Episode 3

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.

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