Reborn as the Villainess: The Prince Will Die If He Loves Me

The Prince’s Shadow

The light streaming into the study was warm, golden. But it didn’t reach me.

I had stared at the same page in my spellcraft journal for over an hour — reading, rereading, searching for anything. A loophole. A footnote. A forgotten rune.

Anything that could change Caelan’s fate.

But the curse was too old. Too silent. No source, no caster, no spellbook in any royal or church archive dared name it. It was more legend than law. And yet I had lived — and died — by it.

---

Talia knocked gently before entering. “You haven’t touched your breakfast, my lady.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She stepped closer, eyes full of concern. “Is it… about His Highness again?”

I didn’t answer. She didn’t need me to.

“I could lie and say it’s not my place to worry,” Talia said softly, “but I think someone should.”

I closed the book. “He remembers.”

Her eyes widened. “From… from before?”

“Not everything,” I whispered, “but enough. He dreamed of my execution. He saw the courtroom. The chains. Me.”

Talia sat beside me. “That means he’s… connected. His soul still remembers you.”

“That’s the problem,” I said. “If his soul remembers, then so does the curse.”

---

Later that day, I visited the northern library tower.

If the Rosentia estate had any hidden knowledge of old bloodlines or magic contracts, it would be here.

The air inside was thick with dust and forgotten silence. I pulled a thin book from the shelf: “Blood-Crafted Magic: Forbidden Bonds in Royalty.”

Most of it was folklore. Myths of cursed lovers, enchanted rings, tragic romances. But one line caught my breath:

> “When love becomes death, the curse is born not from magic, but from fate. These fates are rarely made — they are inherited.”

Inherited?

That meant it wasn’t something placed on me and Caelan by a mage or priest.

It was older. Born in our bloodlines. Twisted into prophecy.

> This wasn’t a spell to break.

It was a destiny to deny.

---

As I climbed down the spiral staircase, footsteps echoed behind me.

I turned.

Caelan again.

Of course it was.

“Have you been avoiding me?” he asked, his voice a low mix of humor and irritation.

“Yes.”

He blinked. “Ah. At least you’re honest.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to be here. Not like this.

“You’re reading about curses,” he said, glancing at the book in my arms. “Is someone bothering you?”

“No one is,” I said quickly.

He stepped closer. “Evelyn…”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say my name like that.”

He looked wounded. “Like what?”

“Like it means something to you.”

“It does,” he said simply.

> 💗 Love Meter: +24%

My chest tightened. The ache of that number, invisible to all but me, clawed at the edges of my calm.

“You’re not supposed to care about me,” I whispered. “You never were.”

He smiled — and it broke me. “Then you really must be someone else. Because the Evelyn I knew wouldn’t say that. She fought everything. Even her own feelings.”

“I’m not her,” I said again.

He paused. “Maybe you’re not. But she’s in there. I see her. Even now.”

---

That night, I dreamed of fire.

The same dream I had the night before my death — the court in flames, Caelan crumpled on the throne, blood staining his golden uniform.

I awoke with a scream caught in my throat, cold sweat dripping down my back.

And a whisper in my mind:

> If he loves you, he will die.

---

By morning, the royal carriage was waiting outside our gates.

A letter from the Queen.

I unfolded it carefully.

> To Lady Evelyn Rosentia,

You are cordially invited to the upcoming royal engagement ceremony of His Highness Prince Caelan Verdant. Your presence is both expected and required.

The parchment nearly slipped from my fingers.

They still considered me his future fiancée.

Even after everything.

Even after I had broken every rule of etiquette, dodged every invitation, and dodged the prince himself — they still expected me to appear at his side.

I wanted to scream.

But instead, I smiled.

Of course they would.

This kingdom didn't care about feelings.

It cared about alliances.

The court believed I belonged to him — and him to me.

They had no idea what that love cost.

---

That evening, I stood before the mirror in my chambers.

Talia adjusted the sleeves of my formal gown — a soft silver with embroidered lilacs.

“You look beautiful, my lady.”

I didn’t answer.