The Princess's Second Life

Warmth.For a moment, that was all Elara felt. A strange, suffocating warmth that pressed against her skin. She flinched, expecting fire, but there was no pain. Her lungs pulled in air—sweet, crisp, carrying the faint scent of lavender. Not smoke. Not blood.Her eyes snapped openThe world above her wasn’t the soot-stained ceiling of the throne room. It was pale, carved wood, familiar in a way that stole the breath from her throat. The canopy above her bed, draped in silver curtains, looked untouched by war. She bolted upright, her heart hammering, hands clutching the sheets that weren’t soaked in blood but embroidered with the royal crest of her family.No…” Her voice cracked, raw with disbelief.She pressed trembling fingers against her chest, expecting to feel the gaping wound, the cold burn of steel between her ribs. Instead, her skin was smooth, unmarred. Her heart beat steady beneath her palm, too steady, too alive.Elara pushed the blankets aside and swung her legs off the bed.

Elara lingered long after the dining hall had emptied, tracing the rim of her goblet with one finger. The taste of honeyed cider still clung to her lips, but the sweetness sat heavy on her tongue. Around her, servants cleared platters and polished silver, their motions brisk but careful. In her first life, she had never noticed how efficient they were, how some bent their heads in silence while others exchanged quiet glances. She had been sheltered, too consumed by laughter with Kael or daydreams of her mate. Now, every detail pressed itself upon her. Whispers mattered. Glances mattered. Silence mattered.She pushed back her chair, rising smoothly. “Leave the dishes,” she said, and the servants froze, startled. “My thanks for your work.”They bowed quickly, grateful, before scattering. Elara let out a slow breath and turned toward the corridor. The palace stretched before her, its familiar halls alive with color and motion. Once, she had run through these corridors without care, blind

The palace gates had not stood this tense in years. Guards lined the walls in double ranks, spears gleaming in the afternoon sun. Banners fluttered above, the silver wolf of her family’s crest snapping in the breeze. From the balcony above the courtyard, Elara’s breath clouded faintly against the cool air. Her palms gripped the railing, hidden by the folds of her gown. She forced her shoulders back, her chin high, every inch the princess she was expected to be.But inside, her wolf clawed against her ribs.qHooves thundered beyond the gates. The Ironfang envoy rode in with banners high—black cloth streaked with blood-red sigils. Her stomach churned at the sight. The last time she had seen that banner, it had flown above her home as smoke swallowed the skies.The gates creaked open. Riders poured into the courtyard, armored and sharp-eyed. At their head rode two men.The first, she knew before she saw his face.Kieran.His dark hair was tied back, his smile easy, his posture confident

The night refused to grant Elara peace.She had tossed and turned for hours, blankets tangled around her legs, every breath catching in her throat. Sleep had come in broken fragments, each dream haunted by molten-gold eyes that watched her with a hunger she could neither flee from nor resist.Darius.Even in sleep, he was there. His voice, deep and raw, whispering her name. His presence pressing against her like heat against frozen skin. Her wolf strained toward him in those dreams, desperate to close the distance, to press into him, to claim.When she jolted awake, her nightgown clung damp with sweat. Her wolf paced furiously inside her chest, restless, whining, scratching at her ribs as if her very body were a cage.She sat upright, hand pressed against her pounding heart. “Enough,” she whispered to herself. “You will not control me.”But her wolf didn’t listen. It never listened when he was near.Because he was near.She could feel him.That invisible thread between them pulled tig

The palace gardens had always been Elara’s refuge. Roses bloomed here in perfect rows, their petals crimson and ivory, the air thick with sweetness. But today, even the flowers seemed to hold their breath, as though they too could sense the trap closing around her.“Elara!”The call was light, bright, threaded with the kind of girlish charm that made courtiers soften. Serenya, Lord Garron’s daughter, swept across the path like she belonged in a painting. Sunlight kissed her auburn hair, her gown the palest green, stitched in silver vines. She looked every inch the perfect friend—warm, generous, eager.Elara forced her lips into a smile. “Serenya.”The other girl reached her, clasping Elara’s hands with delicate fingers. “You disappeared after the banquet last night. I thought Kieran might have chased you off with his endless boasting.Her laugh was soft, teasing. Elara matched it with one of her own, though it scraped her throat raw. Her wolf stirred uneasily, claws scratching at her