Then, a voice.

"My lady, are you awake?"

I opened my eyes. The room came into focus slowly—too slowly.

Velvet drapes. The scent of rose water. A half-buttoned wedding gown. Sunlight filtering through the windows like honey.

And Leira.

Her face was the same. Her voice was the same. But this time, there was no horror. No blood. No chains.

She smiled, sweet and serene. “You were dreaming. I was just about to wake you for your dress fitting.”

My throat tightened.

This isn’t real. I died. I remember the blade. I remember—

My hand flew to my neck. No scar. No blood. Nothing but smooth, warm skin. I shot upright, eyes wide.

“You fainted yesterday,” Leira continued, bustling around the room like nothing had happened. “Must be nerves. Understandable, really. You're marrying Duke Caelan Dravik. Half the noblewomen in the kingdom would trade places with you.”

My heart thundered. I stared at her, at the familiar tray she set beside my bed—steamed milk, toast with honey, and a boiled egg. Exactly the same as yesterday.

“Leira…” I said slowly. “What day is it?”

She blinked. “Why, the twenty-second of Vyrne, my lady. Your wedding day.”

No.

“No,” I whispered. “That can’t be.”

Leira frowned, tilting her head. “Should I fetch the physician?”

I threw off the covers and stumbled to the mirror. My reflection stared back: pale, confused, terrified. The same white gown, halfway buttoned. The same emerald earrings I remembered clasping just before the ceremony. Even the same small ink stain on the hem—barely noticeable.

It was all the same.

Exactly the same.

I hadn’t fainted.

I had died.

And now I was alive again.

The panic didn’t hit all at once. It came in waves, like cold water rising up my spine. I paced the room, touching every object like it might vanish—my hairbrush, the letter on my vanity, the bouquet of lilies arranged by the window.

I picked up the letter.

Same handwriting. Same message from Father.

“Eira, meet me in the east hall before the ceremony. There’s a matter we must discuss.”

A letter I never reached yesterday. I had dropped it in my rush to the chapel after the guards arrived.

My hands trembled.

“Would you like me to help with your hair?” Leira asked gently behind me.

“I…” My voice caught. “No. Leave me. Please.”

She hesitated. “Is something wrong?”

“I just need a moment,” I snapped, harsher than I intended.

She bowed and left quietly, though I saw the confusion in her eyes.

The moment she was gone, I locked the door.

The mirror didn’t lie. I was here. Alive. The same day, the same room, the same future waiting to betray me.

It wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t coincidence.

It was a loop.

I went to the east hall. This time, I found Father waiting. He turned at my approach, tall and grim in his formal robes.

“You’re early,” he said, arching a brow.

“I got your note,” I replied, trying to sound normal. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

He hesitated. “I merely wanted to ensure you were prepared. Today is an important day.”

I searched his expression for any sign—fear, guilt, even sadness. But his eyes were unreadable.

“Prepared for what?” I asked.

“The ceremony,” he said simply. “You’ll be Duchess Dravik before sunset.”

Something about that sentence made my blood run cold.

“Are you certain… that’s what I want?” I asked softly.

He stiffened. “Eira. We’ve discussed this.”

No, you discussed. I was told.

I almost asked him why he didn’t stop my execution. Why he just watched.

But if I did… would he think me mad? Or worse—would he remember?

No. For now, I would pretend. Observe. Survive.

This time, I arrived at the chapel early.

Caelan stood near the altar, speaking to a robed official. His back was to me, regal and composed. Just seeing him made my stomach twist.

He turned at my footsteps.

His smile was soft. “Eira.”

I studied him closely. He looked exactly the same. Warm, even. Nothing in his expression hinted at what would come.

“I wanted to see you,” I said carefully. “Before the ceremony.”

“Of course. You look beautiful.” His gaze swept over me, appreciative. “Nervous?”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I said, “Not at all.”

The ceremony began as it had before. The incense, the murmured prayers, the weight of every eye in the chapel.

I held my breath when the doors opened.

But no one came.

No guards. No accusations. No screams.

Not yet.

I dared a glance at Caelan.

He was smiling faintly, watching me with something that looked like... admiration?

Was it possible the loop had changed?

Or was I being toyed with?

Then the priest raised his hands to begin the vows—

And the doors burst open.

“Eira Valenne,” a voice thundered.

My heart dropped. Again.

The same captain. The same scroll. The same charges.

But this time… I didn’t panic.

“By decree of the Crown, you are under arrest for treason—”

“On what evidence?” I asked calmly, stepping forward.

The guard blinked, thrown off. “The Crown has confirmed—”

“Then I demand to see it.”

Whispers rose in the crowd. Even the priest looked confused.

“I am a noblewoman of House Valenne. You will not touch me without proof.”

The guards hesitated. They weren’t used to resistance.

I turned to Caelan.

He looked at me, eyes unreadable. A slow breath passed between us.

He said nothing.

“Caelan,” I said, clearly and firmly. “Do you believe I am a traitor?”

The silence stretched.

Then—

“I’m sorry, Elyria.”

He stepped back.

The guards surged forward. I didn’t fight. I knew what came next.

The execution yard was colder this time.

They didn’t even change the chains.

