Chapter 3

By sundown, the entire mansion was buzzing.

Every corridor, every shadowed corner of every overly-decorated hall was thick with whispers. I wasn’t just Lady Abby MacMayer anymore.

No, no. I had been promoted.

To Lady Abby, the Slapper of Chefs. The Book-Hungry Phoenix. The Cursed Comeback Queen.

Apparently, my demand for books—yes, plural—and my dramatic kitchen slap had shaken the household hierarchy to its core. Some maids stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Others tiptoed around me like I’d explode if they breathed wrong.

They called it a curse. They said I wasn’t the same Abby.

That maybe I died and something darker came back.

“Her eyes are different,” they whispered.

“She’s asking for books—books!”

“What if the poison didn’t fail… What if it succeeded?”

And honestly? Fair. Very fair.

But I didn’t care. I was in the library, flipping through spell theory, kingdom history, and suspiciously blank family ledgers like a student cramming for a test I was never invited to.

Then the sun dipped low.

The marble floors turned gold. Shadows stretched. The tension in the air thickened like a storm was stalking the halls.

And that’s when he came.

One of the knights.

Armor on, swagger loaded, smirk already halfway to victory. He stepped onto the patio stairs as I exited the west wing hall, cutting across my path like I didn’t even exist. Like I was still that Abby. The powerless girl. The joke.

He didn’t bow. Didn’t nod.

Instead?

He pushed me.

Not hard—but hard enough.

Enough to make a statement.

Enough to say, “You don’t matter.”

I stumbled. Right onto the marble step, caught myself, and stood still for a moment.

Then I turned.

My breath?

Gone.

My heart?

Thundering.

My rage?

Unleashed.

I don’t know what happened. I didn’t think. I didn’t chant a spell or scream or even blink.

But something inside me cracked—like a dam breaking.

There was a shimmer in my veins, a tidal wave of something that wasn’t there before. Magic, yes—but not the soft, pretty kind nobles used to light lamps and pour wine.

This was ancient.

This was wild.

This was angry.

A strange burning word hummed into existence on my palm, glowing faint blue, humming like a living thing. I didn’t know what it meant, but my body did.

I slapped him.

And the world broke.

There was no cheek left to bruise.

His face exploded in magical light and blood—burst backward like he’d been hit with a divine thunderbolt disguised as my hand.

A ripple of raw, glowing energy surged from my fingers to the sky.

The heavens shook.

Clouds split.

Lightning cracked the horizon and webbed the sky in blue veins.

Screams.

Voices.

Calling my name.

“Abby—!”

Not just one. Many. Familiar. From my old life? This one? I didn’t know. The world was spinning.

My skin buzzed. Sparks leapt from my fingertips. My eyes were glowing—I could see it in the puddle beneath me, warped and wild.

Then, as the wind howled and the sky screamed—

I collapsed.

Hard.

The last thing I saw was that blasted knight being dragged away.

Unmoving. Bloody. Ash swirling around him.

And my hand…

Still glowing.

Still crackling with untamed power.

Still tingling with a magic I had never known…

Until now.

Then...

Darkness took me.

But it wasn’t the kind that came with sleep.

No. This was thick. Heavy. A strange velvet-like silence that buzzed just behind the ears. Like I had been dunked into the void between lightning strikes.

Somewhere, distantly, I heard voices. Panicked.

Shouting. Commanding.

Then another voice—faint, deep, calm. A man’s.

"...She’s awakened something… Not supposed to happen yet..."

But it was all muffled. Like trying to listen through water.

And just when I thought I was sinking deeper—

I gasped awake.

Not dramatically. No jerking upright or screaming. Just opened my eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling painted with constellations and gold etchings.

Soft silk sheets, warm and scented with something sweet—lilac? Rose? Betrayal?

And sitting by the corner of the room?

The maid. Not the chaos maid. A different one. This one looked terrified. She flinched when my eyes opened and nearly dropped the towel in her hand.

“Oh! Lady Abby…! You’re awake! Please—stay still. You collapsed last night. We—we’ve sent for the court mage and—”

“Where am I?” I croaked. My voice sounded different. Deeper. Sharper. Like thunder trying to be polite.

“This is the star chamber, my lady. Duke Alaric ordered you brought here after the… incident.”

Ah. The incident.

Right. Slapping a knight so hard the sky exploded.

Wait! Duke Alaric?

I sat up. Slowly. Every inch of me buzzed like I’d slept on a bed of bees. But it wasn’t painful—it was powerful. The kind of power that crackled just beneath the skin like lightning waiting for a reason to strike again.

“Where’s the knight?” I asked. Cold.

She hesitated. “Alive… barely. He’s in the infirmary. The priest was summoned, and…” her voice dropped, “he won’t be pushing anyone down stairs ever again.”

Good.

I swung my legs off the bed. The moment my feet touched the marble, the maid gasped. A faint zap of electricity sizzled against the floor. My shadow shimmered slightly, like the light couldn’t decide if it wanted to cling to me or run.

Then the door opened.

And he walked in.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Storm-colored cloak.

Duke Alaric.

Real. Intimidating. Gorgeous. Brown hair tousled like it was annoyed at existing. Ice-blue eyes that looked like they’d seen too many wars and not enough forgiveness.

He looked at me. Not with pity. Not with fear. Not even with curiosity.

But with interest. Dangerous interest.

“You shouldn’t be standing,” he said, voice like steel on velvet.

“And yet,” I replied, “here I am. Radiantly vertical.”

The maid nearly passed out from the tension.

The Duke stepped closer. Every footstep echoed like a countdown. He stopped just before me, eyes scanning me like a puzzle he hadn’t been warned about.

I sat on the edge of the bed like a queen who just survived an exorcism and looked damn good doing it. My fingers still tingled—faint, tiny zaps curling over my knuckles like little gremlins weren’t done playing. My hair was an absolute mess, a tangled red storm that probably crackled if someone touched it wrong.

And I was so done pretending I was still that naive little Abby MacMayer who used to sip soup in silence and cry politely behind curtains.

No, honey. That girl got slapped out of existence the moment a knight flew backward like a ragdoll in a magical hurricane of rage.

Also, let’s talk about that. That knight? He tried to push me. Push. Me. Like I was still the castle ghost everyone ignored. And what did I do? I slapped him into another season and turned the sky into a fireworks show.

And yet—

Now, here I was. Sitting in the star chamber—apparently reserved for Very Important People or Noble Family Headaches. There were constellations carved into the ceiling and mirrors framed in gold like the heavens personally decorated the place. Every breath smelled faintly of lavender and trauma. The sheets were made of some ridiculous silky weave that probably cost more than my childhood.

Then the door opened, and in came Mr. I-Wear-Gloom-As-A-Cape—Duke Alaric himself.