The smell of Aethelgard was supposed to be roses. It was the Kingdom of Flowers, after all. But tonight, the only scent in the air was sulfur and burning flesh.

Queen Seraphina coughed, her lungs burning as she dragged her body across the marble floor of the Throne Room. Above her, the famous stained-glass ceiling—depicting the Goddess of Time—shattered, raining down shards of colored light like jagged tears.

"Your Majesty! We must leave!" a loyal knight screamed, before being cut down by the rebel soldiers swarming the doors.

Seraphina didn't scream. She was too tired. Ten years. She had spent ten years trying to be the perfect wife to King Kaelen. She had smiled when he ignored her, prayed when he went to war, and held her head high while the court whispered that the King’s heart was made of ice.

And now, at the end, she was dying alone.

Through the broken balcony doors, she saw him. King Kaelen III was in the courtyard below, his silver armor stained black with blood. He was fighting like a demon, cutting a path toward the palace. Was he coming for her? Or was he just trying to save his crown?

It doesn’t matter, Seraphina thought, feeling the heat of the flames lick at the hem of her dress. My love was a heavy burden to him. Perhaps my death will be his freedom.

She closed her eyes, clasping her hands over her chest. She did not pray for salvation. She did not pray for Kaelen.

"Great Goddess," she whispered, the smoke stealing her final breath. "If there is an afterlife, let me be selfish. Let me be free of this love. Let me rest."

The fire roared. The world turned white. Then, silence.

"Your Highness? Your Highness, wake up! It is the morning!"

Seraphina gasped, her body jerking upright.

She expected pain. She expected the searing heat of the fire. Instead, she felt the softness of goose-feather pillows and the chill of morning air.

"Your Highness, please! You cannot be late. The High Priest hates tardiness!"

Seraphina blinked, her vision blurring. The smoke was gone. Sunlight streamed through pristine, unbroken windows. She looked down at her hands. They were unscarred, smooth, and trembling.

She grabbed the wrist of the maid standing over her. "Lila?"

The maid giggled nervously. "Yes, My Lady? Are you having cold feet? It is natural to be nervous on your wedding day."

Wedding day?

Seraphina scrambled out of the bed, her nightgown trailing on the floor. She ran to the tall, gilded mirror in the corner of the room.

The woman staring back was not the tired, thirty-year-old Queen with hollow cheeks and sad eyes. It was a girl of nineteen. Her skin was flushed with youth, her hair thick and glossy, her eyes wide with confusion.

She spun around. On the dress form in the center of the room stood the dress. The Imperial Wedding Gown. White silk embroidered with thousands of pearls, the bodice threaded with real gold. The same dress she had worn ten years ago.

"The date," Seraphina demanded, her voice hoarse. "What is the date?"

"It is the first day of the Season of Bloom, Year 405," Lila said, looking concerned. " The day you become Queen of Aethelgard."

Seraphina sank onto the velvet ottoman. The room spun. She was not dead. She was back. The Goddess hadn't granted her rest; She had granted a redo.

Memories of the future—or the past—flooded her mind. The cold nights. The whispers of the nobles. The rebellion. The fire. And Kaelen’s back, always turned away from her.

In her first life, on this morning, she had been a nervous wreck. She had been so desperate for Kaelen to like her that she had tripped walking down the aisle. She had spent the reception gazing at him with puppy-dog eyes, only for him to leave the banquet early to work in his study.

I loved him, she realized, a cold calm settling over her heart. And that love killed me.

She stood up. The trembling in her hands stopped.

"Lila," Seraphina said. Her voice was different now. Deeper. Steadier. It carried the weight of a Queen who had already ruled for a decade. "Prepare the bath. Use the rose oil."

"Yes, Your Highness! Oh, you must be so excited to see King Kaelen! He is so handsome, isn't he?"

Seraphina walked to the window and looked out at the kingdom that would one day burn.

"Handsome," Seraphina repeated, her expression unreadable. "Yes. He is a very handsome statue. And I am done worshipping stone gods."

She turned back to the maid, her eyes sharp.

"Tighten the corset today, Lila. I need to stand straight. I have a Kingdom to survive."

The Great Cathedral of Aethelgard was a masterpiece of intimidation. Its vaulted ceilings were high enough to trap clouds, and the aisle was a river of red velvet stretching toward the altar where the fate of the kingdom waited.

In her first life, Seraphina had stood behind these massive oak doors hyperventilating. She remembered clutching her father’s arm so tightly her knuckles turned white, terrified that the King would find her lacking. She remembered tripping on the third step, a stumble that the court gossips had laughed about for years.

"Are you ready, my dear?" her father, Duke Vane, asked. He looked at her with calculation rather than affection. To him, she was not a daughter; she was a political asset.

