ONE

Ishtar woke with a gasp that tore violently from her chest.

Her body jerked upright as though dragged from drowning, lungs burning, and heart hammering so hard, she thought it might split her ribs apart. Cold sweat slicked her skin, as her fingers clawed at silk sheets, breath coming in ragged, broken pulls.

The cliff—yes… she’d fallen off. She felt the wind. Felt Poppy’s claws digging into her flesh. She remembered Pete, and how he just stood and watched.

My baby.

Ishtar wrapped her abdomen, as she curled inward instinctively, a strangled sound escaping her throat. Panic surged through her in a brutal wave as she waited for the pain, for the tearing agony, and the hollow, dead silence that followed as she fell.

But nothing came.

Instead, there was a steady warmth beneath her palms. She sucked in a sharp breath, and finally looked down. Her stomach was flat. Unmarked. There was no blood. No pain.

Her chest rose and fell beneath fabric far too soft to belong to the forest or the cliff. The air smelled wrong, not of earth, blood or fear. It didn't even smell of home, but of lavender, and something fairly sweet, like polished wood and incense.

“I… died.” Ishtar whispered hoarsely, startled by the sound of her voice. She pressed trembling fingers on her throat. There was a pulse, and it was strong, steady and alive.

She knew she had died that night. The memory was carved into her soul. So how? How was she alive? Most importantly, where was she?

Her gaze darted wildly around the room.

Clearwater homes were never built in this manner. This also was no healer’s hut. Tall windows draped in white gauze let daylight spill across marble floors. The bed beneath her was massive, carved from dark wood inlaid with intricate runes she didn't recognise. A fire burned low in the hearth, its embers glowing softly.

This was a bedroom fit for royalty.

Fear crept in almost immediately. The last thing she remembered—truly remembered—was falling. The sound of her body breaking against stone. The vow she’d made in the dark, with her last breath, to live. To make them pay.

And after that…

A face with the deepest darkest eyes she’d ever seen. It watched her with an intensity that had cut through the pain.

There was his voice, and that name.

Lillia.

Ishtar’s brow furrowed. Lillia? That wasn't her name.

Ishtar swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet met cool stone. Grounding her slightly. She stood too easily. No dizziness or weakness, there was also no familiar tremor in her limbs.

If the sound of her voice was strange, this sent a sharp jolt of unease through her. She took a cautious step forward, then another. Her body responded instantly. Smooth and strong.

There was no pain, no sickness. She staggered towards the door, needing answers and air, but a glint of silver in the corner of the room caught her attention. A tall mirror stood between two columns, its surface shone with the lights.

She froze.

Slowly, as though moving through water, Ishtar turned to face it. The woman who stared back at her was not the one she had known all her life.

“This isn’t—” Her breath left her in a silent rush.

Silver hair spilled down her back in soft waves, luminous even in the muted light. Her skin was pale, untouched by scars or sickness, her features sharp and striking in a way that stole breath. But it was the eyes that rooted her to the spot.

Silver.

It wasn't the stormy grey she had been born with. Her eyes were silver like the moonlight on steel, matching perfectly with her hair.

“What…?” She lifted a trembling hand. When the reflection did the same, her knees buckled. A sharp, blinding pain slammed into her skull without warning, and suddenly, she was not alone in her mind.

Images flooded her!

A beautiful girl standing on a balcony, staring at a kingdom she did not love. She felt the warmth of a palm on her cheek—a lover? She felt the pain of a forced goodbye. She saw a cold ceremony, vows spoken without warmth. A crown placed upon her head like a shackle.

Then, there were those eyes. When she first saw it, they were gentle, but this time, they watched her with indiffrence.

This was a loveless marriage. Like me, this body had been betrayed by her family and forcibly separated from her lover, because of power and ambition. This body was filled with hatred for the man with dark eyes; hatred for herself and her family.

When the images of suicide appeared, Ishtar screamed. She could feel the pain and emptiness of death. She could feel everything the owner of this body felt until her last breath.

She crashed into a vase, staggering backwards. Her shoulders struck the bedpost as she dropped to her knees, clutching her head. Her memories and the body’s memories tore through her head like wildfire.

Lillia. That was her name. She was a highborn princess, a foreigner in a strange land, a Luna, Queen to an Alpha King she never loved. Betrayed. Used. Discarded.

