Chapter 2

I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was a sky of brilliant blue, and the sunlight was so bright it made my eyes ache.

I instinctively raised my hand to block the glare, but then I stopped, stunned.

I saw my hands, slender fingers, well-shaped knuckles, and smooth palms. The ugly burn scars were gone. I kept turning them over, staring at them like they were some priceless treasure.

"Charlotte?" Maggie's voice rang in my ear. "What's wrong? Why are you standing here, lost in thought?"

I turned my head and saw a young face. It was Maggie, my personal maid.

She had died three years ago. Lady Margaret had dismissed her for secretly delivering medicine to me. But now, she was standing in front of me, her hair styled in twin buns, her face full of confusion as she looked at me.

I tried to speak, my throat dry as dust. "What day is it today?"

"It's December 16th," Maggie said cheerfully. "Did you forget? The Duke of Gerinheim is throwing a party, and Her Majesty the Queen herself will be there. Lady Margaret said you have to attend too, so you'd better look your best."

December 16th. The Duke of Gerinheim was throwing a party.

I snatched her wrist. "What about the firewood storeroom? Is anything wrong with it?"

Maggie jumped at my sudden move. "The firewood storeroom? It's perfectly fine. What's got you so worried?"

I let go of her hand, feeling utterly exhausted, and leaned against a pillar in the hallway.

December 16th was the day the firewood storeroom was supposed to catch fire.

But Maggie said it was fine. So the fire hadn't happened yet?

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. I looked around. It was the back corridor of the Sinclair residence. To my left was the path to the firewood storeroom, and to my right, the gate leading out of the manor.

Everything was like it had been three years ago.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted in the distance, followed by frantic shouts. "The firewood storeroom is burning!"

It's starting. My heart seized up. Almost at the same moment, a young maid came stumbling over, her face stricken with fear. "Charlotte, Isabelle is trapped in the fire!"

She was gasping for breath, clutching my sleeve. "You have to hurry. Isabelle's inside. The door's burned down, and she can't get out."

I looked at her, feeling like it was a lifetime ago. Last time, it was those words that made me rush in without a second thought.

But this time, I glanced down at my hands, and then up at the thick black smoke rising in the distance. That phrase seemed to echo in my ears again. "You shouldn't have saved her. So meddlesome."

I slowly pulled my sleeve free from the young maid's grip.

I said, "Go tell Lady Margaret the firewood storeroom is on fire."

Then I turned and walked toward the gate on my right.

Behind me, the young maid shouted after me, her voice trembling with panic, "Where are you going? Isabelle is still..."

I didn't look back.

Outside the Gate, the carriage was already waiting. The coachman blinked in surprise when he saw me. "Charlotte, it's a bit early, isn't it?"

"Let's go," I said, stepping into the carriage and pulling the curtain down. "To the Duke of Gerinheim's Manor."

The horses' hooves clattered, wheels rumbling as we rolled forward. I pressed myself against the side of the carriage, closed my eyes, and listened to the thump of my own heartbeat.

I was alive. I got a second chance.

The Duke of Gerinheim's Manor was adorned with festive decorations, bustling with guests.

I entered through a side gate, following the maid as we wound our way through courtyard after courtyard.

Along the way, familiar noble ladies nodded at me, while servants I didn't know bowed and stepped aside. I walked slowly, each step firm and steady, as if making sure this wasn't a dream.

The party was set in the main hall, and I picked a spot where I wouldn't stand out.

In my previous life, I never made it here. I was held up by the fire, and Lady Margaret kept me at home, saying I was "not presentable." Later, I heard someone tried to assassinate the Queen, and she was badly shaken.

My chest clenched.

An assassination attempt. In my previous life, I'd only heard a rumor about it. A young lord had stepped in and stopped it before things got out of hand. But now that I was here, there was no way I'd do nothing.

My eyes were drawn to the center of the hall.

Queen Eleanor sat at the head table, dressed in royal attire, radiating elegance. She was laughing and chatting with the noble ladies around her. An incense burner was set in front of her, its smoke curling lazily upward.

I couldn't take my eyes off that incense burner. Something about it felt wrong. The smoke was heavier than normal, tinged with a strange grayish hue. As Queen Eleanor spoke, she suddenly lifted her hand to her forehead, as if she was feeling dizzy.

I stood up. The maid beside me whispered, "Charlotte, the party hasn't even started yet. Where are you going?"

I ignored her and made my way through the crowd toward Queen Eleanor. People glanced at me, some murmuring to each other, but I didn't care.

When I was a few steps away from Queen Eleanor, a thick cloud suddenly burst from the incense burner. That wasn't smoke. It was powder, a fine dust shooting right at Queen Eleanor's face!

"Your Majesty, look out!" I rushed forward, grabbing Queen Eleanor's arm and pulling her back a step. The powder barely grazed her hair and hit the floor with a sharp sizzle.

Queen Eleanor's face fell. "What is this?"

Before she could finish, a flash of cold steel sliced through the air.

Someone who looked like a maid burst out from behind the screen, dagger in hand, aiming straight for Queen Eleanor's heart. I instinctively stepped in front of her. But at the next moment, someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the side.

I fell into a warm chest. Meanwhile, he swung his leg and sent the dagger flying from the assassin's grip. The whole move was so quick and fluid, like he'd done it a thousand times before.

"Are you alright, Mother?" The young man's voice reached my ears.

I looked up and saw a tall, slender silhouette. He wore a black silk robe, a pendant at his waist glinting softly in the lamplight. He stood between me and Queen Eleanor, like a wall shielding us.

Guards stormed in, pinning the assassin down as the hall erupted in screams. The man turned, and his eyes found mine.

He was gorgeous. His features were sharp and cool, like they'd been carved from winter frost, but his lips curved with a hint of a smile.

He looked at me, and for a split second, his gaze went distant, as if he was seeing something beyond me.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone cool but curious.

I lowered my gaze and curtsied. "I'm Charlotte Sinclair, daughter of Richard Sinclair."

"Charlotte Sinclair," he repeated, as if weighing the name in his mind. "I'll remember you."

It wasn't until later that I learned he was Julian Peterson, the sixth prince.