Seraphina adjusted the heavy diamond tiara on her head. "I am ready, Father."

"Remember," he hissed, leaning in close, "smile at him. Look adoring. A King likes a woman who knows her place."

Seraphina turned her head slowly, her expression placid. "A King respects a Queen who knows her value. Open the doors."

The guards hesitated, then pushed the massive timber gates open.

The sound of the organ roared to life, shaking the floorboards. Thousands of heads turned—nobles in silks, knights in armor, and priests in gold robes.

Seraphina stepped forward.

She did not rush. She did not look around nervously to see who was watching. She fixed her eyes on the altar and walked with a gliding grace, the heavy train of her pearl-encrusted gown flowing behind her like a sea of milk.

At the end of the aisle stood King Kaelen.

He was breathtaking. He wore a ceremonial military uniform of midnight blue, adorned with gold epaulettes and the sash of the Royal House. His hair was black as a raven's wing, swept back from a face that was dangerously sharp. But it was his eyes—piercing, icy blue—that usually froze people in their tracks.

He looked bored.

He was staring at the stained glass behind the altar, clearly wishing he was on a battlefield or in a council meeting—anywhere but here, getting shackled to a woman he didn't know.

In my past life, that look broke my heart, Seraphina thought as she ascended the stairs. Now, it is a relief.

She reached the top step—the one where she had tripped before. She lifted her dress slightly, stepped over it with precision, and stood beside him.

Kaelen didn't turn to look at her. He kept his gaze forward, his jaw tight.

The High Priest cleared his throat, beginning the long, droning liturgy of the Union. Seraphina stood perfectly still. She did not fidget. She did not steal glances at her groom. She stood like a marble statue, radiating a calm so profound it was almost unnerving.

"King Kaelen III," the High Priest intoned. "Do you vow to protect this woman, to share your power and your heart, until the Goddess calls you home?"

Kaelen finally looked at her. He seemed to be bracing himself, expecting her to be gazing up at him with teary, expectant eyes.

Instead, he found Seraphina looking straight ahead, her face serene and utterly blank. She wasn't looking at him at all.

"I do," Kaelen said, his voice deep and baritone, though mechanical.

"And do you, Seraphina de Aethelgard," the Priest turned to her. "Do you vow to serve this man, to offer him your obedience and your love, until the Goddess calls you home?"

The wording made Seraphina’s internal lip curl. Obedience.

She turned to face Kaelen. For the first time, their eyes locked.

She didn't blush. She didn't smile. She looked at him with the clinical assessment of a general observing a fellow soldier.

"I vow to stand by the King," Seraphina said, her voice ringing clear as a bell through the silent cathedral. She deliberately omitted the word obedience. "To honor the Crown, and to serve the Kingdom, until the Goddess calls me home."

A ripple of whispers went through the front row of nobles. She had changed the traditional vows.

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Surprise flickered in those icy blue depths.

"Then, by the power of the Faith, I declare you King and Queen," the Priest announced, looking a bit flustered. "You may kiss the bride."

This was the moment. The memory of her first wedding kiss was seared into her brain—she had leaned in too eagerly, and he had barely brushed her lips, pulling away so fast it looked like he was repulsed.

Kaelen stepped forward, duty-bound. He leaned down, aiming for her lips.

Seraphina didn't retreat, but she didn't lean in. She simply tilted her chin up, offering him the bare minimum of cooperation. When his lips touched hers, they were warm, but she kept hers still, unresponsive.

Before he could pull away, she did.

Seraphina stepped back, smoothing the front of her dress, and turned to face the crowd before Kaelen had even finished straightening his posture.

"Long live the Queen!" the crowd erupted, though the applause was confused.

Kaelen stood there for a split second, staring at the back of her head. He had expected a clinging vine. He had been handed a thorn bush.

The Royal Carriage

The ride from the cathedral to the palace was supposed to be the romantic procession. The carriage was enclosed, velvet curtains drawn against the cheering crowds outside.

Seraphina sat on one side, Kaelen on the other. The silence was thick.

Kaelen unbuttoned the top collar of his stiff uniform, letting out a sigh of irritation. He glanced at his new wife. She was looking out the window, watching the city pass by, seemingly forgetting he was even there.

"You changed the vows," Kaelen said. It was an accusation, sharp and sudden.

Seraphina didn't flinch. She turned her head slowly. "Did I? I merely spoke the truth, Your Majesty. I cannot vow obedience if you order me to do something that harms the Kingdom. I assume you would prefer a partner with a brain, not a parrot."

Kaelen blinked. He had heard rumors that the Duke’s daughter was a timid, fragile flower.

"And the love?" Kaelen pressed, his voice dropping lower. "You omitted the vow of love."

Seraphina met his gaze. Her eyes were old—older than they should be.

