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Semua Bab THE ARCHIVISTS PAWN: REBIRTH OF THE BURIED QUEEN: Bab 1 - Bab 10

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THE TASTE OF JASMINE AND BETRAY

Elara VanceThe smell of jasmine used to be my favorite. Now, it was the scent of my end.I lay paralyzed against the silk pillows of my marriage bed, my chest heaving as I fought for a single scrap of air. It felt as though my lungs had been filled with wet sand. I tried to scream, to lash out, to grab the heavy silver bell on my nightstand, but my body was no longer mine. It was a cage of cold, numb meat.Beside me, Caspian; my husband, my "protector" held my hand. His grip was firm, but his touch made my skin crawl. He looked down at me with eyes brimming with tears, his face a mask of perfected agony."Stay with me, Elara," he whispered, his voice cracking beautifully. "The physicians are coming. Please, my love, don't leave me."In the corner of the room, near the shadows of the heavy velvet curtains, stood Lyra. My sweet, younger step-sister. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. To anyone looking through the door, we were

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THE RED MARK

Elara VanceThe sunlight felt like needles against my eyes. I stared at Lyra; the girl who, in my memory, had just flicked the mole behind my ear while I suffocated. Here she was, four years younger, her face round with "innocent" baby fat, shaking my shoulder with a playful grin."Elara! You’re being so weird today," Lyra giggled, her voice high and musical. "Did you stay up late reading those boring history books again? You look like you’ve forgotten how to breathe."I did forget how to breathe, I thought, my heart thundering against my ribs. I forgot because you and Caspian stole the air from my lungs.I forced my fingers to unclench from the bedsheets. My skin was warm. I was pulsing with life, yet I felt like a walking corpse. I looked at Lyra’s hands—small, soft, and currently wrapped around my wrist. It took every ounce of my willpower not to scream and shove her away."I just had a nightmare, Lyra," I said. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—lighter, higher, the voice of

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THE COLD SHADOW OF THE NORTH

Elara VanceThe silence following the Duke’s departure was thick, heavy, and suffocating. My father stood frozen, his hand still half-raised in a greeting that Kaelen Thorne had completely ignored.Behind me, I could practically feel the waves of heat radiating off Lyra. Her "sweet saint" mask hadn't just cracked; it had shattered. In her mind, she was the sun that everyone was supposed to orbit. To be looked past as if she were made of glass—and by a man as powerful as the Duke, was a humiliation she didn't know how to process."How dare he," Lady Beatrice hissed, her voice a sharp whip-crack in the quiet hall. She turned her cold eyes on my father. "My Lord, are you going to allow a guest to treat your daughters with such blatant disrespect? He didn't even acknowledge the welcome."My father finally dropped his hand, his face pale. He was a man who lived for decorum and social standing. "He is the Duke of Thorne, Beatrice. He has the King’s ear and a private army that could level th

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THE SERPENT IN THE GARDEN

Elara VanceSleep did not come easily that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of the Archivist’s glowing embers or the cold, calculating stare of Duke Kaelen. But mostly, I saw Lyra’s face from the hallway—that raw, ugly hatred that she usually kept buried under layers of sugar and silk.The next morning, the palace felt different. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and beeswax, but to me, it felt like the calm before a storm.I was sitting in the sunroom, forced to endure a "sisterly" embroidery session. Lady Beatrice sat in a high-backed chair, her needle moving with aggressive precision, while Lyra sat on a stool at her feet, looking like the picture of innocence."Elara, dear," Beatrice said, not looking up from her work. "I heard a rumor from the servants. They say you were seen wandering near the West Wing yesterday. Alone."I kept my head down, my needle weaving a pattern of thorns into a white cloth. "I was looking for the gardener, Stepmother. I wante

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THE GHOST OF A HUSBAND

Elara VanceI was shivering, my teeth chattering so hard they ached, but the cold water of the well was nothing compared to the ice that flooded my veins when I saw him.Caspian de Montfort.He stood by the white and gold carriage, the afternoon sun catching the golden embroidery on his doublet. He looked exactly as he did the day he murdered me—handsome, polished, and utterly fake. In my past life, I had thought that smile was a gift from the heavens. Now, it looked like the bared teeth of a wolf.Kaelen felt me stiffen in his arms. His grip tightened, his chest a solid, warm wall against my freezing back. He didn't stop walking. He walked toward the entrance, his boots heavy and rhythmic on the gravel path, forcing Caspian to step aside or be trampled."Duke Thorne," Caspian said, his voice smooth and melodic, like a well-tuned lute. He bowed gracefully, but his eyes were darting between Kaelen’s furious face and my drenched, shivering form. "I see you have already... made a splash

