Mag-log inI died as their pawn, I’ll live as their execution Betrayed by her beloved husband. Framed by her sister. Executed like a criminal. When Serina Valcrest opens her eyes again, she finds herself reborn two years before her death, with every memory of treachery fresh in her mind. This time, she will not be the docile, naive wife everyone expects. This time, she will sharpen her smile into a blade. Behind the glittering curtains of noble society, Serina begins her game of vengeance planting rumors, unraveling secrets, and setting traps with perfect precision. Every move pulls her closer to exposing the rot at the heart of her family. But in the shadows waits Cassian Veyra, a man more dangerous than any poison. Cold, cunning, and feared across the empire, Cassian is interested in Serina’s quiet war. His protection comes at a price… one she isn’t sure she can pay. As old enemies tighten their grip and hidden daggers strike from the dark, Serina learns the truth: They don’t just want to ruin her anymore they want her dead. And this time, she won’t go to the gallows quietly.
view moreAren cried for the first time that evening.Not the usual fussing.Not the soft, sleepy whimpers he made when he missed Serina’s touch or Cassian’s warmth.This was a sharp, piercing cry, the kind that clawed at the heart.Serina reached the nursery first, her breath catching at the sound. Lady Thera stood beside the cradle, panic etched across her face.“Your Majesty, something is wrong.”Serina was already lifting her son into her arms. Aren’s small body was too warm. Burning. His little chest rising too fast, too shallow. His lips are slightly pale.Her heart plummeted.“Aren… my love… what happened?” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his forehead.Cassian burst into the room seconds later, sword at his side, face shifting instantly from fury to terror at the sight of his son’s limp head resting against Serina.“What’s wrong with him?” he demanded, voice cracking, hands already reaching.Serina held Aren tighter, panic trembling beneath her calm.“He has a fever… a strong one.”
The throne room shook with the echo of the iron doors slamming shut.Not gently.Not ceremonially.Locked.On Serina’s orders.Guards sprinted through the corridors, sealing every exit, every window, every servants’ tunnel. The palace gates thundered as they dropped their heavy bars into place, sending a deep metallic vibration through the floor.All of it reverberated in Serina’s bones.She stood at the top of the steps leading to the throne, Aren clutched in one arm, Cassian at her side like a blade drawn and waiting.“Majesty,” Prime Minister Aldren panted as he stumbled into the hall, “what…why have you sealed the palace? What is…”Serina turned, and the words died in his throat.She looked different.Her hair was pinned back sharply.Her robe was dark and flowing like smoke.Her eyes were bright, cold, blazing.She wasn’t just a queen.She was a warning.“A message was left in my son’s cradle,” she said.A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Whispers rose instantly.“In the
The nursery was warm when Serina entered.The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting pale gold across the floor. A faint lullaby played from the enchanted music shell on the table. Everything looked peaceful, untouched.She moved quietly toward the crib.Aren was awake, sitting up in his blankets, little hands patting the mattress as if waiting for her. He smiled when he saw her pure, innocent smile.Serina smiled back…but it didn’t reach her eyes.Her gaze had already shifted…To the small wooden toy resting beside him.Carved. Dark.Too dark.Serina stopped breathing.The serpent symbol.The sigil of the underground cult.The mark of their assassins.A message.Left inside her son’s cradle.Her fingers trembled barely as she reached for it. The wood was cold. Carved deep with sharp edges, painted with soot that smeared her fingers.Someone had been in this room.Next to her sleeping child.Close enough to touch him.Her stomach twisted.Aren babbled happily
The palace looked different at night.Gone were the voices, the footsteps, the rustle of robes and armor.Gone were the ministers and their endless questions.Gone was the weight of the throne room and its expectations.Only moonlight touched the halls now pale and silver, like a soft blanket laid gently across the kingdom.Cassian moved through the quiet corridors with Aren held carefully against his chest. The baby slept soundly, one tiny fist curled around a fold of Cassian’s tunic, his soft breaths brushing Cassian’s skin.He stopped at the open balcony overlooking the dark gardens.The stars shimmered above, endless and cold against the black sky.Aren shifted in his arms, blinking drowsily before nestling closer. Cassian smiled small, fleeting, tender.“You’re just like your mother,” he whispered. “You only sleep deeply when someone holds you.”He adjusted the blanket around his son, keeping the night air from touching him.For a moment, the world was perfect.Just him.His son.






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