Aveloria woke up later than usual that morning. Her body felt heavy, her mind fogged. The dream had come again, flashes of her death, the sound of her own breathing cut short, the scent of smoke and blood.
She sat up, heart pounding, eyes darting to the familiar walls of her chamber. It took her a moment to realize she was still safe and alive in her second chance.
Her writing desk sat by the window, covered in scattered notes. She pushed herself out of bed, pulled her robe tight, and went straight to it.
One by one, she began to write everything she remembered before, not just the events, but the details that haunted her.
Rowena was there that night. She was with her when the Wanderers came. She pretended to scream, but she didn't run. It was starting to click; she had indeed planned it all.
Her hands trembled. She wrote down the names of those who had looked away when she begged for help, who betrayed her father's trust, who whispered lies that led to her brother's exile and also to her death.
Each line was a piece of the puzzle she had never finished. Every ink stroke felt like reclaiming something the world had stolen from her. Her fingers were cramped when she stopped, and the paper was filled with words that burned her eyes. She folded the pages neatly and hid them inside a locked drawer.
She would not forget this time.
A knock came at her door. "Enter," she said, straightening her robe.
Three servants walked in, their faces oddly familiar. It took her a moment to place them; they were the same attendants who had served her until everything went wrong. Two of them have even testified against her brother, leading to his exile. They are the ones who claimed ignorance when she begged for help to rescue her brother.
Her pulse slowed.
"My lady," one of them said with a polite bow, "the Queen requested that we assist you with your attire for today's tea with the noble daughters."
Aveloria's eyes narrowed. "The Queen requested it?"
"Yes, my lady. She said she wanted you to look your best for the occasion."
The words were sweet, but her instincts screamed otherwise.
She looked at them for a long moment before she said, "You can all leave. I'll dress myself."
The servants hesitated. "Your Highness, the Queen said—"
"I said leave," Aveloria repeated, her tone sharp.
They exchanged uncertain glances, then bowed quickly and retreated from the room.
When the door shut, Aveloria let out a slow breath. Her hands trembled slightly. She didn't know if she was being paranoid or if the universe was warning her.
She dressed in a simple, cream—colored, modest gown and pinned her hair without help. Her reflection looked steadier now, more like herself.
As she was about to leave, her eyes caught the small carved pendant resting on her vanity, a charm Eirene had given her years ago, saying to "protect" her. She picked it up and studied it closely for the first time. The runes etched on the back weren't ones she recognized.
Something about it felt off. She carefully placed it back down, deciding to have the temple's scholars check it later. For now, she needed answers.
Rowena walked hastily to her mother's chambers. Her face looked drawn from lack of sleep, and her hair was hurriedly pinned back, unusual for someone who cared so much about her appearance. She had spent the whole night pacing, replaying every word Aveloria had said and how Marek had ignored her.
The chamber doors opened at her touch. Inside, the scent of burned sage lingered, mixing with the chill that always hung in Eirene's rooms. The bed was empty, and the covers were still smooth.
Rowena frowned. "Mother?"
No answer.
She walked toward the vanity and saw the small wooden box where her mother kept her ritual jewelry. It was open, the necklace missing. Rowena closed her eyes, remembering. Of course. On the eighth day of the month, her mother left the palace for the monthly ritual beyond the walls.
Rowena clenched her jaw. "Perfect timing," she muttered, arms folded and pacing.
Eirene entered her chambers silently, her long cloak trailing faintly behind her. Her skin looked clearer than it had in months, her eyes sharp and alert. She removed her gloves slowly, as though every motion carried intent.
"You're back," Rowena said tightly.
Eirene didn't respond at first. She set her gloves on the table, then turned. "You look upset. What happened this time?"
"It's Marek," Rowena said. "He humiliated me yesterday. I was only trying to keep him company while Aveloria ran off like she always does. He refused. He made me feel like a fool."
Eirene's eyes narrowed slightly. "You let him see that it upset you?"
"I couldn't help it," Rowena snapped. "He only looks at her. He doesn't even hide it. She walks past him like he's invisible, and he still follows her like some loyal dog."
Eirene crossed the room, her movements deliberate. She placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "You forget who he's drawn to. She carries the mark of the Goddess now. Bonds are not easily dismissed, even by will. But bonds can break. And when they do, you must be ready to take what's left."
