Reborn to Rewrite the Throne
And yet—
In my previous life, when I was condemned, it was Alexander who rode from the northern border without rest, driving his horses to collapse beneath him.
He arrived too late.
He knelt before my coffin for three days and three nights, refusing food, refusing sleep.
“I failed you,” he had whispered hoarsely. “I should have stopped this marriage, even if it meant defying the crown. I should have saved you.”
I blinked away the memory.
Beside Alexander stood the second prince, composed and detached. His mother had once been the King’s acknowledged mistress, and though he was raised within the palace, he understood the limits of his claim. He neither fought nor schemed. The throne was never