One thing was certain, the owner of this body was dead and gone, and she had taken her place. She was dealt a cruel fate, coming back to the same reality. However, she was reborn, and even though she did not know how, unlike the previous owner of this body, she will not follow the same path.

Fate had given her a second chance, and she would not take it for granted. So, until she fulfilled her one goal, she would wear this facade and become someone else. As long as she could exert her revenge and destroy her enemies, she would gladly become Lillia.

“My Lady”

“Queen Lillia.”

Lillia’s head snapped up as the doors burst open. Two women in pale gowns hurried in, faces etched with alarm. Behind them stood armed guards, their expressions wary.

Queen? The word sent ice down her spine.

“Don’t touch me!” Lillia scrambled backwards, panic clawing at her chest. She pushed herself upright and bolted towards the far side of the room.

“My lady, please—”

“Stay away!” Her heart pounded wildly as she darted past them, bursting through an adjoining door without thought, but she collided hard with a solid wall of muscle and heat. Strong arms caught her before she could fall.

Lillia froze up instantly. There was something dangerous in his scent; leather, ash and something deeper that tightened her chest before she realised she was holding her breath. When she looked up, her gaze met dark eyes staring down at her; deep, endless, and far too familiar

The face from her waking moments. The man from the previous owner’s memories.

Alpha King Regaleon of Clan Wolfsbane.

This body’s mate.

His grip tightened slightly, not painful, but unyielding. His gaze narrowed, searching her face with sharp intensity, as though trying to peel her apart layer by layer.

“What are you doing?” he said coldly.

Lillia’s breath hitched. Fear, fury, grief; all of it tangled violently inside her. She shoved at his chest with a strength that startled even her.

“Don’t touch me,” she said hoarsely. The impact barely moved him, and it was rather Lillia that was pushed back.

The room dropped into a suffocating silence.

Regaleon looked down at where her hand had pressed against him, then back at her face. Slowly. Deliberately. His mouth curved, but it was not into a smile, it was something sharper. Meaner.

“So,” he said, voice smooth but cold as ice. “You woke up, and decided to throw yourself into oblivion like a melodramatic fool.”

His gaze raked over her, unkind, indifferent, assessing, like she was a damaged possession.

“I marry you to secure alliances, silence borders, and strengthen my claim,” he continued calmly, “and you repay me by trying to splatter yourself against stone? Just how stupid are you?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you have any idea how inconvenient that is? I thought foreigners were more sensible.”

Lillia’s jaw tightened. She met his stare head-on, silver eyes blazing. “I don’t belong to you,” she said. “And I don’t owe you my life.”

That did it.

Regaleon’s expression hardened fully now, irritation flashing openly. His hand shot out seizing her wrist, grip firmly and unyielding.

“You belonged to me the moment you were dragged into my bed and crowned beside me, consort,” he said coldly. “And don’t mistake my restraint for mercy.”

He released her abruptly, as if touching her further offended and disgusted him

“You don’t get to die,” this time he smiled, his gaze darkening even more. “Not when I haven’t finished using what you represent.”

Consort? Lillia’s heart thumped loudly. Her body went hot with anger and frustration. The way he talked and looked at her in ridicule as though she was beneath him infuriated her

So, that was why she jumped. I see it now. She laughed bitterly, utterly unimpressed. I, too, wouldn't want to be with such a person, even if I died.

He turned sharply to the guards and handmaidens behind Lillia.

“Take her back inside,” he ordered. “Wash her. Dress her. Make her presentable.” As he spoke, his gaze snapped back to Lillia. “You will be watched at all times,” he continued. “If you so much as breathe the wrong way, I will kill you.”

The guards moved instantly, positioning themselves by the doors, but Regaleon was not done. He stepped closer one last time, towering over her.

“You will live,” leaning to whisper into her ears, he said. “You will smile. And you will stand beside me as my Queen.”

When he straightened, his eyes burned into hers. “And you will never embarrass me like that again.”

Only then, did he turn away; dismissive, leaving Lillia standing there, chest burning with rage, hatred settling deep and permanent in her bones.

She understood now. Exactly why the previous owner of this body chose death, and exactly why Regaleon would one day regret keeping her alive.