The kitchens of Ravaryn Palace were suffocating filled with steam, barking orders, and the ceaseless clatter of copper pots. Elara stood hunched over a basin, her hands raw from scrubbing a pan that someone had burned beyond salvation. The scent of boiled cabbage made her stomach turn. It was a far cry from the delicacies she once ordered as Crown Princess.
Now she was just Thalia, a maid with no status and no voice.
The world she once ruled didn't even notice she was alive again.
Her fingers worked in rhythm, but her mind wasn't in the kitchens. It was upstairs, in the ballroom being prepared for the Equinox Gala. That was where it would happen. Again. The assassination of the High Priestess an event Elara had been wrongly accused of orchestrating the first time.
She would stop it this time. No matter what it cost her.
"Thalia!" barked Madam Winne, the head maid. Her jowls trembled with every word. "You're being reassigned. Report to the east wing. Now."
"The east wing?" Elara blinked. That was reserved for high-ranking nobles and foreign guests. "Why me?"
"Don't ask questions. Move."
Wiping her hands on her apron, Elara hurried through the servants' passages. The east wing was quieter than the rest of the palace, with gold-lined corridors and floor-length windows. As she climbed the final steps, a heavy weight settled in her chest.
This was her old wing. Her childhood home.
She stopped in front of the door. On the bronze plaque, etched in pristine letters: Duchess Valeblume.
Her mother.
Elara hadn't seen her since the trial. The woman had said nothing. Not a single word in Elara's defense. Not even a glance as her daughter was dragged to the pyre.
Her hand trembled as she knocked.
"Enter," came the icy voice.
Elara stepped into the room. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, landing on an ornate writing desk stacked with letters, books, and a silver quill. Behind it sat Lady Valeblume, her graying hair twisted into a perfect coil, her spine straight as a sword.
She didn't look up. "You're late."
Elara swallowed the lump in her throat. "Apologies, my lady. I'm Thalia. The new maid."
Valeblume's sharp eyes flicked up, scanning Elara's face with unnerving precision. Her fingers paused over her letter. "Have we met?"
"No, my lady," Elara said quickly, dropping into a deep curtsey.
The duchess stared for a moment longer before returning to her writing. "Fetch my correspondence from the pigeon coop. And mind the hawks one of them tore through a maid's wrist last week."
Elara nodded and backed out of the room, heart racing.
She was cracking. Her mother had almost recognized her. But not quite.
Not yet.
The pigeon tower was nestled in a narrow courtyard behind the east wing. Ivy curled up the stone walls, and the sharp scent of feathers and straw filled the air. Elara climbed the narrow ladder, careful to avoid the droppings, and retrieved the cylinder marked with her mother's seal.
But just as she was about to descend, another scroll caught her eye marked with the emblem of the Order of the Eternal Flame.
Elara froze.
The Order had been an ancient sect within the church, rumored to deal in forbidden prophecy and blood magic. Officially, they had been disbanded a century ago.
She slid the scroll from the rack and unrolled it carefully.
There were only nine words written in sharp crimson ink:
"The girl lives. End her before the Equinox."
No name. No address. But it was sealed for the Crown Prince.
She stared at the parchment, blood pounding in her ears.
They knew. Someone knew she was alive. Or at least suspected.
And they wanted her dead. Again.
Quickly, she tucked the scroll into her apron and fled back down the ladder.
In the hallway outside the east wing, she stopped to breathe. A dull panic spread through her chest, cold and tight.
Someone had eyes inside the palace. They had never waited for the Equinox to kill her they had always planned to strike earlier. Her execution had been convenient, not accidental.
And now, her time was shorter than she thought.
She turned sharply and collided with a man rounding the corridor.
He caught her elbow before she stumbled.
"Careful," he murmured.
Elara looked up into the face of a stranger. Or… was he?
He had hair as black as night, tied loosely behind his neck, and piercing green eyes with flecks of gold. A thin crescent scar traced his jaw, half-hidden by stubble. His uniform wasn't noble more like that of a mercenary dressed in court-acceptable fashion.
But it was his gaze that unsettled her.
He looked at her like he knew her.
"Apologies, my lord," she said, bowing quickly.
He didn't release her immediately. "You're not one of the usual girls," he said. "What's your name?"
"El-Thalia," she corrected, pulse spiking.
He narrowed his eyes, then let her go. "Well, Thalia. Be careful where you walk. Not all shadows in this palace are harmless."
Then he walked away, boots silent against the carpet.
Elara stood frozen.
She had never seen him before. Not in her first life.
A new player?
Or someone who had returned… like her?
Her thoughts raced as she returned to her mother's room and dropped off the scrolls, barely hearing the curt dismissal.
Back in the servant's corridor, she pulled out the Order's scroll again, tracing the red letters.
They weren't just after the High Priestess.
They were after her.
Which meant she had no time left.
She would need allies. She would need information. And she would need to be ten steps ahead.
Because this time, she wasn't the only one who'd come back prepared.
And the game had already begun.