The same crowd watched, hungry for justice.

I looked up at the sky, at the sun setting behind the towers.

I closed my eyes.

Not this time. Not again.

The blade fell.

I awoke gasping.

Same room. Same gown. Same roses.

And Leira, again.

“My lady? Are you well? You look pale…”

I sat up slowly.

“Bring me ink and parchment,” I said.

“My lady?”

“I have a list to write. A long one.”

And I smiled.

This time, I wouldn’t waste a single loop.

It happened again.

The chains. The blade. The silence.

The moment the executioner raised his axe, I felt nothing. No fear, no regret. Only cold resignation.

Then the sun blinked out—

—and I woke up.

Gasping. Drenched in sweat. Heart pounding like a war drum.

I lay in bed, staring at the velvet canopy above me, as my body remembered dying. Again.

Leira’s voice was distant, like an echo in a fog. “My lady, time to rise. Your wedding gown is ready.”

My wedding day. Again.

My third time living it.

And the terror didn’t get easier. It deepened.

I sat up slowly. My fingers clutched the bedsheets, my breaths shallow. I knew every detail of what was to come—every betrayal, every false smile, every drop of my own blood. And I had no idea how to stop it.

“Shall I bring your tea, my lady?” Leira asked brightly.

I stared at her. I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

“Y-yes,” I whispered after a moment.

She nodded and left the room.

As soon as the door closed, I swung my legs off the bed and stood.

Three loops.

Three deaths.

No answers.

This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t panic. I moved slowly, deliberately, like a marionette rehearsing a performance I loathed. I knew where every step would lead unless I changed the script.

But how?

Refusing the wedding hadn’t worked.

Challenging the guards hadn’t worked.

Pleading with Caelan hadn’t worked.

So what else could I do?

My hands shook as I picked up the letter from Father again.

Meet me in the east hall. There’s a matter we must discuss.

I didn’t go. Not this time.

Instead, I dressed quickly in a riding cloak over my shift and laced-up boots. I scribbled a quick note and left it on the vanity:

“If I don’t return by nightfall, destroy this room. Burn everything.”

No signature. No explanation.

I crept down the servant stairwell, careful not to be seen. I knew the guards’ patrols now—when they turned corners, when they stopped to gossip. I timed my descent.

By the time the bells rang for the first morning prayer, I was out of the manor.

The air outside was sharp, biting. The courtyard bustled with wedding preparations, banners and carriages arriving one by one. I kept my hood low and walked fast, weaving past nobles and vendors who didn’t recognize me in plain gray.

I didn’t know where I was going. I only knew I had to get away. Think. Breathe.

But then I saw him.

Caelan.

Standing beside a royal carriage, speaking to a knight in golden armor.

He looked calm. Focused. Not like a man about to falsely condemn his bride.

I froze in place.

I should confront him. Ask him why. Ask him who framed me. Ask what lies he told to the Crown.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Not when I still didn’t know the truth.

So instead, I turned and fled.

By midday, I had made my way to the archives in the inner city. House Valenne’s estate had its own records, but the Crown’s kept the most sensitive files—especially those related to criminal charges.

I bribed a clerk with a ruby ring I no longer cared about.

"Espionage accusations, nobles only," I told him. "Last month. The name is Elyria Valenne."

He frowned, confused. “There’s nothing listed under that name, my lady. Are you sure?”

“What?” I whispered.

“No such charge was processed. Not recently, anyway. Perhaps it was sealed?”

I leaned closer. “Are sealed documents marked differently?”

He hesitated. “Yes, but I didn’t see any with your crest or signature.”

So the arrest had no formal documentation?

That didn’t make sense.

Unless… it wasn’t ordered by the Crown at all.

When I returned to the manor, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. The guards at the gates glanced at me but said nothing. I looked like a servant, and no one questioned a servant carrying books.

Leira was waiting for me in my chambers, panicked and pale.

“My lady! Where have you been? We thought—”

“Lock the door,” I said.

She obeyed.

I paced the room, heart hammering.

“Leira, you’ve been with me for six years. Tell me the truth. Has anyone ever asked you to spy on me?”

Her eyes widened. “No! Never, my lady!”

“Not even Caelan?”

She shook her head quickly. “The Duke barely speaks to me. Why would he…?”

But then she stopped. Her lips parted like she had just remembered something.

“What?” I demanded. “What is it?”

“There was one time,” she said slowly, “about a week ago. A man came in the night. He gave me a letter for you, said it was from your brother. But when I read it later—”

“You read it?”

“I had to! The seal was broken. I thought it might be dangerous!”

My brother had died two years ago. No one should’ve been using his name.

“What did it say?”

Leira frowned. “It said, ‘The bride who bites the hand that feeds her must be muzzled.’ That’s all.”

My blood turned to ice.

A warning. A threat. Days before the wedding.

Which meant—

The betrayal wasn’t just about the wedding. It was planned long before.

And it had nothing to do with the Crown.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I sat by the window, watching the moon climb the sky.

And I made a plan.

If I woke again—if I died and returned once more—I would start over.

But I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t plead. I wouldn’t try to survive.

I would strike first.

Because someone wanted me dead.

And this time, I would find out who.

And they would pay.