The testing chamber smelled of iron and old magic.
Aelira stood alone at the center of the circular platform, bare feet resting on ancient runes carved deep into the stone. They glowed faintly beneath her skin—hungry, restless, waiting to judge her worth.
Or condemn her.
The royal mage raised his staff, his expression stern. "Do not resist the spell. The circle will determine whether you possess magic."
Aelira lowered her gaze.
Lie to them, she told herself.
Survive.
"I understand," she said quietly.
The staff struck the floor.
The runes ignited.
Pain exploded through her veins.
It was not sharp at first—just pressure, crushing and invasive, as if something were forcing its way inside her chest. Aelira clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out.
Then the warmth inside her answered.
It surged.
The chamber darkened violently. Candles went out one by one, plunging the room into shadow. The air grew heavy, thick with power that did not belong to this era.
The mage stumbled back. "What—this isn't possible—!"
Shadows spilled from the corners of the chamber like living things, curling around Aelira's ankles, climbing her wrists, brushing her throat with cold familiarity.
Her eyes snapped open.
Silver turned to obsidian.
The runes shattered.
A wave of force burst outward, slamming the mage into the far wall with a sickening crack. Stone fractured. The circle beneath her feet crumbled into dust.
Silence fell.
Aelira stood at the center of the ruin, breath slow and controlled, shadows clinging to her like loyal servants. Her hands trembled—not from fear.
From hunger.
Then—
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the chamber.
Slow. Measured. Unhurried.
Someone who had not been thrown back by the blast.
Aelira turned.
A man stood in the shadows near the entrance, tall and unmoving, clad in black armor etched with silver runes. His presence alone seemed to suppress the chaos in the air, forcing the shadows to still.
His gaze was fixed on her.
Not shocked.
Not afraid.
Interested.
The royal executioner.
The king's shadow.
The man who, in her first life, had carried out sentences without question.
Kael Draven.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Then his lips curved—not into a smile, but something darker.
"So," he said calmly, voice low and dangerous, "this is the powerless princess."
Aelira lifted her chin.
"And you are," she replied softly, "standing where you shouldn't be."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Recognition.
Approval.
He took a single step forward, gaze never leaving her face. "You shattered a sealed magic circle," he said. "Do you have any idea what that means?"
"Yes," Aelira answered.
It means I can never be invisible again.
Kael's eyes dipped briefly—to the shadows at her feet, to the fractured runes, to the magic still trembling in the air.
Then they returned to her face.
"You're dangerous," he said.
Aelira smiled faintly. "So I've been told."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, unexpectedly, Kael turned away.
"I saw nothing tonight," he said over his shoulder. "Neither did the guards."
He paused at the doorway.
"But if you lose control again," he added quietly, "I won't protect you."
Protect.
The word echoed in her mind long after he was gone.
Aelira stared at the empty doorway, heart steady, eyes sharp.
In her first life, Kael Draven had never once looked at her twice.
This time—
He had chosen not to kill her.
And somehow, she knew—
That choice would haunt them both.