Arcelia pulled me through the corridors with a sweetness that would have fooled anyone else. Her fingers were warm around my arm, but her nails were digging in—
a silent warning disguised as affection.
She was smiling.
I was not.
"Why are you in such a rush?" I asked mildly.
"Oh, Aura," she said with a bright laugh that felt like shattered glass, "you know how Father gets. The banquet is in two days, and your gown isn't ready. If we wait any longer, the seamstress will faint."
"She fainted last year because you threw your shoe at her," I reminded.
Her fingers tightened.
"Rumors," she said with a tight smile. "Ugly rumors."
I didn't respond.
As we turned the corner toward the seamstress's wing, something unusual tugged at my senses. A faint pulse—like someone had dropped a pebble in still water inside my chest.
Magic.
Mine.
It shimmered faintly under my skin, reacting to something nearby.
Or someone.
My steps slowed by instinct.
"What now?" Arcelia asked, annoyed.
"Nothing."
Everything.
We continued.
The dress chamber was filled with fabric—silks, velvets, embroidered lace—fluttering like captured ghosts. Three seamstresses bowed as we entered.
"Lady Aura," one said nervously. "We were told you'd come for measurements."
Arcelia clapped her hands cheerfully. "Stand straight, dear sister. You know how stiff these things can be."
Yes.
I knew.
In my first life, this room was where I first fainted from the poison Arcelia slipped into my tea. The seamstresses thought I was exhausted. Kael brushed it off as nerves.
Arcelia stood there and held my hand while smiling,
"It's the stress, Aura. You work too hard."
Now, ten years earlier, I watched her like she was a wild animal pretending to be a kitten.
The seamstresses circled me, wrapping measuring ribbons around my waist and shoulders. Arcelia leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending to be bored while her eyes studied every twitch of my expression.
"You look pale," she said casually. "Was the forest so frightening?"
"Not at all," I said. "Trees are kinder than people."
A seamstress snorted accidentally.
Arcelia glared.
The girl went quiet immediately.
"What did you even see there?" Arcelia continued, her voice too light. "A rabbit? Your imagination has always been so dramatic."
"Whispers," I said, watching her closely.
Her expression froze—
for only a breath.
Then the mask slid back into place.
"Whispers?" she repeated with a laugh. "Oh Aura, don't be childish."
I smiled. "I wasn't."
And her eyes flickered.
Fear.
Good.
The seamstresses moved to fetch fabrics.
Arcelia stepped closer.
"So," she whispered, "what did you really hear?"
She asked it so quietly that even the seamstresses wouldn't pick it up.
Testing me.
Trying to calculate how much I knew.
I leaned in, matching her softness.
"I heard someone say," I murmured,
"that the wrong sister was born first."
She went bloodless.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
For the first time since waking in this wrong life, I watched real terror flicker across her face—
not the delicate anxiety she performed
not the sweet, trembling act
but raw, bone-deep fear.
Beautiful.
The seamstresses returned, interrupting the moment, placing dresses over my arms, draping fabrics around my shoulders.
Arcelia stepped back, a tight smile stitched onto her face.
She said nothing for the entire fitting.
But her eyes never left me.
When the seamstresses finally finished pinning the last piece of fabric, Arcelia dismissed them with a wave. They scurried out, leaving the two of us alone in a room filled with sharp needles, heavy scissors, and enough silk to wrap a body twice.
She turned to me, her voice calm again.
"You're not well."
A statement, not a question.
"I'm different," I corrected.
"That concerns me."
"You'll get used to it."
Her smile sharpened. "I don't want to."
Then her tone dropped to something darker.
"Listen to me, Aura. These… strange ideas you're having. These whispers. These moods. They're dangerous."
"To whom?" I asked softly.
"To everyone who cares about you."
You don't care about me.
You killed me.
She stepped closer, her face inches from mine.
"Drop whatever game you're playing," she whispered fiercely. "Because if you don't—"
A knock interrupted her.
Violent.
Urgent.
Arcelia froze.
I turned.
The door creaked open halfway.
Kael stood there, breathless, eyes storm-dark.
His gaze flicked between us before settling on me.
"I need to speak with Aura," he said tightly.
Arcelia's nostrils flared.
"This is a private fitting."
"And I am her fiancé," he snapped. "Move."
She stiffened—but stepped aside.
Barely.
