02 A Second Chance

And then, my eyes pop open and I wake up.

Gasping. Alive.

My body jerks upright, my hands clutching at my stomach, expecting to feel warm blood and torn flesh. But there's nothing.

No wound. No pain.

I'm not in the ruined throne room where flames, smoke, and death surround me. I'm in my chambers...at least it's the chambers I remember I had when I was still a child.

The canopy of my bed hangs above me, untouched by fire. Sunlight streams through the large windows, golden and soft. The scent of lilacs drifts through the air, carried by the morning breeze.

Everything is as it was. Or at least...everything seems to be like a normal day.

Panic slams into me, my breath coming in sharp uneven gasps as I try to get my bearings.

Was it a dream? A nightmare? No. It seems all too real. Too vivid. I saw the kingdom fall. I remember every scream, the smell of blood, every shattered moment.

Heck, I felt pain and felt the life drain out of me!

I scramble out of bed, my hands shaking as I rush towards the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and pale.

My wavy, platinum-blonde hair is still long and luxurious. A far cry from my short and dry one after I hit my twenties. My pale blue, almost silver eyes are bright and not bloodshot and exhausted.

Other than the almost perfect condition I am in, there's something else that seems off.

I'm small.

Of course, at the height of five feet, four inches as an adult, I am still small but...the person I'm looking at in the mirror is smaller than that.

Additionally, my face is rounder, softer. My limbs are thinner, untouched by the years that should have made me twenty-five.

I lift trembling fingers to my face, to my hair, to my skin. The scar that I got from Casimir after I dismissed him as my slave after my twelfth birthday is still non-existent.

So how old am I? Ten? Eleven?

A knock raps on my door, making me freeze and eye the door from where I am.

"Princess," a familiar voice calls. A voice I haven't heard in years. Sanders, the loyal butler of my Palace, the Lilac Palace.

He's still alive. He's not executed because he took the blame when one of my sisters framed me in hopes of getting rid of me from setting my sights on the throne.

Before I can recover from my musings, the door swings open.

And there he stands.

Casimir.

However, he's not the man who killed me. Not the leader of the rebellion.

But a boy of twelve. Small and underfed, his golden amber eyes are burning and spitting that quiet hatred on me.

The past. I'm in the past...or present and it was a dream.

The breath rushes from my lungs. My fingers dig into my arms as I take a shaky step forward.

I don't know what really just happened to me. But no matter whether I lived the future or dreamt of it, at that moment, I know one thing with absolute certainty.

This time...I won't turn away.

"Your Highness, your new servant has arrived. The King wanted me to introduce him to you before he makes it official." Sanders says as he stands before me, his expression as unreadable as always but somehow, I already know that he's loyal and genuinely cares for me.

I inhale slowly, steadying myself. I know what's coming. I remember this moment. This is the day I was first assigned my own Lycan slave, the moment that should have changed everything...but I didn't do anything to make it so. I just let the moment slip through my fingers in that life.

But not this time.

I bravely stare at the angry boy before me. He is small, but even at twelve, there's a sharpness to him. His dark brown hair is unkempt, strands falling down onto fierce golden-amber eyes that burn with quiet defiance. His hands are shackled, his wrist rubbed raw from resisting.

Despite that though, his spine is straight, and his chin is lifted, a sure sign that he's never bowing. He sure as all heck doesn't look like the type who's going to be the perfect slave any time soon.

And...knowing what the future holds, he will never be.

I swallow against the knot in my throat. He looks exactly as I remember. Especially since our encounter on this fateful day is the only one long enough for me to really remember him. However, knowing what he will become, the sight of him chills me.

The two guards, who I didn't notice standing behind him and Sanders, move. One of them shoves him forward.

Casimir stumbles but doesn't fall. He glares up at me, unafraid, unyielding. Even now, he is nothing like the other Lycans–no submission, no fear, no hesitation. Just fury that's barely restrained and contained.

"This is Casimir," Sanders announces. "Your new personal servant."

I hesitate, my heart hammering against my ribs. This is it. The moment I made my first mistake in my past life...dream...whatever. Before, I had immediately dismissed Casimir with indifference, too afraid to involve myself, too willing to turn away.

And that led him straight to Leonel. To suffering. To becoming the ruthless man who killed me.

Not again. Not this time.

I open my mouth but before I can speak, another knock sounds at my already open door. A maid pops her head on the side of the door, eyes downcast.

"Your Highness, His Majesty has summoned you to the throne room."

I stiffen at that. I remember this too.

Sanders bows slightly. "Then we shall not keep him waiting."

I glance at Casimir, his fists are clenched. His face is carefully blank but his eyes still burn with fiery hatred. He expects nothing good from me...and I don't blame him cause he shouldn't.

At least not yet.

"Come," I say quietly as I stiffen my spine and lift my head. "Both of you."