Rowena swallowed. "I tried talking to her yesterday, just like you said about her mates. She's careful. It's like she suspects something. She doesn't answer directly. She even turned my questions back at me."
Eirene's grip tightened. "Did she mention the name of the one she would accept or reject?"
"No. Nothing. She's too calm. It's infuriating."
Eirene let go and began pacing slowly. "She may suspect, but that doesn't matter. Caution only delays the inevitable. Her power grows faster than I expected, but that only means her fall will be harder. And when it happens, no one will question who takes her place."
Rowena turned toward her mother, uncertain. "You keep saying that…that she'll fall. How? She's the heiress. The Priestess named her the Goddess's chosen. Even the King believes the words of the priestess."
Eirene smiled faintly. "You forget, my love, power doesn't protect you from those closest to you. The higher she climbs, the more she depends on others to steady her. All we need to do is shake the ground beneath her."
Rowena's lips pressed into a thin line. "And Marek?"
Eirene turned back, her gaze softening just enough to sound convincing. "He'll be yours. He may not see it yet, but men like him are predictable. Once Aveloria rejects or pushes him away, and she will, he'll turn to the one who understands him. You. That's when you step in."
Rowena's expression wavered between hope and frustration. "And if she doesn't reject him?"
Eirene smiled again. "Then she won't live long enough to make the choice."
Rowena froze. "Mother—"
Eirene raised a hand. "Not now. You've done enough for today. Let her think you're harmless. Be kind, gentle, and patient. Keep her close. The rest will come."
Rowena exhaled shakily and nodded. "All right."
Eirene turned toward the window. "You'll be Queen, Rowena. It's already written. Trust me."
Eirene's chamber doors were slightly ajar when Aveloria reached them. That was unusual; her stepmother was always careful about privacy.
Aveloria paused by the frame, meaning to knock, but stopped when she heard voices.
Rowena sounded frustrated. "You keep saying that, mother. Last time, you also said the ritual was done!"
"It was the first binding," Eirene said. "To open the way. But the final act must be done within these walls. It must end where it began."
Aveloria froze. Her blood ran cold. She leaned slightly closer to hear.
Rowena's voice dropped to a whisper. "What if she finds out?"
"Then," Eirene said softly, "we finish what was begun."
The words hit like a stone to the chest. Aveloria's breath caught. She stepped back quietly, ensuring her shoes didn't scrape the floor. The urge to burst in, to demand answers, flared in her chest, but logic won. Not yet. She needed proof.
Rowena poured herself a glass of wine and said quietly, "I'm running out of patience."
Eirene didn't turn. "Don't worry, she will make mistakes soon. When she does, we'll be ready."
Rowena set down the cup. "We still need to be sure she won't discover our plans? Cause if she does, she would tell the king."
"She won't," Eirene said confidently. "Trust me when I say the King won't be able to do anything. He sees her as fragile. A grieving child. He won't believe her unless she brings proof, and she has none."
Rowena hesitated, then softly asked, "Mother, what's the next step?"
Eirene's lips curved slightly. "The next step is patience. Let her believe she's safe. Let her guard down. Once the moon turns again, we'll finish it."
She turned then, her expression calm, voice steady. "Go on now. Be her friend. Keep her close."
Aveloria moved away silently, her thoughts spinning. The hallway stretched ahead, empty and bright, but she barely saw it. The sound of her own heartbeat drowned everything out.
They were plotting something again. Whatever she had done differently this time hadn't changed their intent. She reached her chamber and shut the door quietly behind her. Her hands were shaking. So Eirene has been involved?
Her first instinct was to destroy everything Eirene had ever given her, rip apart her gowns, and throw away every trinket and riding boot. But she stopped herself. Acting out of anger would only make her seem unstable. That was precisely what they wanted.
She sat down at her desk again, took a clean sheet of paper, and wrote in quick strokes:
Eirene and Rowena – Ritual, possibly ongoing. Mentioned "finishing what was begun."
She underlined it twice. Her mind replayed Eirene's words: the final act must be done within these walls.
The same walls where she had died before. Aveloria swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe.
This time, she wouldn't wait for the dagger in the dark. This time, she would strike first. But even as she tried to focus, a small part of her still stung at the thought of Eirene, the woman who had once brushed her hair, comforted her after nightmares, and treated her like a true daughter.
Aveloria wanted to believe that version of her stepmother had been real, but now she wasn't sure it ever was.