Aubrey
"Do you have any last words, my love?"
The voice was like honey laced with poison. King Roderick. My husband. He stood just beyond the flames, his golden hair like a halo in the smoke, his face a mask of false sorrow.
"I loved you," I rasped, my throat raw from screaming. The heat was unbearable, a monster devouring my skin.
He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "You loved a crown, Aubrey. And you were not fit to wear it."
Beside him, my sister Celia preened. She adjusted the sapphire necklace around her throat. My necklace. A wedding gift from Roderick.
"It looks much better on me, don't you think?" Celia asked, her voice light and musical. "You were always so pale. The color never suited you."
Tears mixed with the sweat on my face. "Celia, how could you?"
"It was so easy," she whispered, her smile a beautiful, deadly thing. "You trusted everyone. That was always your weakness."
"Traitor!" a man in the crowd screamed.
"Witch!" another shrieked.
The flames leaped higher, kissing the hem of my thin shift. Pain, white hot and absolute, shot up my legs. I refused to scream again. I would not give them the satisfaction.
I locked eyes with Roderick. "You will regret this."
"I doubt it," he said, turning away. "The kingdom needs a strong queen. Your sister will do nicely."
He placed a hand on Celia's stomach, a possessive, triumphant gesture. Understanding dawned, another agonizing blow.
"I curse you," I choked out, the words ripped from my soul. "I curse you both. May your line turn to ash and your kingdom crumble to dust. May you know a pain a thousand times greater than this."
My vision blurred. The jeering crowd, the stone courtyard, the smug faces of my betrayers, they all melted into a swirl of orange and black.
The fire consumed me.
And I knew nothing more.
…
Cold.
Why was I cold?
A gasp tore from my lungs. My eyes flew open. I was not in the courtyard. I was in bed.
Soft linen sheets, a plush down mattress. My bed. In my father's house.
I shot upright, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands flew over my body. Smooth skin. No burns, no scars. I touched my hair. Long, silver blonde strands fell through my fingers, not a brittle, blackened mess.
My throat wasn't scorched. My lungs didn't burn. I could breathe.
A dream. It had to be a nightmare. The most vivid, terrifying nightmare of my life.
A soft knock came at the door. "My lady? Lady Aubrey? Are you alright?"
That voice. I knew that voice.
"Lena?" I called out, my voice trembling.
The door opened and my handmaiden, Lena, bustled in. Her kind, round face was etched with concern.
"You screamed, my lady. I was so worried."
I stared at her. "Lena… you're alive."
Lena blinked, a confused little frown on her face. "Of course I'm alive. Why would you say such a thing?"
Because I remembered. I remembered her weeping body being dragged from the palace after she tried to smuggle me a piece of bread in the dungeons. Roderick had her executed for it.
"What day is it?" I demanded, my voice sharp.
"It's the tenth day of the Sun's Bloom, my lady," Lena answered, startled by my tone. "The day of the final preparations. For the ball tonight."
"What ball?" I asked, though a cold dread was already seeping into my bones.
"The Royal Selection ball, of course!" Lena said, her cheerfulness returning. "Prince Roderick will announce his choice. Everyone says it will be you! Isn't it exciting?"
Prince Roderick. Not King.
The Royal Selection. Three years ago.
It wasn't a dream.
I stumbled out of bed, my legs shaking. I crossed the room to the ornate silver mirror on my vanity.
The girl who stared back was me, but not me. She was eighteen, her face unlined by grief and betrayal. Her eyes, wide and trusting, held a spark of innocence I thought was long extinguished. This was the girl who believed in fairy tales, the girl who was desperately in love with a golden prince.
The girl they had led to the slaughter.
"No," I whispered.
Lena fussed behind me. "We must get you ready! The dressmaker sent the white silk gown. It is absolutely divine. The Prince will not be able to take his eyes off you."
"Get out," I said, my voice dangerously low.
"My lady?"
"I said get out!" I screamed, the sound echoing in the opulent room.
Lena flinched back, her eyes wide with fear, and scurried out the door, closing it softly behind her.
I was alone.
I stared at my own reflection, at the naive fool smiling back at me from the past. All the pain, all the humiliation, all the agony of the fire came rushing back. I saw Roderick's smirk. I saw Celia's triumphant smile as she wore my jewels.
"You trusted everyone," my sister's voice echoed in my head.
My hand clenched into a fist. A wave of rage, so pure and potent it left me breathless, surged through me. This wasn't a second chance at happiness. This was a second chance at vengeance.
They had played their game. Now I would play mine.
With a guttural cry, I snatched a silver hairbrush from the vanity and hurled it at the mirror.
The glass shattered, exploding outwards. My reflection fractured into a thousand sharp, glittering pieces. A thousand broken girls.
I stared at the destruction, my breathing ragged. A single shard of glass on the floor caught my eye. In it, I could see a sliver of my face. My eyes were no longer innocent. They were cold, hard, and burning with a fire far hotter than the one that had killed me.
Roderick wanted a gentle, compliant bride. Celia wanted a sister she could easily manipulate. They expected a lamb.
This time, they would get a wolf.
"No more white silk," I whispered to the broken reflection.
A slow, cold smile spread across my face. A smile that didn't reach my eyes.
"This time," I vowed, "I'll be the one holding the torch."
My gaze drifted to the window, towards the distant capital where a golden prince awaited his bride. He was a dead man. He just didn't know it yet.
Neither did my sister.
But they would learn. Oh, they would learn. I would teach them a lesson written in blood and ash.
I turned away from the shattered mirror, feeling a strange calm settle over me. The fear was gone, replaced by a chilling sense of purpose.
"Lena!" I called, my voice steady and commanding.
The door creaked open a moment later. Lena peeked in, her expression nervous. "Yes, my lady?"
"Find my black mourning gown," I ordered.
Lena's eyes widened in shock. "Your mourning gown? But my lady, for the ball? It is inappropriate!"
"Is it?" I asked, my voice smooth as ice. "I think it's perfect. I have a great deal to mourn, after all."
"But… but what will people say?" she stammered.
"They will say whatever I wish them to say," I replied, walking towards my wardrobe. "And they will say the Prince looks very handsome."
Lena looked utterly confused. "The Prince?"
"Yes," I said, pulling the severe black dress from its place in the back. "The other prince. The one they keep in the shadows."
I remembered him now. Prince Kaelen. Roderick's half brother. The bastard prince. The Wolf of the North. In my first life, I barely noticed him. He was just a dark, brooding figure everyone avoided. But I remembered whispers. Whispers of his cruelty, his battle prowess, his hatred for Roderick.
An enemy of my enemy.
A perfect tool. Or perhaps, a perfect weapon.
"My lady, you cannot be serious," Lena pleaded. "Prince Kaelen is a monster. They say he is more beast than man."
"Good," I said, holding the black dress against my body. It felt right. It felt like armor. "I'm counting on it."
I had died once because of a handsome prince's love. This time, I would live because of a monster's hate. The board was set. The pieces were in place. And this time, I knew every move before it was made.
My name is Aubrey Vane, and my story would not end in fire. It would be forged in it.