Kael strode toward me as if drawn by instinct, like the air around me was pulling him. His hands clenched, then unclenched, like he was fighting an urge to grab me again.
"Aura," he said in a low voice meant only for me. "We need to talk. Now."
"You could have waited until the gown was finished," Arcelia said icily.
"No," he replied without looking at her. "I couldn't."
Because he'd felt the magic earlier.
That shock between our hands.
The shift in my eyes.
The way the air bent.
He didn't understand it yet.
But he knew something was wrong.
Or right.
Depending on perspective.
"What's so urgent?" I asked, calm despite the tension thickening the room.
He hesitated, jaw clenched.
"Your father wants to see you," he said finally. "He called for you twice. You didn't hear."
Because I was listening to someone else die in the next room.
Arcelia scoffed. "I'll accompany her—"
"No," Kael snapped, turning finally to face her. "You won't."
The room froze.
My heart skipped.
Kael rarely spoke sharply to Arcelia.
He treated her like delicate glass—fragile, precious.
Not today.
Arcelia's expression darkened, but she hid it quickly behind a smile.
"Aura," she said, voice sweet as poisoned honey, "don't forget your fitting. We'll continue tonight."
"No," Kael said again, his voice lowering. "She won't."
Arcelia stiffened.
Kael ignored her and took a step toward me.
His eyes were different now—
less prince,
more man.
"Aura," he said quietly, "come with me."
I should have refused.
I should have walked away.
But something in his voice—
raw, unguarded—
made me pause.
So I followed him out.
Arcelia stood in the doorway, watching us go, her smile carved too perfectly, too sharp.
She wasn't angry.
She was terrified.
Perfect.
The moment we turned the corner away from the dress chamber, Kael spun on me.
"Aura," he hissed, "what are you doing?"
I blinked, genuinely confused. "What?"
"You're provoking her."
I smiled. "Who?"
"You know who," he snapped. "Your sister."
"Is she that fragile?" I asked softly.
"That dangerous."
I stopped walking.
He nearly collided into me.
For a moment, his hands hovered near my arms—
not touching,
but wanting to.
"Why do you think she's dangerous?" I asked, eyes narrowing.
He swallowed.
Looked away.
Cursed under his breath.
"Kael," I murmured, "tell me."
He met my gaze again, eyes dark with something I couldn't quite name.
"She's been acting strange," he admitted. "More than you. More than anyone. She's hiding something, and I don't like the way she looks at you."
I inhaled softly.
Of course.
Even in the first life, Kael noticed the cracks in Arcelia—but far too late.
Now, those cracks were already widening.
"Kael," I said quietly, "if Arcelia ever hurt me, would you believe it?"
He froze.
His jaw clenched.
Then he whispered—
"Aura… I don't know."
The world tilted.
Before I could answer, the air behind us shifted—
a cold ripple, like someone exhaling against my spine.
The shadow-man.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
Kael must have felt something, because he turned suddenly, hand reaching for the hilt of the small ceremonial dagger at his belt.
"What was that?" he demanded.
I caught his wrist before he could draw.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just a draft."
His eyes narrowed. "That wasn't a draft."
"It was nothing," I repeated.
His gaze locked onto mine, intense, searching.
"Aura," he whispered, "something is happening to you."
Yes.
Everything.
"You're lying to me," he said quietly. Not accusing.
Hurt.
"You didn't used to lie."
I let out a slow breath.
"And you," I whispered back,
"didn't used to let me die."
He flinched—
as if I'd slapped him.
His mouth opened—
but before he could speak, a horn blasted from the courtyard.
A warning horn.
Then shouting.
Footsteps.
Clashing metal.
Chaos erupting inside the palace walls.
Kael stiffened. "That's the alarm—"
Another horn.
Louder.
Longer.
The palace shook.
"The western gates," Kael whispered. "Something's forcing its way in."
He grabbed my arm.
"Stay here—"
"No," I said sharply.
"Aura—"
I ripped my arm free.
And the moment I did—
silver light flashed across my skin.
Kael stumbled back, eyes wide.
"Aura… what was that?"
I stared at my own hand—
glowing faintly,
pulsing with something alive and ancient.
Magic.
Moon-born.
Awakening.
The shadow-man's whisper slid through the air like a blade:
"It has begun."
And I knew—
Whatever was happening at the gates
was no accident.
The blood moon was accelerating the timeline.
Enemies were already here.
And this time,
I would not be the prey.