Ariella's skin still tingled where Cassian's fingers had brushed hers.
He guided her across the marble floor with fluid precision, every step perfectly timed, as though they had danced together in another life. His grip was firm but not controlling. His presence unnervingly calm.
She had danced with men who wanted her attention.
She had danced with men who wanted her dead.
But never with one who seemed to already know both.
"You speak in riddles," Ariella said under her breath as they moved past a row of watching nobles. "Why did you say I've been rewritten?"
Cassian's lips didn't move, but his voice reached her like a private thought. "Because you have. Look closer, Ariella. Not everything that looks familiar is the same."
Her pulse fluttered. "What are you?"
"Not your enemy," he said, then leaned in closer, "but certainly not your savior either."
The music shifted into a slower waltz. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold—just slightly. Not enough to be inappropriate, but enough to remind her that she wasn't in control of this moment.
"You've changed," he said, studying her face. "Sharper eyes. Steadier breath. Less… naive."
"That's what happens when someone drives a blade through your heart," she replied flatly.
Cassian chuckled, low and quiet. "Good. Keep that edge. You'll need it."
Their dance ended as the orchestra quieted. Cassian stepped back and bowed. "Until our next meeting, Lady Ariella."
Before she could reply, he disappeared into the crowd like mist.
Thalia appeared beside her a heartbeat later. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No," Ariella said slowly. "But I'm not sure he didn't leave a bruise anyway."
Thalia gave her a puzzled look.
Ariella lifted her wrist. "Something's marked me. Look."
But there was nothing now. Just smooth skin and her bracelet glinting in the light.
She swore it had been there—a faint glowing symbol—but now it was gone.
"I think he knows," Ariella whispered. "About everything. My death. My return."
"And if he does?" Thalia asked, voice tense.
"Then I need to find out what side he's on."
Before Thalia could speak again, a voice cut through the crowd behind them.
"Lady Ariella. I believe I owe you a dance."
Leander.
She turned slowly.
He stood there, dressed in royal black and silver, his crown glinting beneath the chandeliers. He held out a gloved hand, his smile sharp as a blade.
Every instinct in her screamed to refuse.
But the ballroom was watching.
And Ariella was no longer just a girl seeking revenge—she was playing a role now.
She gave him her hand.
As they stepped into the center of the floor, the musicians began again, and the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Leander moved with flawless grace, like he was born to dance under scrutiny. But his eyes never softened.
"You're reckless," he said.
"I'm alive," she replied.
"For now," he said quietly. "But if you keep poking at things you shouldn't, that may change."
"I should've died once already," she said. "Maybe the second time will be more satisfying."
His jaw tightened.
"I won't protect you again," he said. "Don't expect kindness."
"I'm not," she said coolly. "I'm expecting you to slip. You always do."
They turned in sync, the tension between them masked by the elegance of their movements.
"I heard you've taken an interest in our newest advisor," Leander said after a beat. "Cassian Vale."
"He took an interest in me," Ariella replied. "Should I be worried?"
"Yes," Leander said. "But not for the reasons you think."
He released her at the final note of the song, bowed stiffly, and walked away without another glance.
By the time Ariella made her way to the balcony for air, her head was spinning—not from wine, but from the dance of lies around her.
She leaned against the railing, breathing in the night wind. Below, the royal gardens glowed softly under moonlight. Somewhere in the shadows, she could still feel eyes watching her.
And not just Leander's.
Cassian was playing a long game.
But was he setting her free—or setting her up?
She turned back toward the ballroom—and nearly collided with a young page.
"Lady Ariella!" the boy gasped, nearly dropping the tray of letters he was holding. "Forgive me!"
She steadied him. "It's alright."
As she helped him gather the scattered letters, one envelope stood out.
It was sealed in black wax.
And it bore no name.
Just a symbol.
A serpent eating its own tail.
Her heart lurched.
That same mark—she had seen it before. Not just earlier tonight on her wrist… but in the last days of her first life.
The Red Cycle.
She broke the seal and opened the letter with trembling fingers.
You have twenty-four hours. Find the hidden ledger in the East Wing archives. Room 314. Do not tell anyone. Do not trust Vale. Do not trust Leander. This is your last chance to break the pattern. Or die repeating it.
Ariella folded the letter quickly and tucked it into her bodice.
The game was accelerating.
And someone—maybe more than one person—wanted her to uncover something before it was too late.
She found Thalia near the refreshment table. "I need you to distract the guards near the east corridor. I'll slip out during the toast."
Thalia didn't question her. "How long will you need?"
"An hour."
"I'll buy you two."
—
Later that night, long after the ballroom had erupted into drunken laughter and performances, Ariella slipped through a servants' hallway and made her way to the East Wing.
The archives were silent.
Dust floated in the torchlight, and rows of shelves towered over her like grave markers.
She counted the doors as she passed.
312…
Room 314.
It looked like any other door—plain wood, no decoration. But when she touched the handle, it shocked her like a pulse of lightning.
A warning.
Still, she opened it.
Inside, the room was pitch black.
She stepped in.
The door slammed shut behind her.
A single lantern flickered to life in the far corner.
And someone stood in its glow.
Tall. Hooded.
She couldn't see their face.
But their voice sent a chill down her spine.
"You're too late," they said.
Ariella froze. "Who are you?"
The figure held up a charred piece of parchment.
"The ledger is gone."
Her chest tightened. "What do you mean it's gone?"
"Burned," the figure said. "Destroyed. But the names… the sins… they're already moving again. You still don't see the full picture."
She took a step forward. "Then show me."
The figure turned their head, as if listening for something in the distance.
"You're not ready. But you will be. When the blood moon rises, remember this: your death was just the prologue. The true story hasn't started yet."
The lantern blinked out.
And the room was empty.
Ariella turned back, heart thudding—and this time, when she opened the door, Cassian stood on the other side.
He looked… disappointed.
"I warned you not to trust anyone," he said. "And yet you keep walking straight into traps."
She stepped past him, fists clenched. "What do you want from me?"
"The truth," he said quietly. "And whether or not you're ready to wield it."
She opened her mouth to respond, but behind him—a flicker of movement. A shadow darted across the hallway. Too fast to follow.
Cassian turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
"I suggest," he said in a low voice, "you sleep with a dagger under your pillow tonight, Lady Ariella."
She met his eyes. "I already do."
Cassian nodded once.
Then vanished into the corridor like smoke.
Behind her, the door to Room 314 creaked shut again on its own.
And this time, there was no handle left to open it.