Chapter 2

The last time I walked out of that hall, I didn't make it to the door.

In my first life, I'd fought for Varen instead of walking away. Exposed Elara, saved his throne, watched her die on the banquet floor. He called me a hero for it.

But heroes have short memories in the Five Realms.

Varen never forgave me for Elara's death. He said she'd changed. That she would have been harmless if I'd left her alone. That I'd taken from him the only woman he ever loved.

So he waited ten years. Then he turned my own blood against my people.

A Blood Curse—designed to make Fae Starblood eat its host from the inside out. Five thousand of us. Men, women, children. Burning alive in their own veins.

My father was the last to fall. The Fae King—unbowed his entire life—knelt in front of the man I'd helped crown and begged.

"Take me instead. Just let my daughter live."

Varen didn't look at him. The blade came down, and my father's crown rolled across the stone floor.

That memory was why I could walk away now. Not because I was strong. Because I'd already seen what fighting cost me.

Behind me, whispers trailed out of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

"She's really giving him up?"

"Everyone in the Realms knows she'd die for Varen. How does she just walk away?"

They had it wrong. The woman who would have died for Varen burned up in another life along with five thousand others. What was left was someone who'd finally learned a simple lesson.

Varen never wanted a woman who fought beside him. He wanted one who looked up at him with wet eyes and made him feel needed. Elara gave him that. I never could.

Three hundred years I bled for his ambitions, and none of it registered as anything more than what I owed him.

Fine. Some people don't recognize love. They only recognize convenience.

My people were waiting at the Fae border, fury written across every face.

"We march on Ashworth," my captain said, hand already on his sword. "Tonight."

"No." I held up a hand. "The Demons are still in the Shadowlands. If we exhaust ourselves on Varen, we'll be wide open. We train. We get stronger. And we wait."

They didn't like it. But they stood down.

My father arrived that evening. He studied my face for a long moment, then smiled.

"You've grown, Liora. A queen in every way that matters."

My throat closed. I turned away before he could see.

The last time I'd heard his voice, he was on his knees. Begging for my life with a blade at his neck.

The broken contract I could swallow. But what Varen did to my people in that other life—that debt would come due. Every last drop.

And I knew exactly where to start. In my first life, I'd found something too late to use—an ancient ritual called the Bloodrite, buried in the deepest Fae archives. A way to awaken the dormant power sleeping in every Fae bloodline.

Last time, I ran out of time. This time, I wouldn't.

Three months later, Varen rode to the Fae border himself.

He held out an envelope—gold seal, his name and Elara's intertwined on the front. A wedding invitation.

I took it. Didn't open it. Let fire crawl up from my fingertips and watched the whole thing curl into ash.

His jaw tightened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not interested." I blew the ash off my palm. "In your wedding or your face."

His expression flickered—loss of control, quickly smothered. "You can't move on, can you? I never loved you, Liora. I was always honest about that. Why cling to something that was never real?"

I spat at his feet.

"Cling?" I almost laughed. "Seven Houses have sent proposals in the last three months. Seven. From families that actually deserve a Fae alliance."

I stepped closer.

"You didn't ride all this way just to deliver an invitation, Varen. So what do you really want?"