Chapter 3 Rebirth Before Ruin

A single candle flickered on the writing desk, its flame caught in the breathless stillness of early dawn. Seraphyne sat before it, sleeves rolled to the elbow, ink staining her fingers as she turned another page in the coded ledger she had begun the night prior. The crackle of the hearth was faint behind her, but even fire could not warm the chill settling in her bones. The kind of cold that crept from within, not of winter, but of memory.

Each figure she recorded, each name, each note, was a defiance of fate. Every stroke of ink a ward against the ruin to come. She was building a map in silence: paths of betrayal, whispers of blood, the places where her family had once smiled unaware before knives found their backs.

A knock interrupted her tally.

"Enter," she called.

Caleon stepped in, hair damp from training, his usual stern expression softened only slightly by concern. He carried a tray of spiced tea and warm flatbread.

"You were awake when I left this morning," he said. "And you haven't left that desk since, have you?"

She offered a tired smile. "Only to breathe."

He set the tray beside her and pulled a chair close. "What are you working on?"

"Just... preemptive accounting," she said, carefully folding the paper to obscure her notes. "You know how I get when spring taxes approach."

He didn't press. But he studied her longer than he used to.

"You've changed," he said.

She stiffened. "Have I?"

"You walk like a general. Eyes sharp. No wasted steps. Like someone preparing for war."

She looked away. "Perhaps I am."

He exhaled, slow. "If anything happens, you come to me. Promise me that."

"I will," she lied.

Because she couldn't risk him dying for her again.

Seraphyne had always known court was a chessboard, but she hadn't understood until her death just how many pieces were poisoned.

Now, walking through the palace corridors as her family joined the monthly procession to the emperor's winter court, she studied each face like a strategist studies terrain.

Lady Iverna, who once slipped her poison under the guise of sleep tonics.

Lord Grent, who had given up the Vellaren defenses for gold.

Rael.

He stood at the head of the Solmyn delegation, a picture of gallant nobility. Gold trimmed velvet, dark curls tied neatly, eyes that feigned innocence.

Once, she had melted under that gaze.

Now, it only made her skin crawl.

He approached.

"My lady Seraphyne," he said, voice rich with charm. "You grow lovelier with every moon."

She dipped a shallow curtsey. "Prince Rael. Still dripping honey, I see."

He chuckled. "It's no sin to admire a future bride, is it?"

She let her smile show teeth. "If the bride consents, perhaps not."

His gaze sharpened briefly, before he smoothed it into charm. "Have I done something to offend?"

"Not yet. That's what concerns me."

Before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension.

"Prince Rael."

Kaelith Virelius had arrived.

Seraphyne turned to see him descending the marble stair, black robes like smoke trailing behind him. His silver eyes swept the room with disinterest until they settled on her. A pause. Then the faintest nod.

Rael greeted him with a calculated bow. "Prince Kaelith. An unexpected pleasure."

Kaelith did not return the bow. "Is it? I thought you enjoyed surprises."

Rael stiffened. Seraphyne bit back a smile.

Kaelith offered her his arm. "Lady Seraphyne. May I escort you?"

She accepted without hesitation.

As they walked toward the banquet hall, he spoke without looking at her. "Your cousin watches you like a snake near a bird's nest."

"Which one?"

His mouth twitched. "Clever."

"What do you want, Prince?"

"To watch the game unfold."

"I'm not playing games."

He turned to her then, and for a heartbeat, she saw something in his eyes, not cruelty, not even strategy, but recognition.

"Neither am I."

That evening, she met with her father in his private solar.

"You wanted to speak?" he asked, setting down a goblet.

She stepped inside, closing the door. "I want to break the betrothal to Prince Rael."

His brows shot up. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more."

"Seraphyne, this is not a matter of preference. The engagement is a pact between empires."

She stepped forward. "Rael is not who he pretends to be. His kingdom has plans that will turn on us the moment we lower our guard."

"And where did you learn this?"

She hesitated. "I can't reveal my source. But it's credible."

"Damn it, Seraphyne." He stood, pacing. "You're a girl with no official title yet speaking as if you're commander of our army."

"Would you rather I wait until Vellaren banners are burned?"

He froze.

She pressed on. "Call it intuition. Call it a daughter's instinct. But if you go through with this engagement, it will not bring peace. It will bring ash."

He looked at her for a long moment.

"You remind me of your mother when you speak like that," he said. "Stubborn and terrifying."

"That's the highest compliment you've ever given me."

A week later, the engagement was quietly paused under the excuse of 'illness'.

Rael sent no letter.

Seraphyne counted that as a victory.

But the silence was not peace. It was a warning. The future now twisted off the path she remembered. And she had to keep moving before ruin found another door.

She doubled her surveillance on Varek, sending coded messages through a trusted stablehand to a minor lord once loyal to her mother. She met Kaelith once more in the library, where their exchanges danced between curiosity and calculation.

"You're hiding something," he told her one afternoon.

"And you aren't?"

He smirked. "Perhaps we are both liars with good intentions."

She arched a brow. "Are there such things?"

His smile faded. "Rare. But I'd like to think so."

He closed the book he had not been reading. "The court thinks you're a wounded girl trying to heal."

"And you?"

He studied her. "I think you're rebuilding a fortress from within."

She exhaled slowly. "Then you see more than most."

"Be careful, Seraphyne."

"Always."

But not even caution could stop what came next.

One evening, returning to her chamber, she found her door ajar.

Inside, a shadow moved.

She stepped back silently and pressed to the wall.

When the figure exited, she struck.

The man, a servant in livery toppled to the floor. She had a knife at his throat in a blink.

"Who sent you?" she hissed.

He trembled. "I....I only clean, my lady. I swear."

She held up the small vial he had tucked into her tea.

He paled.

Caleon arrived seconds later, blade drawn.

Seraphyne stood. "He's a Solmyn agent. He tried to poison me."

Caleon arrested him immediately. Her father ordered his interrogation.

Under pain, the man confessed everything.

Rael had sent him. For compliance, not death, a slow working herb to dull the mind. Obedience in a cup.

Her stomach turned.

She had drunk the same tea in her past life.

Rebirth, she now understood, was not a gift. It was a responsibility.

She would not waste it.

She would rise, ruthless and precise.

And when the time came, she would tear her enemies down to the marrow.