Chapter 1: The First Day I Loved You
My death was sudden. A truck, a screech, then darkness.
My rebirth was a shock of silk sheets and a head full of someone else's memories.
Prince Alistair Valerius. Arrogant, selfish, and destined to destroy the only character in this damn story who ever mattered.
Because today, in a sun-drenched garden, he was supposed to start.
"My Prince?" A servant's voice. "The tea ceremony is about to begin. Your… fiancée is already present."
The word 'fiancée' was said with a subtle, knowing pity. Everyone knew Prince Alistair despised Lady Seraphina.
Not anymore.
I rose, my new body moving with a noble's grace. In the mirror, the prince's handsome, smug face stared back.
Disgusting, I thought.
A voice, oily and familiar, whispered in my mind. Finally awake, are you? Hurry up. Elara is waiting. Let's get this tedious tea with the ice sculpture over with.
The original Alistair. A ghost with the personality of a spoiled lapdog.
Shut up, I thought back. You have no idea what you're about to lose.
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The garden was a pastel painting of noble decadence. And there, at the center of it all, was the heroine, Elara, playing her part as the clumsy, charming maid. She was pouring tea, her eyes darting toward the empty seat meant for the prince—my seat.
But I didn't see her.
My gaze found the woman sitting apart, a lone island of winter in a sea of spring colors.
Lady Seraphina di Vesper.
The book did her no justice. She wasn't just beautiful. She was devastating. Silver hair like captured moonlight, eyes the pale blue of a glacier's heart, features so sharp and perfect they looked carved by a grieving artist. She wore a dress of deep midnight blue, and she sat with a stillness that wasn't stiff—it was regal. She was a queen already, on a throne no one else could see.
And everyone ignored her.
The ghost in my head scoffed. Look at her. A statue. Now, watch this. Elara's about to give us the perfect opening.
Right on cue, Elara finished her round and turned to Seraphina, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "Oh, Lady Seraphina! Your posture is so perfect! You must have the strongest back in the kingdom. I could never sit so still!"
A few nobles tittered. It was a setup, a gentle mockery disguised as awe.
The script was clear. Prince Alistair was to chuckle and say, "Strong, or simply frozen? I sometimes wonder if she feels anything at all."
A wave of rage, white-hot and pure, burned through me. The ghost pushed the words toward my lips. I felt them form.
I stood up.
The terrace fell silent. All eyes turned to me—the prince, the star of this cruel little play.
I didn't look at Elara. I didn't look at the tittering courtiers.
I only looked at Seraphina.
Her glacial eyes met mine. There was nothing in them. No hope, no anger, no expectation. Just a vast, frozen emptiness. She was braced for the blow. She had been bracing for it her whole life.
I walked. Not toward the center of attention, but directly toward her table. The whispers started, sharp and curious.
I stopped before her. I saw the minute tightening of her fingers around her teacup. The only sign of her tension.
Then, I did what the Prince would never do.
I went down on one knee.
A collective gasp ripped through the garden. Silk rustled as people leaned forward. Elara's face went blank with shock.
The ghost in my mind was screaming, a wordless shriek of outrage.
I ignored him. I looked up at Seraphina. Her eyes were wide now, the frozen lake shattered by pure, uncomprehending shock.
I took her free hand. It was cold. She flinched, but didn't pull away.
My voice, when I spoke, didn't sound like the prince's casual baritone. It was softer. Clear. Meant only for her, though the whole world could hear.
"They mistake your grace for rigidity," I said, holding her gaze. "They call your composure coldness. They are blind."
I lifted her hand. I didn't kiss it. I simply held it, turning it slightly, as if admiring a priceless work of art.
"This stillness isn't ice. It's strength. This poise isn't pride. It's endurance. To sit here, surrounded by fools who underestimate you, and maintain this… this devastating grace?"
I smiled, a real smile, one the prince's face had never worn.
"It is the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen."
Silence. Dead, absolute silence.
Seraphina's lips parted. A tiny, almost imperceptible breath escaped. Her hand trembled in mine.
"My prince," she whispered, her voice like wind over frost. "What are you…"
"I am looking at my future," I said, loud enough for every ear to catch. "And for the first time, I truly see its worth."
I stood, but didn't release her hand. I turned to face the gaping crowd, my gaze sweeping over Elara's pale, confused face.
"The tea is cold," I announced. "And this gathering is dull. Lady Seraphina, would you honor me with a walk in the rose gallery? I find I can no longer tolerate the noise."
I didn't wait for her answer. I simply tucked her hand into the crook of my arm, feeling her shock in the slight stiffness of her body.
And I led her away, leaving a garden full of shattered expectations behind us.
In my head, the ghost of Alistair was raving, a tempest of fury and confusion.
What have you done?! You humiliated me! You humiliated Elara! You—you praised her!
I smiled as we walked, the real sun warm on the prince's face, the real woman a silent, stunned presence at my side.
No, I thought back, calm and sure. I just corrected the story's first and greatest mistake.
This prince is yours, Seraphina. And I will scream it from the palace rooftops.
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(End of Chapter 1)
Next: Chapter 2 – The World's Reaction, and Her Thaw