Chapter 3

Serena

My eyes snap open.

Above me is a canopy of pale lace- a crest of climbing roses embroidered along its edges. Its familiar- the same canopy I fell asleep under for eight years. I turn my head, and the room around me is the same. A vanity by large double French windows, a fire burning low in the fireplace, keeping the chill of winter out and the room toasty.

I know this room.

I shouldn’t be seeing it.

For a moment, I simply lie there, caught in the strange state between sleep and waking, my mind trying to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. Is this a dream? Some final vision conjured by my dying brain?

But remember dying. Yes, I definitely died.

I remember the wolfsbane burning my insides like liquid fire. What is this now?

I run a hand over my body, half expecting the movement to shed sharp shards of pain slicing and radiating through my body. I drank a vial of potent silver wolfsbane after all- but there’s nothing. No wound, no pain. Nothing. There’s a dull heaviness behind my eyes, a soreness in my throat and my limbs feel slow. But that’s all.

Which is… impossible.

Even if I had been saved by some legendary antidote, there should still be some sequelae.

I push myself upright against the pillows, and the movement drags a shallow cough out of me. No sooner had the sound left me than the doors burst open.

“Miss! Miss, are you alright?”

A whirlwind of skirts and panic sweeps into the room, and I go very still.

A young girl- sixteen or seventeen- with auburn hair coming and wide honey-brown eyes that are, right now, entirely fixed on me with worry. Freckles scatter across her nose and cheeks, and her face is flushed from running. She reaches the side of the bed and hovers there.

The air leaves my lungs.

“…Mari?” Her name comes out of me hoarse and disbelieving.

Marisol. My personal maid. She was brought to the General’s estate when I was fifteen and she was eleven, and she’s been with me ever since. When I got married and moved to the Palace, she was one of the few I could bring with me. She had died four years into my marriage. Framed and beaten to death on orders of one of the King’s Companions.

And yet here she stands. Warm. Breathing. Alive.

How?

“You scared me half to death, Miss!” Marisol fusses over me, plumping two pillows and tucking them behind my back so I can sit more comfortably. As she does, she starts up her grumbling, dissatisfaction thick in her voice. “I’ve told you before, Miss, don’t think too much about it. He doesn’t cherish you. He’s already betrayed your trust. So why do you keep hurting yourself over him and those sluts he keeps?”

She means the Companions, of course. She’s never had a kind word for any of them.

As she nags, the sense of reality sharpens and a wave of déjà vu washes over me. This has happened before. This exact scene.

This room.

These exact words.

I remember it was the third year of my marriage. Word had reached me that Cassius was bringing in a new Companion, the daughter of Viscount Belisha and a well-known belle in the capital. Even stuck in the palace, I had heard of her beauty. I had lost my mind and stormed off to confront him, only for me to trip and fall straight into the pond in my courtyard. The maids had quickly pulled me out soaked and shivering, and between the cold and my own fury, I’d fallen ill. A hot bath, then bed.

Could it be…

Marisol doesn’t notice anything strange in my silence and keeps going, insisting I could be happy even without him. “What’s even so good about him anyway-“ she cuts herself off mid-sentence, catching herself. No matter how much she dislikes him, he is still the King.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

She blinks. “…Okay?”

“I’ll listen to you.” My voice is still hoarse, but something in me has gone strangely calm. “From now on.”

She stares at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. In all the years of scolding me over Cassius, I have never once agreed with her. I have defended him and told her she didn’t understand.

Suspicion creeps into her expression, replacing the shock. Her eyes narrow, like she’s trying to figure out if this a new trick I’ve come up with it- she has every right to think so, after all, I have a history of doing this like that.

“So you won’t go find him?” she asks skeptically.

I shake my head, “I won’t.”

“What about the new Companion?” she presses.

“I won’t mind any of them from now on.” I say soothingly.

“…Truly?” she asks, saying the word slowly.

