Chapter 2

Gareth was jolted awake by a searing heat.

No, it wasn't just heat. It was burning, like his skin was being roasted alive, like someone was shoving his face right into the fire.

He snapped his eyes open.

All he saw was a haze of red. A brazier, glowing red-hot, sat right in front of him, flames licking at the rim, the heat blasting against his skin.

He froze.

'Where am I?' Gareth wondered.

He looked down and saw his hand. It was small, fair, the hand of a child.

He raised his hand to his face. It was smooth, flawless, with no sign of the scar that used to be there.

Outside, the sounds of battle rang out, with shouts and screams, some distant, some close. There were cries, the crackling of fire, and the clang of swords colliding.

Gareth thought, 'Tranquil Palace. This is the Tranquil Palace.'

It was the night Tranquil Palace caught fire, when he was four.

Gareth's mind reeled. 'I'm back. I really have come back to life!'

He barely had time to think when a hand suddenly landed on the back of his neck. It was so icy cold it sent a jolt through him.

"Gareth, don't be scared." It was his mother's voice.

Gareth turned and saw a face he knew by heart. It was his mother, the Crown Princess, the one he thought had been lost to the flames long ago.

Her eyes were full of tears, streaming down her face, but she didn't make a sound. She bit down hard on her teeth, her jaw clenched with fierce determination, as she pushed the back of Gareth's neck, forcing him toward the brazier.

"Mother." Gareth's voice was soft and childlike. "What are you trying to do?"

She didn't answer.

She kept pushing him, using all her strength, as if she was pouring every ounce of herself into this moment.

The brazier was getting closer, the flames making his cheeks burn. Gareth saw the red-hot coals, like wild beasts' eyes, staring him down.

"Mother!" Gareth started to fight back.

But how much strength did a four-year-old really have? He couldn't escape, not from that cold hand, not from the weight of his mother's tears.

His mother finally spoke, her voice shaking violently. "Gareth, you must live. The Valcourt bloodline can't be broken."

Then she forced him down toward the brazier.

The scorching coals pressed against his face, the crackling sound of his skin burning filled his ears, and the stench of charred flesh flooded his nose. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

The pain was so overwhelming, his whole body trembled, and everything went dark.

He could smell the sickening scent of his own flesh burning.

He saw his mother's scalding tears drip onto his burned cheek.

He heard his mother's voice, one last time. "You must live."

Then she let go of him and turned, rushing straight into the inferno.

Gareth lay on the ground, reaching out, grabbing a corner of his mother's robe. The fabric turned to ash in his palm, the ashes slipping through his fingers.

He opened his mouth, and at last, his voice broke free. "Mother!"

These twelve years in this life were even more brutal for Gareth than the last.

Because this time, he remembered it all.

He knew exactly who he was, who he needed to take revenge on, and when those enemies lurking in the shadows would make their move.

But he couldn't act too soon, couldn't be reckless, couldn't let anything slip. He had to bide his time like before, moving forward step by step.

But what Gareth wanted most wasn't revenge.

It was to go to the frozen lake to see that one person.

That winter, when Gareth was twelve, the snow was coming down hard. He stood at the edge of the frozen lake, staring at the frozen surface, his heart racing.

In his previous life, he deliberately let himself fall into the lake. He wanted to see if anyone would bother to save him, or even care if he lived or died. And then she came and dove in and pulled him out.

This time around, he didn't want to throw himself into the lake.

He wanted to stand quietly by the shore, wait for her to walk by, and then go up to her and say one thing, "Are you cold? Do you want a bowl of hot soup?"