Reborn to Leave You

The room looked achingly familiar. Without thinking, I bolted for the door, desperate to find my child.

I hadn't made it two steps before my maid, Daisy Doyle, caught my arm. She finished fixing my hair and makeup before she spoke.

"My lady, Her Majesty the Queen says that tomorrow is the King's birthday banquet, and any noble ladies who wish to may move into the palace tonight. Don't rush and ruin your hair."

I froze. The King's birthday banquet... none of it had happened yet.

Surprise flickered through me, and my hand went to my stomach without thinking. That was right — I hadn't given birth yet. The tiny life inside me was still only a few months along.

Daisy caught me touching my belly and smiled. "My lady, the physician says you're strong and healthy. Rest well, and the birth will go smoothly. Once His Highness is back, there'll be plenty of time to share the good news."

My lips didn't curve at all.

There was a letter on the table, already sealed and finished. I picked it up, carried it to the candle, and let it burn to ash.

Daisy blinked. "My lady, wasn't that letter for His Highness? Why did you burn it?"

I sat before the bronze mirror, grief creeping into my eyes without my permission. "It wasn't necessary after all."

Snow drifted in past the window and melted the moment it touched the warm stove beside the table. Watching the winter snow fall outside, I thought of my child again, helplessly. That day, someone had held me down and forced me to watch — my baby, crying and shaking himself hoarse in the snow. I'd watched his face turn a bloodless white, then a mottled blue, until he finally went still and silent.

Marilyn Jones — a name that had haunted me like a ghost, clinging to my past life. In that world of snow and bitter cold, she'd become the nightmare I hated most.

I sank into the memory until my hands and feet went cold. Daisy noticed and pressed the warming stove into my hands, concern in her eyes. "My lady..."

I turned my head away, wiped away the tear before it could fall, and smoothed my expression back to normal. "It's nothing. Let's head to the palace."

Tonight, after all, was the night the Crown Prince staged his coup.

Once inside the palace, I made an excuse about wanting to chat and timed my visit carefully, arriving at the Queen's chambers just as the King happened to be there as well.

A moment later, wind howled through the hall, and a figure crashed through the window. Steel flashed, and a blade cut straight toward the King.

"Guards! Protect His Majesty — assassin!" someone shouted.

At the cry, I didn't hesitate. I threw myself between the blade and the King.

The sword drove into my body. Pain tore through me so sharply I could barely breathe. I could even feel the small, fragile life inside me slipping away with every second...