Chapter 2 Three Months Earlier

POV: ADELE

I woke up with my hands around a throat that no longer exists.

My chest heaves in violent, ragged gasps as I bolt upright in the dark. My fingers twist blindly into the sheets, searching for the phantom assailant, searching for the slick velvet of my own bridal gown, searching for the agonizing burn of Wolfbane tearing through my digestive tract.

The taste of bitter ash and liquid copper sits heavy on my tongue. I throw my head back against the pillows, waiting for the cold marble floor of my bedchamber to press against my back, waiting for the final, agonizing cessation of my heartbeat.

It didn’t come.

Instead, the soft, suffocating warmth of a feather mattress cradles my weight. The air in my lungs does not burn; it smells richly of lavender, sweet beeswax, and the damp earth of the surrounding pine woods. Sunlight filters through tall, arched glass windows, casting long, peaceful bars of pale amber across the floorboards.

I stare down at my hands.

They are small, smooth, and untouched by the faint silver scars I received during the border skirmishes of my married life. There is no heavy, iron-forged Blackthorn wedding band weighing down my left ring finger. The skin is pale, warm, and pulsing with a steady, vibrant beat.

"Adele?"

The voice cuts through the quiet room like a bell, shattering the lingering terror of my nightmare.

I snap my head toward the doorway. Standing at the threshold, holding a fresh brass basin of clear water and folded linens, is my mother.

Luna Seraphina looks beautiful. Her dark hair is woven into the intricate braids of the Silver Crown royal line, her gray eyes clear and devoid of the hollow, wasting sickness that claimed her life during my first marriage. She wears her formal velvet gown, her posture regal and brimming with quiet strength.

My throat locks up. A strangled, breathless sound escapes my lips as I stare at her.

She is dead, my mind screams at me, every memory of my past life screaming that she was poisoned in her private solar while I was away at the Blackthorn capital. I stood beside her grave. I wept over her cold hands.

"Adele, my sweet child, what is it?" my mother asks, her brow furrowing with gentle concern as she sets the brass basin onto the side table. She crosses the room with swift, graceful steps, sitting on the edge of my bed and reaching out to press her warm palm against my forehead. "You are dripping with sweat. Did you have another restless dream?"

The touch of her warm skin against my face grounds me instantly. Her wolf scent, cedarwood and fresh rain, wraps around my senses, real and undeniable.

I swallow the lump of terror rising in my throat, forcing my hands to stop trembling. In my first life, I was a creature of open emotion, soft, naive, and instantly blurting out every fear to whoever offered a gentle hand. But if I scream that I have returned from the dead, that my future husband will bring destruction to our gates, and that traitors walk our halls, they will think my mind has fractured. They will lock me away for my own protection.

To protect them, I must conceal the truth. I must carry the weight of the future in absolute silence.

"I... I am fine, Mother," I force out, my voice raspy and unsteady, but controlled enough to pass for lingering sleep. "It was only a nightmare. A shadow in the dark."

My mother studies my face for a long, searching moment. Her thumb strokes my cheek before she offers a faint, reassuring smile. "Your father and the high council are already assembling in the lower hall. The spring trade reports require your presence before the noon hour, so do not linger too long in bed."

"I will be down shortly," I reply softly.

She kisses my brow, a lingering, protective gesture that makes my heart ache, before rising and gliding out of the chamber, closing the heavy oak door behind her.

The moment the latch clicks shut, I throw back the bedcovers and swing my legs over the edge. My feet hit the polished wooden floor, and I hurry across the room toward my mahogany writing desk.

My eyes search frantically across the scattered parchment, the leather journal, and the small brass inkstand. I grab the small, bound almanac sitting near the lamp, flipping the heavy pages until my eyes lock onto the hand-inked date at the top of the current ledger.

My breath hitches in my throat. My thumb traces the numbers three times to ensure my sight is not deceiving me.

The calendar confirms the impossible: Tristan Blackthorn has not yet entered my territory.

I am three months into the past.

Three months before the formal delegations arrive at our gates. Three months before the marriage contract is laid upon my father's table. Three months before the web of poisoned cups, missing border registers, and calculated betrayals closes around my neck.

I sink back against the wooden chair, my heart hammering a fierce, lethal rhythm against my ribs.

The Moon Goddess has given me a second chance. She has dropped me back into the quiet calm before the storm, leaving the full memory of my execution intact within my mind. My parents are alive. Silver Crown remains peaceful and strong. The shadow network has not yet struck its opening blow.

I close my eyes, taking a long, deep breath, letting the ghost of the Wolfbane poison fade completely from my senses.

Tristan Blackthorn will arrive at these gates expecting a fragile, innocent princess eager to yield her pack for the promise of love. The conspirators in the shadows will expect a blind target who swallows their lies without a single question.

They have no idea that the girl they murdered has already returned.

This time, I will not wait for the blade to drop. I will investigate every shadow, uncover every traitor, and tear down their grand conspiracy piece by piece before Tristan ever places that iron ring upon my hand.