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THE COLOR OF A TARGET

Elara VanceThe night before the banquet, I didn’t sleep. I sat by the window, watching the moon crawl across the sky, and thought about jasmine. In my first life, Caspian had told me it was the scent of a queen. In this life, the Archivist told me it was the scent of my grave.I wouldn't let him fill my lungs with flowers.When morning came, the household was a hive of frantic energy. Servants sprinted through the halls with pressed linens and silver platters. Lady Beatrice was in her element, screaming orders at the chefs and the decorators. But I stayed in my room, staring at the dress Martha had laid out on the bed.It was the pale pink silk Beatrice had ordered. It was soft, frilly, and made me look like a piece of candy. It was the dress of a girl who had no opinions and no power."Martha," I said, my voice steady. "Bring me the trunk from the back of the cedar closet. The one that belonged to my mother."Martha gasped, her hands

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THE PRICE OF A SECRET

Elara VanceThe morning after the banquet, the palace felt like a funeral parlor. The silence was so heavy I could hear the dust motes dancing in the light.Caspian had not been arrested—not yet. He was too well-connected for that. Instead, he had been "confined to his quarters" while Lord Valerius sent a fast rider to the King. But I knew Caspian. He wasn't a man who waited for a cage to close.I was standing in the garden, trying to calm the shaking in my hands, when a shadow fell over me."You look quite pleased with yourself, sister."I turned. Lyra was standing there. She wasn't crying anymore. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was twisted into a mask of cold, adult fury."You ruined everything," she whispered, stepping closer. "Caspian was going to take us to the capital. He was going to make us queens. And you threw it away for what? To impress a Duke who smells like blood and old iron?""He was going to kill me, Lyr

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THE ROAD TO THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

Elara VanceThe carriage wheels groaned against the gravel as we pulled away from the Vance estate. I didn't look back. I knew that if I did, I would see my father’s confused face, Beatrice’s silent fury, and Lyra standing by the well, her eyes promising a slow and painful revenge.In my last life, I had left this house in a carriage filled with flowers and laughter, headed toward a marriage that would end in my murder. This time, I was leaving in a black-armored coach, sitting across from a man who looked like he was contemplating how best to use me as a shield.The interior of the Duke’s carriage smelled of leather, cold steel, and woodsmoke. It was a masculine, suffocating space. Kaelen sat across from me, his long legs taking up most of the floor. He hadn't looked at me since we climbed inside. He was busy cleaning a small, wicked-looking dagger with a piece of silk."You’re staring," he said, not lifting his eyes from the blad

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THE HOLLOW WALLS

Elara VanceThe sound was thin, rhythmic, and impossibly sharp. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.It wasn't the sound of a branch against a window or the settling of an old house. It was the sound of a fingernail or something harder dragging slowly across the grain of the door’s outer panel.I sat bolt upright in the small bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The room was freezing now, the fire having died down to a few glowing embers. In the dim light, I saw Kaelen’s silhouette. He hadn't moved an inch from his position by the door, but I saw the subtle glint of his eyes. He was awake. He was listening."I see you, sister," the voice whispered again through the keyhole. It was Lyra’s voice—high, sweet, and dripping with a childish ma

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THE IRON GATES OF THORNE

Elara VanceThe air didn't just turn cold; it turned sharp. As the carriage crested the final ridge of the Grey-Spine Mountains, the lush valleys of the South were replaced by a world of jagged stone and eternal frost.Then, I saw it.The Iron Fortress of Thorne. It sat perched on a cliffside like a brooding bird of prey, constructed entirely of dark, basalt stone and reinforced with literal iron plates. It didn't look like a home; it looked like a warning."Welcome to the edge of the world, Elara," Kaelen said. His voice had changed. The weariness of the road had vanished, replaced by a command that felt as heavy as his armor.As the carriage rumbled across the massive drawbridge, the iron gates groaned open. Hundreds of soldiers in black-and-grey livery stood in perfect, silent formation. There was no cheering. In the North, survival was too serious for celebration.The carriage stopped in the central courtyard. When the door opened, the wind hit me like a physical blow, smelling of

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