Chapter 3 A NAME I DON'T OWN

Zara waited until the hallway outside her room fell quiet before slipping out.

The palace at night was colder, like it was holding its breath. She hugged her borrowed cloak tighter and glanced down at her phone. 18% battery. She couldn't risk wasting it on light all night, but for now, she needed to see.

She clicked on the flashlight icon.

A small circle of light illuminated the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts. The corridor outside her chamber stretched ahead, lined with oil sconces, tapestries, and doors she didn't dare open. Her sneakers made the faintest sound against the marble floor.

"This is insane," she whispered.

It was like stepping into a museum exhibit that had come alive but this was no tour. She was living in someone else's world. Someone else's name.

And everyone expected her to play along.

She turned a corner and paused near a tall wooden door. From behind it came soft shuffling. Maybe a storage room?

Zara gently pushed the door open and slipped inside.

It was dim, but not empty. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with folded silks, woolen shawls, and linens. In the corner, a hunched figure sat on a stool, threading a needle by candlelight.

The woman looked up. Her skin was darkened with age, her eyes cloudy but sharp. "You're not supposed to be here, my lady."

Zara froze. "I didn't mean to, I couldn't sleep."

The old woman studied her for a moment, then gave a dry smile. "Still wandering at night, I see. Some things don't change."

"You... remember me?"

"I served in your wing since before you were promised to the king," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Though you don't walk like her."

Zara's pulse quickened. "Like who?"

"Like Seraphina," the woman said slowly. "You hold your shoulders different now. And your voice, less music, more... sharp edges."

Zara laughed nervously. "I guess trauma changes people."

The woman looked unconvinced.

Zara quickly turned to one of the shelves, pretending to browse. "Sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Matra," the woman replied. "I'm just a needle and thread now, but I remember the girl who used to sneak sweetbread from the kitchens and cry over poetry in the garden."

Zara's heart sank.

Whoever Seraphina had been, she was real. And people loved her.

"Matra," she said carefully, "do you know what happened to me? Before I disappeared?"

The older woman's hands paused. "Rumors say you were taken. By rebels, or maybe enemies of the king. Others say you ran, fearing your marriage. I never believed that. You were too proud."

"I... don't remember any of that."

"Perhaps that's for the best."

Zara swallowed. "Do you know where I used to hide when I needed space?"

Matra tilted her head. "The East Garden. Under the oldest tree. You'd sit there for hours."

Zara smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Don't let Lord Darius catch you out of bed. He watches everything."

Zara nodded and slipped out quietly.

Back in her chamber, she closed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard.

The real Seraphina had a past here. A personality. Friends. A face people missed.

And Zara was pretending to be her.

She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her phone. The screen glowed soft in the dark. No signal, of course. But the camera worked.

She switched it on and clicked record.

"Day one," she whispered. "I'm Zara Monroe. I don't know how I got here. But I've landed in some alternate past, or dimension, or time I can't explain."

She glanced toward the door. "They think I'm someone named Lady Seraphina. I have her face. Her birthmark. But I'm not her. I'm terrified they'll find out."

She paused. "There's a man named Kael Darius. Cold eyes. Doesn't trust me. I think he's dangerous... but something tells me he might be the key to everything."

Her voice softened. "If anyone ever finds this... please believe me. I'm real. And I don't belong here."

She ended the recording and set the phone aside.

Then, a knock.

Zara froze.

The door opened before she could answer.

Kael stepped in, dressed in black again, the gold trim on his tunic catching the moonlight through the window. He didn't speak at first. He just looked at her.

"You disobeyed."

She blinked. "You were watching?"

"You wandered into the east wing. I asked the guards not to follow, but don't mistake that for leniency."

"I couldn't sleep."

"That doesn't grant you the right to roam a palace that barely remembers your face."

Zara stood. "What do you want from me, Kael?"

His eyes flicked up at the name.

"You remember my name now?"

"I heard it enough."

He stepped closer. "I want the truth. Are you her?"

Zara met his gaze. "What if I say yes? Will you believe me?"

"No."

"Then what's the point?"

Kael stared at her for a long time. Then, for the first time since they met, his voice softened.

"She used to dance in the garden at dusk," he said. "Alone. No music. Just... movement. She never noticed anyone watching."

Zara said nothing.

"She was kind. Bold. But broken. The kind of broken that hid in plain sight."

His voice dipped lower.

"If you're her... I'll protect you. If you're not..." He stopped. "Don't make me choose between justice and mercy."

He turned to leave.

But just before the door closed behind him, she whispered, "What if I'm not her, but I want to survive?"

Kael paused. "Then you better learn to lie better than you just did."