Reborn, she must learn to survive gracefully in the abyss of power.
Morning light seeped through stained-glass windows, casting mottled shadows across the bedroom carpet like silent vines, slowly coiling around her half-awake consciousness. Aveline opened her eyes slowly, every inch of her skin aching, burning, numb, and fragile—as if she'd just retreated from an endless battle. The marks between her legs—both the pain and the shameful aftertaste—refused to be ignored.
She didn't sit up immediately, instead staring at the ceiling fresco depicting war triumphs, as if the image could steady her mind. But the swords, fire, and blood in the painting felt more like a prophecy of last night. She bit her lip hard, forcing the surge of humiliation and panic back down her throat.
The space beside her was empty. The man who'd broken her with dominance and desire had vanished, leaving only a disheveled body and a mind clearer than ever.
Sitting up, she tugged the brocade quilt tight and looked down at the deep red stain on the sheets. It blazed like a rose blooming on a blade's edge—a cruel irony of fate. She'd never imagined losing her virginity in a strange world, in a bizarre political marriage.
The door creaked open, as if answering her silent fury. Lucian stood in the doorway, as cold as ever in military garb, his brows frosted with indifference. He approached the bed, looking down at her with eyes that held no warmth.
"You're awake." His voice was low and flat, like water from an icehouse—calm but bone-chilling.
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a tone even flatter than his, sharp as a blade at her throat: "You violated me last night."
His brows twitched, somewhere between surprise and amusement, before he said slowly: "You are my princess. The wedding was held, the decree signed. You belong to me."
Her throat constricted, breath hitching, but she forced herself to calm. She knew that in this world, logic and law never protected the weak—they served power alone.
Lucian's words sent a jolt through her.
"Do you think I care?" He hooked a corner of his mouth into a dangerous smile. "The real Aveline is dead. You're alive, standing here—you're a card I can play. Obey, and I'll let you live with dignity. If you don't know your place… you'll be nothing."
With that, he turned away, striding to the door as his tone turned cold again: "Dress. The queen wants to see you."
When the door shut, Aveline could almost hear her teeth grinding. She clutched the sheets until her knuckles went white. She wasn't from this world, but she couldn't go back. If so, she would live clearer and harder than anyone.
In the dressing room, maids dressed her in royal finery with practiced ease. Layers of lace and satin constricted her body, every thread a reminder of who she was now—and how to breathe, smile, and survive.
The queen's conservatory palace overflowed with blooming white roses and delicate birdcages. Sunlight poured through the crystal dome, dappling the floor in gold. Aveline stood before the throne, meeting the queen's gaze with calm eyes.
Seated on a gilded throne, wrapped in a dark robe, the queen exuded an imposing aura without anger. She studied Aveline for a moment before saying flatly: "You are not her."
Aveline neither denied nor explained, standing still like uncarved stone.
The queen's lips curved into a sarcastic smile. "The real Aveline died three days ago. The moment you woke, you became her. No one weeps for a substitute—unless you live more like her than she did."
She rose slowly, voice brooking no argument: "You must play this role. This is a marriage between nations. You aren't pleasing a prince—you're sustaining a country."
Back in her chamber, Aveline removed her gown and stepped into the bath. Warm water embraced her aching body, slowly rinsing away the humiliation and oppression lingering on her skin. Gazing at her reflection, she finally faced "Aveline's" features.
She knew this was just the beginning. The game of power had started, and she—willing or not—was now a player.
She whispered: "If I must wear her mask, I'll play her better than she ever did. I'll make them forget who the real Aveline was."
Ripples spread across the water's surface, as if offering their reply.