Arwen POV
The fire reached my feet first.
I screamed, but the smoke filled my throat and turned it into a choking sound. The rope cut into my wrists, holding me tight against the wooden pole. Below me, the crowd cheered like this was a celebration. Like watching me burn was entertainment.
"Please!" I tried one more time, even though I knew it was useless. "I didn't poison anyone! Please, I'm innocent!"
But no one listened. They never listened.
Through the smoke and flames, I could see them. The two people I'd loved most in the world. The two people who destroyed me.
Ronan stood at the front of the crowd, his golden-fox eyes cold and empty. The boy who'd whispered he loved me. The boy I'd given everything to—my money, my trust, my stupid, foolish heart. He wasn't even pretending to be sad. His handsome face showed nothing at all.
Next to him, my stepsister Celeste pressed a handkerchief to her face, pretending to cry. But I could see the smile hidden behind it. The victory in her bright blue eyes. She'd won. She'd taken everything from me—my family's love, my money, my reputation. And now she was taking my life.
"I'm so sorry this happened to dear Arwen," Celeste said loudly, her voice sweet as honey. "If only she hadn't been so jealous. If only she hadn't tried to poison me out of spite."
Lies. All lies.
*I* was the one who'd been poisoned. My whole life had been poison, drip by drip, and I'd been too stupid to see it.
The flames climbed higher, touching my dress. The pain was so big, so terrible, that my mind started to break apart. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.
"Ronan!" I screamed his name one last time. Maybe somewhere deep inside, I still hoped he'd save me. Still hoped this was all a nightmare.
He met my eyes across the fire. For just a second, something flickered on his face. Regret? Guilt?
Then he turned away.
That hurt worse than the flames.
The fire swallowed me whole. Pain exploded through every part of my body. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't—
*If I could do it again,* I thought as the darkness came. *If I could have just one more chance, I'd make them all pay. I'd choose differently. I'd be smarter, stronger. I'd—*
Everything went black.
---
I gasped awake, my body jerking upright.
My lungs pulled in air—clean, smoke-free air. My hands flew to my arms, my legs, my face, expecting to find burned skin and agony. But there was nothing. Just smooth, perfect skin.
What was happening?
"Lady Arwen?" A familiar voice called from outside my door. "Are you awake? You're going to be late!"
I knew that voice. Mary, my maid. But Mary had quit years ago, right after my father married Marguerite. She said she couldn't work in a house full of "snakes and liars." So why was she—
My eyes focused on my surroundings, and my heart stopped.
This was my childhood bedroom. The one I'd lived in before everything went wrong. The pink curtains I'd begged Father to replace when I turned sixteen. The bookshelf with my collection of fairy tales—stories about true love and happy endings that I'd stopped believing in.
The mirror across from my bed caught my reflection, and I almost screamed again.
That wasn't me. That couldn't be me.
The girl in the mirror looked so young. Her face was soft, not thin and sharp from stress and hunger. Her silver-blonde hair was long and shiny, not the chopped, dirty mess I'd had at the end. And her eyes—those violet eyes looked hopeful. Innocent.
I looked like I had at eighteen, on the morning of my Choosing Ceremony.
Six years ago.
"No," I whispered. "No, this isn't possible."
But I could still feel it. The phantom pain of fire on my skin. The memory of smoke in my lungs. The weight of Ronan's betrayal crushing my chest.
I stumbled out of bed and grabbed the calendar on my desk with shaking hands.
*Spring, Year 1247. Choosing Ceremony Day.*
The paper crumpled in my fist. This was real. Somehow, impossibly, this was real.
I was eighteen again. It was the morning I'd chosen Ronan Silverfox as my bonded shifter. The morning I'd started down the path that led to flames and death.
A second chance.
The door burst open, and Marguerite swept in without knocking. My stepmother looked exactly like I remembered—beautiful and cold, like a statue carved from ice. "Arwen, darling, why aren't you dressed? The ceremony starts in two hours!"
Behind her, Celeste peeked in, all golden curls and innocent smiles. "Are you nervous, sister? Don't worry—I'm sure you'll make a wonderful choice today."
Sister. She called me sister while planning my death.
I wanted to scream at them. Wanted to claw that fake smile off Celeste's face. Wanted to tell Marguerite I knew about the poison she'd been feeding Father, the way she'd been stealing from our family accounts.
But I didn't. Because I'd learned something in my first life, in the moments before I burned: revenge required patience. Planning. Strategy.
If I had really traveled back in time, if this was really happening, then I had knowledge they didn't. I knew every move they'd make. Every trap they'd set. Every lie they'd tell.
This time, I'd be ready.
"I'm fine," I said, forcing my voice to sound normal. Sweet. Like the stupid, trusting girl I used to be. "Just a bad dream. I'll get ready now."
Marguerite's eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to figure out if something was wrong. But then she smiled her cold smile. "Wonderful. Remember, dear, the Fox Lord Ronan will be attending today. Such a handsome, respectable match. Your father and I think he'd be perfect for you."
Of course they did. Because Ronan had already paid them. Already promised to drain my inheritance and split it with them.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
After they left, I collapsed on the bed, my whole body shaking. This was insane. Impossible. But it was happening.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to think. Today was the Choosing Ceremony. In my first life, I'd walked right up to Ronan, blushing and shy, and chosen him in front of everyone. He'd accepted with that perfect smile, and my doom was sealed.
Not this time.
This time, I needed a different plan. A different choice. Someone powerful enough to protect me from Ronan and the Coalition. Someone Marguerite and Celeste couldn't manipulate or bribe.
An image flashed through my mind—a figure standing in the darkest corner of the ceremony hall. A figure everyone avoided. Everyone feared.
The Serpent King.
In my first life, I'd barely noticed him. He was just a scary story, a monster no one dared to bond with. Nobles paid fortunes to avoid being matched with serpent shifters.
But now, knowing what I knew, fear looked different.
Ronan had been handsome, charming, and warm. And he'd burned me alive.
Maybe this time, I needed someone cold.
Mary knocked again. "Lady Arwen? Your bath is ready."
"Coming," I called back.
I stood up and looked at my young reflection one more time. That hopeful, innocent girl was gone. Dead. Burned away.
What rose from those ashes was something new. Something dangerous.
I smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile.
"Let's rewrite this story," I whispered to my reflection.
But as I turned toward the door, something caught my eye. There, on my wrist where the rope had cut into my skin, where the flames had licked and burned—
A faint red mark. Like a scar.
Like a burn that shouldn't exist.
My blood turned to ice.
If I could see the marks from my death... what else had come back with me?