Chapter 3: Echoes Beneath the Water
Water.
Cold. Endless. Pulling me under.
I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned as icy currents dragged me deeper, deeper into darkness. A faint light shimmered above the surface, slipping farther away no matter how hard I reached.
Not yet… I don’t want to die again.
The thought screamed inside my head as the water swallowed it whole. Then, just as the last trace of warmth left my body, I saw it — a hand, pale and trembling, reaching toward me from above.
But when I tried to grasp it, the face that followed wasn’t human. It was my own.
I gasped awake, my throat raw, my nightgown clinging to my skin with sweat. The room was dim — moonlight spilling through lace curtains, glinting off silver-framed mirrors. My breath came in sharp, panicked bursts.
The same dream.
The same lake.
The same helpless drowning.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the steady thrum of a heart that wasn’t mine, yet was now all I had.
I sat up, my pulse slowing. The scent of lavender oil lingered from the linens. Across the room, the curtains swayed softly, letting the night air in.
In another life, I would have turned to a bedside monitor, checked my vitals, maybe prescribed myself a mild sedative. But this world had no monitors, no sterile tools — just the faint creak of floorboards and the distant rustle of wind against stone.
My eyes fell to the mirror.
The reflection that stared back was beautiful and fragile — long amethyst hair, pale skin, eyes too bright to belong to the living.
“Princess Amethyst Celestria Rosaire IV,” I whispered.
The name felt foreign and cold on my tongue.
I swallowed hard. “You were supposed to be dead, weren’t you?”
The girl in the reflection didn’t answer.
The palace felt different at night.
By day, it gleamed — chandeliers, tapestries, courtiers whispering in practiced grace. But at night, the silence pressed in, filled only by the crackle of torches and the muffled hum of secrets.
I rose from bed and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders. My body was still frail — the lingering weakness of both near-drowning and near-poisoning. Yet curiosity overrode the trembling in my limbs.
If I was truly reincarnated into the body of a princess who was supposed to have died, then I needed to understand why.
Who would want to kill her?
Who threw her into that lake?
And why had the world — even her family — already buried her before she’d taken her last breath?
My steps were careful as I moved through the corridors. The palace guards changed shifts every third bell; I’d memorized that much already. The east wing was quieter than the rest — isolated, reserved for those the royal family wanted to forget.
How convenient, I thought bitterly. Even in death, you were abandoned here.
I reached a hallway lined with portraits. The air was heavy with the scent of oil and dust. Kings, queens, and noble heirs stared down in smug silence. None of them looked kind. None of them looked like her.
At the end of the hall stood one door, half-hidden behind drapery. I remembered Ana mentioning it once — “That was Lady Celestine’s room, Your Highness, before she passed.”
My hand hovered above the latch.
Should I open it?
My fingers trembled slightly, but I pushed the door open anyway.
The room smelled faintly of roses long faded. Dust coated the furniture, but everything remained untouched — as if time itself had refused to move on.
A writing desk sat by the window, a quill still resting beside an empty inkpot. I traced the edge of the wood. There were faint scratch marks, as though someone had carved something hastily.
When I leaned closer, I could just make out the words:
Forgive me.
My chest tightened.
I imagined her — Lady Celestine Valemont, the Viscount’s daughter who’d caught a king’s fleeting affection and paid for it with her life. The lonely concubine whose daughter the palace despised.
Her story was a tragedy long before mine began.
I sank into the chair, fingers brushing the grain of the wood. “Did they kill you too?” I murmured. “Did you know they’d come for me next?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then — a soft click.
I froze.
The sound came from behind me — the faint creak of a loose floorboard. I turned, heart racing. The candlelight flickered against the far wall, revealing a small gap near the dresser.
Slowly, I knelt and pressed the board down. It lifted with a whisper of dust. Beneath it, wrapped in faded velvet, was a small silver hairpin — shaped like a lily, its edges worn with time.
Inside the hollow stem, tucked tightly, was a piece of folded parchment.
With trembling hands, I unfolded it.
The ink had faded, but the writing was still legible.
To whoever finds this — trust no one in the palace.
Even blood betrays when it tastes power.
My heart pounded in my chest.
Someone — perhaps Lady Celestine herself — had written this before she died.
And now, her warning was mine to carry.
A sudden knock on the door made me flinch.
“Your Highness?” It was Ana’s voice, soft but worried.
I quickly slipped the parchment into my sleeve. “Come in.”
Ana entered, carrying a small tray of tea. Her brow furrowed when she saw the open door. “You shouldn’t be here, Princess. This part of the palace is closed for a reason.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “I was… curious.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Curiosity in the Rosaire Palace is dangerous, my lady.”
I studied her face carefully. “Tell me, Ana… before I fell into the lake, did anyone visit me?”
She hesitated, setting the tray down. “You mean… the night before?”
I nodded.
Ana looked uneasy. “Only Lady Anaya came to deliver flowers. She said it was from His Majesty.”
My blood ran cold. “Lady Anaya?”
“Yes. Your half-sister.”
Of course.
The girl adored by the king. Beautiful, cunning, beloved by nobles. And I — the quiet shadow in her light — had received flowers right before I nearly died.
A bitter laugh escaped me. “How thoughtful of her.”
Ana blinked, confused. “Did I say something wrong, Princess?”
“No,” I murmured. “You’ve said enough.”
That night, I sat by the window, staring out at the distant lake. Its surface gleamed under the moonlight — serene, deceptive, as if it hadn’t almost swallowed me whole.
I remembered the feeling again — the weight of water, the taste of fear. But more than that, I remembered something else: a voice.
Faint, muffled beneath the current.
A woman’s voice.
Crying.
Could it have been memory? Or someone else’s echo bleeding through time?
I shivered and pulled my shawl tighter.
If I wanted answers, I’d have to move carefully.
The palace was a maze — not of halls, but of masks. Every smile hid a dagger, every kind word carried poison. If I accused anyone openly, I’d be dead before sunrise.
No. I’d have to investigate quietly. Observe. Listen. Gather fragments.
And when the time came — reveal the truth myself.
A sudden chill swept through the room. The candle guttered.
From outside, I could hear faint footsteps — guards changing shifts near the east courtyard. Beyond that, nothing but silence.
Until —
A whisper.
At first I thought it was the wind. But then it came again, soft, deliberate.
“You should have stayed dead.”
I froze. The voice was right outside the door.
My blood turned to ice. I didn’t dare move.
After a few seconds, the footsteps faded down the hall. The silence returned.
My fingers clenched the parchment hidden in my sleeve.
So it was true.
Someone in the palace wanted me dead.
And they didn’t know I had returned to life — not yet.
A slow, fierce determination sparked in my chest.
“Fine,” I whispered. “If they want the ghost of Princess Amethyst… then I’ll haunt them properly.”
The next morning, I woke early. The sunlight poured through the curtains, glinting off my hair like polished glass.
Ana entered with my gown for the day. “You seem well-rested, Princess.”
I smiled faintly. “Better than ever.”
She didn’t notice the folded paper hidden beneath my pillow, or the small silver hairpin tucked into my pocket.
I had work to do — quietly, patiently.
First, I would find proof.
Then, I would find who pushed her — who tried to erase her from history.
And when I did, I’d make them wish they’d never left her alive.