Chapter one: The Crown I Will Not Chase

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."

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