“Truly.” I reach up and pinch her round cheek, giving it a wiggle. “I’ll listen to my Mari from now on. I promise.”

“Miss!” As expected, she swats my hand away, pouting, her cheeks going pink.

Even after I became Queen, Marisol is the only person who still calls me “Miss” instead of “Your Majesty”. It's endearing, so I have just let her be.

I let my eyes drift back to the room. Every detail settling into me one by one. The disbelief in my chest gives ground to something else.

Four years. I’ve truly gone back in time to four years ago.

The Goddess took pity on me.

I still have time to fix things.

To change the fate of myself and my family.

This time- I will not make the same mistakes.

Marisol’s chatter falters, finally noticing my odd state. “Miss? Are you sure you’re alright?” worry creases her brow.

I reach out and pat the back of her hand with a smile. “I’m fine. Truly.”

“Draw me a bath, will you?”

She searches my face a moment longer, then nods. “Of course, Miss.” She dips a small curtsy and hurries out.

Alone, I let myself breathe. I sort through my memory- going through everything that happened in the previous life. Slowly, my racing pulse settles into something calmer and steadier.

A hot soak in the tub wakes me up the rest of the way. After my bath, I find a pastel blue dress laid out for me with delicate embroidery and lace trim. Pretty in an unassuming way. I look at it and shake my head.

“Not that one,” I say. “Bring me the red gown. The one from last month.”

All four of my maids go still. Rosalyn, the eldest and steadiest of them, looks faintly concerned. “Are you certain, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

Marisol’s face breaks into a delighted grin. “Yes. Miss!” she darts off and returns with it. It is a fiery red velvet gown embroidered with a darker red thread and red gems worked into the fabric. Where the blue dress had a quiet elegance about it, this one demands to be seen. The dress was made by a new dressmaker who didn’t know my preferences. When I saw it, I ordered it be sent back, but Marisol had stubbornly insisted on keeping it, so I let her store it at the bottom of the chest.

Marisol and Rosalyn help me into it and then Cordelia begins on my hair.

Marisol is all warmth and mischief; Rosalyn is mature and steady, Kara is quiet and introverted, and Cordelia is soft and gentle. These four are my personal maids who grew up with me and followed me over after I married into the Royal family. All of them are quite pretty. But Cordelia… Cordelia is simply beautiful. She possesses the kind of beauty that demands a second and third glance.

Her hands move deftly through my hair. When she finishes, she smiles. “You look beautiful, Your Majesty.”

I study myself in the mirror. “That you Cordelia. It’s lovely.” My eyes stop on her reddened fingertips, “They must be aching.”

She pauses, then shakes her head with a small smile. “It’s nothing, Your Majesty.”

I open my jewelry box and point out a set of dangling earrings and necklace inlaid with rubies. “These ones.”

Cordelia nods humbly. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She fastens them on me.

I rise to look at myself fully. The dress is striking against my skin and golden hair. The neckline is low, the sleeves off-the-shoulder and the bodice tight around the chest and waist before flaring at the hips. The rubies around my throat catch the light beautifully- the pendant resting just above my cleavage. I add only a deep red lipstick to match.

In the past, I dressed soft because I believed that was what he needed. A gentle wife. A gentle queen.

I’m done changing who I am for him.

When I turn, all four maids are staring. Marisol breaks the silence first. “I haven’t seen you dress like this in ages, Miss. It truly suits you.”

A slow smile tugs at my lips. “I think so too.”

“Let's go”, I say, already moving for the door. Marisol’s smile falters.

“…Where to?” she asks suspiciously. I can tell what she’s thinking: that I mean to storm off and confront Cassius, or the new Companion.

I don’t bother explaining. “Send word. I want every single servant in this palace gathered in the great hall.”

Relief loosens her face. “Yes, Miss!”

A knock on the door sounds, followed by an announcement.

“Your Majesty, His Majesty, the King, has arrived!”