"Love is earned, Kaelen," she said, using his given name without permission. "It is not a tax to be paid at the altar. I will give you my loyalty. That should suffice for a political alliance, shouldn't it?"

She turned back to the window, ending the conversation.

Kaelen sat back, stunned. He stared at her profile, at the sunlight catching the pearls in her hair. For the first time in his life, King Kaelen was not bored.

He was unsettled. And he was very, very interested.

The Royal Bridal Suite was a cage of gold and velvet.

In her first life, Seraphina had spent her wedding night pacing these floors. She had worn a sheer, crimson silk nightgown that made her shiver, checking her reflection every five minutes, terrified that her hair was messy. She had waited for Kaelen until the candles burned down to wax puddles. When he finally arrived at dawn, smelling of ink and fatigue, he had merely glanced at her, apologized for the delay, and collapsed into sleep on the far side of the bed.

She had cried herself to sleep that night.

Tonight, however, the atmosphere was different.

"Your Highness, are you sure?" Lila, her maid, held up the crimson silk nightgown. It was scandalous, beautiful, and uncomfortable. "This is the tradition. It is designed to... entice His Majesty."

Seraphina sat at the vanity, removing her heavy diamond earrings with a sigh of relief.

"Burn it," Seraphina said flatly.

Lila gasped. "Your Highness?"

"I said burn it. Or throw it away. I don't care." Seraphina stood up and walked to the wardrobe. She rummaged through the drawers until she found a simple, high-necked cotton nightgown. It was thick, warm, and entirely unsexy. "I will wear this."

"But... the King..."

"The King is a man of logic, Lila. He will appreciate a wife who does not catch pneumonia."

Seraphina changed quickly. She scrubbed the heavy makeup off her face, revealing her natural, pale skin. She braided her silver hair into a loose, practical plait.

"You may leave," Seraphina ordered the maids. "Extinguish the main chandelier. Leave only the bedside lamp."

"But Your Highness, His Majesty hasn't arrived yet!"

"I know," Seraphina said, climbing into the massive four-poster bed and pulling the down comforter up to her chin. "And when he does, he knows how to open a door. Goodnight."

The maids scrambled out, whispering frantically. The room plunged into semi-darkness.

Seraphina didn't wait. She didn't worry. She closed her eyes and, exhausted by the time travel and the politics, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep within minutes.

Two hours later, the heavy oak door creaked open.

King Kaelen stepped inside. He paused, his hand still on the brass handle. He was bracing himself.

He had spent the last two hours in his study, delaying this moment. He dreaded the tears, the awkward conversation, the expectation of intimacy with a stranger. He had prepared a speech about duty and patience to calm his nervous bride.

He stepped fully into the room... and stopped.

The room was dark. Quiet.

There was no pacing woman. No weeping bride in the corner.

Kaelen frowned, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the single oil lamp. He walked toward the bed, his boots silent on the thick carpet.

There, buried under a mountain of pillows, was Seraphina.

She was fast asleep.

Her breathing was slow and rhythmic. She was wearing a nightgown that looked more suitable for a nun than a Queen. Her back was turned to the empty side of the bed, hugging a pillow as if it were a shield.

Kaelen stood by the bedside, staring down at her. He felt a strange sensation in his chest.

Relief? Yes. But also... indignation?

She went to sleep? he thought, bewildered. On her wedding night? Without even waiting to greet me?

It was unheard of. It was disrespectful.

It was... perfectly convenient.

Kaelen let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He loosened his cravat and tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.

The mattress shifted. Seraphina stirred.

Kaelen froze.

She rolled over, blinking blearily in the lamplight. She saw him sitting there, half-undressed.

In the past, she would have scrambled up, apologized profusely, and tried to pour him wine.

Now, Seraphina just squinted at him. She pulled the blanket higher.

"You're late," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"I had matters of state to attend to," Kaelen said stiffly, his defense automatic.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes again. "The candles are out. Don't trip on the rug."

Kaelen stared at her. "Is that all you have to say?"

Seraphina cracked one eye open. The violet iris seemed to glow in the dark.

"Kaelen," she said, her voice dropping the formal titles again. "We are married. We will be married for the rest of our lives. We have thousands of nights to talk. Tonight, I am tired. And you look exhausted."

She rolled back over, presenting her back to him again.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty."

Kaelen sat there for a long moment, the silence of the room wrapping around him. He looked at her small form under the blankets. She wasn't asking for anything. She didn't want his body, his reassurance, or his attention.

She just wanted sleep.

For the first time in his life as King, Kaelen felt the crushing weight of expectation lift off his shoulders. He didn't have to perform tonight.

A small, genuine smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Goodnight, Seraphina," he whispered into the darkness.

He lay down on his side of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. For the first time in years, the King of Aethelgard fell asleep instantly.