Dear reader, I suggest you read the prologue and chapter one first, I made few changes this morning. Enjoy!
Elira Valein had always been a quiet girl.
Born the youngest daughter of a fading noble house in the South, her life was ruled by ceremony, sacrifice, and silence. Her family, once proud and titled, had lost their wealth years ago. All they had left were connections — and her.
Elira, with her moon-pale skin and soft black hair, was groomed for politics before she ever learned to play. They taught her how to bow before power, how to speak in ribbons of courtesy. And when the letters came bearing the King's seal, they told her to smile.
She was eighteen when the Ruthless King summoned for a bride.
He didn't ask. He demanded.
They said it was an honor. That she would bring their House back into favor. That the King's palace was vast, cold, and golden. That she should be grateful.
But Elira had already given her heart away.
His name had been Duke Alester Graye. A third son with no land, but eyes soft as dusk. They'd grown up beside the lavender orchards and kissed in the meadows between court festivals. Alester had promised her a life far from the capital. A simple home, a quiet love.
He had begged her to run when the summons came. But Elira's family made sure she couldn't. Her carriage left before the sun rose.
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She didn't speak a word on the journey to the palace.
When the bridal attendants took her in — dipped her into scented waters, dressed her in ceremonial silk, braided her hair with silver thread — she stared ahead like a ghost.
That night, she wrote a letter to Alester. Then, she drank the poison hidden in her sash.
It was not meant to be dramatic. Elira did not scream or stumble. She simply folded her hands over her lap, tilted her head toward the window, and closed her eyes.
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She was found hours later by a servant girl named Mirelle — the same sharp-eyed maid who now stared at the girl sitting in Elira's place.
Mirelle had seen her.
Had seen Elira's still chest, the purple tint to her lips. She had touched her icy fingers, felt no pulse.
She had panicked, unsure whether to report it or stay silent. So she waited. She told no one. Let someone else find the body. Let someone else be blamed.
But then—
When she returned the next morning to assist the bridal attendants, the girl was gone.
No corpse. No rumors. Only an alive girl.
A strange, wide-eyed Elira Valein, blinking and looking strangly at them.
The girl is Elira. And bizarrely, she's not dead. But something was off. Her hands fidgeted strangely. Her posture, bolder. Her eyes, sharper.
Mirelle said nothing.
She stood silently as the veiled mistress led the bride away.
And in the silence of that gold-lit chamber, Mirelle wondered—
Had Elira survived?
Or had she never died and she was just sleepwalking and having strange dreams ?