Chapter 1

The scent of blood filled the air. It was thick, metallic, and suffocating. The cold stone floor beneath her knees was damp with her own crimson lifeblood, seeping from the deep wounds that marred her once-flawless skin. Lady Sapphira Ravenshade, the once-beloved daughter of Duke Ravenshade, was now nothing more than a prisoner awaiting execution.

Her wrists were bound tightly in rusted iron chains, chafing against her delicate skin. Her once-lavish silk gown, the color of moonlight, was torn and stained with grime. Strands of her long, raven-black hair clung to her face, damp with sweat and tears.

Before her, on the raised dais of the grand royal court, sat the very people who had orchestrated her downfall.

At the center was Prince Cedric Aurelius, the man she had once loved with all her heart. His golden hair gleamed under the flickering torchlight, his striking emerald eyes—once filled with adoration—now held nothing but cold detachment. The very same lips that once whispered sweet promises to her now curled into a cruel smirk.

Beside him sat Lady Selena Ravenshade, her own sister. Dressed in an elaborate gown, her beauty was undeniable, but her heart was as black as the abyss. She held onto Cedric’s arm possessively, her sapphire-blue eyes gleaming with triumph as she leaned into the prince—the same prince who had once sworn loyalty and love to Sapphira.

And then, standing smugly at their side, was Lady Lilian Montclair—Sapphira’s childhood best friend. The girl who had once vowed to stand by her side for eternity was now whispering venom into the prince’s ear, spinning lies that had sealed Sapphira’s fate.

"Sapphira Ravenshade," the king’s voice boomed across the hall. "For your crimes of treason against the royal family, you have been sentenced to death by execution."

Laughter erupted from the crowd of nobles gathered in the hall. Their jeweled hands covered their lips as they whispered cruel words.

"A noble daughter turned traitor? How pitiful."

"She deserves this. Imagine scheming against the prince himself!"

"Serves her right for being too proud."

Sapphira wanted to scream, to fight, to claw her way to freedom. But it was useless. No one would believe her. They had all turned against her.

Her heart ached, not just from betrayal, but from the sheer injustice of it all.

"I never committed treason," she whispered, her voice hoarse from days of imprisonment. "I never betrayed anyone…"

Selena let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Oh, dear sister," she purred, stepping down from the dais. "How naive you are. Did you really think Prince Cedric loved you?"

Sapphira's fists clenched. Yes. He did. Once.

Selena leaned in, her lips brushing against Sapphira’s ear as she whispered, "You were just a stepping stone for me. I took everything from you—your love, your title, your life. And the best part?" She pulled away, a wicked smile stretching across her perfect face. "You let me."

Rage boiled inside Sapphira, but the guards yanked her back before she could lunge at her sister.

"Enough," Cedric said lazily. He stood, stretching his arms before placing a hand around Selena’s waist. "The execution will proceed at dawn."

The finality of his words hit Sapphira like a hammer. There would be no last-minute rescue. No mercy. This was the end.

She was dragged to the execution grounds before sunrise. The sky was a dark shade of purple, and the cold wind bit at her skin. A crowd had gathered, eager to witness the disgrace of the once-proud Lady Ravenshade.

A guillotine stood at the center, its sharp blade gleaming in the faint morning light.

The executioner loomed over her, faceless beneath his hood. "Any last words?"

Sapphira lifted her head. Her sapphire eyes, once filled with warmth, now burned with something else entirely—hatred.

"You think you've won?" she whispered, her voice steady. She turned her gaze to Selena, to Cedric, to Lilian. "I swear upon my soul… if I ever get another chance, I will make you all suffer a fate worse than mine."

Selena laughed. "A dead woman makes empty threats."

The blade fell.

Pain.

Darkness.

Silence.

Heat. A scorching heat unlike anything she had ever known.

Sapphira gasped, her body jolting upright as if she had just surfaced from drowning. Her lungs burned, and her skin tingled with something foreign yet familiar—life.

She was alive.

Frantic, her hands shot up to her throat. No wound. No blood. No pain. Her fingers trailed over the soft, unblemished skin where the executioner’s blade should have torn through.

Her wide sapphire eyes darted around the room. This place… It was familiar. The grand bedroom, adorned with elegant drapes of deep blue and silver, the ornate vanity mirror reflecting the golden glow of morning sunlight, the large canopy bed with its velvet sheets—this was her childhood room. The room she had left behind years before her downfall.

Her breath hitched. Impossible.

She stumbled out of bed, her legs weak but her mind racing. She hurried to the mirror, gripping the wooden edges so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The reflection staring back at her sent a cold chill down her spine.

She was young.

Seventeen. The same age she had been before her life began to spiral into hell.

Her long, dark raven hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves. Her porcelain skin, untouched by the scars of betrayal and imprisonment, was smooth once more. And her sapphire-blue eyes, though filled with lingering terror, gleamed with something new—a dangerous, unyielding fire.

She stumbled back, heart pounding. Was this a dream? A cruel illusion before death?

Just then, a knock echoed through the door.

"Lady Sapphira?" A soft voice called from the other side. "Are you awake, my lady?"

That voice.

Marie.

Sapphira’s eyes widened. Marie was her personal maid—the only person in her household who had ever remained loyal to her. She had cried at Sapphira’s execution, screaming for mercy even as the guards dragged her away.

But Marie had died a year after Sapphira’s execution, falsely accused of aiding a traitor.

Yet, she was here. Alive.

Sapphira’s lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Marie…?"

The door creaked open, and a young girl with chestnut-brown hair peered inside. The same gentle face, the same warm hazel eyes filled with concern.

"Are you unwell, my lady?" Marie stepped inside, setting down a tray of tea and warm bread. "You look pale."

Sapphira couldn’t breathe. This was real. The gods had not abandoned her.

She had returned.

A slow, cold smile spread across her lips. She had been given another chance.

This time, she would not be a fool.

This time, they would pay.

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