Chapter 2

I jolted awake, gasping for breath.

My eyes swept over the carved four-poster bed, the velvet drapes, and the lute resting by the window.

Sunlight slipped through the cracks, tracing a golden line across the cold stone floor. The air smelled faintly of incense, calming and delicate.

This was my chamber at Sinclair Manor before I was wed.

"My lady? Are you awake?" The curtain lifted, and Amy, my closet maid, stepped in, carrying a copper basin.

She had a round face, her hair tied in twin buns, and her eyes curved into crescents when she smiled. "It's the Festival of Spring, my lady. Your mother said you should take a walk in the suburbs."

The Festival of Spring's walk in the suburbs... I realized something was off.

In my previous life, it was the time when I first met Edward.

That day, my carriage broke down, leaving me stranded along the road.

Edward's carriage happened to pass by. He sent someone to fix it and arranged for me to be escorted back to the city of Everton.

He wore a pale blue doublet, standing beside his carriage, and smiled politely at me.

"Miss Sinclair, I hope you weren't too frightened," he said.

His voice was warm, his manners impeccable, completely unlike the cold, aloof prince people described.

Back then, I really thought he was a genuinely good person.

Later, he came to ask for my hand in marriage, and everyone in my family was pleased.

All the princes were vying for our support, but Edward was the least remarkable. His mother was of humble birth, and he had little influence at court.

Yet somehow, he won me over.

My father asked, "Which prince do you wish to marry?"

"I choose Edward," I replied.

I thought it was my own choice. I really believed I liked him enough to pick him.

It wasn't until years after I married him that I learned the truth.

The carriage breaking down wasn't an accident. It'd been planned by Edward.

He knew my route, had someone tamper with the carriage, and appeared at the right moment. It wasn't pure chance, but a carefully orchestrated trap.

At that time, princes were scheming for influence at court. My family was powerful, and as its most distinguished heiress, I was the prize everyone sought.

All the princes wanted to marry me. Whoever gained our support would advance their position at court.

Edward wanted more than just our family's backing. He wanted me to choose him willingly.

So he played his part perfectly—gentle, thoughtful, measured in every gesture—until I found myself trusting him.

I drew a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm not going."

Amy froze. "My lady? Why not? Your mother said—"

"Tell her I'm not feeling well."

I pulled back the covers and stepped onto the cold stone floor.

The chill seeped up from my feet, waking my senses. I walked to the window and pushed it open.

The early spring breeze rushed in, carrying the crisp scent of fresh grass and roses.

In the courtyard, the old crabapple had bloomed pale pink buds, clustered like the blush on a young girl's cheeks.

In my previous life, this crabapple had been my favorite. After marrying Edward, I had crabapple trees planted all over the gardens outside my chambers.

Every spring, the gardens would bloom, but no one ever came to see them.

"From now on," I whispered to myself, "my heart won't be swayed by anyone again."

I thought if I avoided Edward, my heart wouldn't ache. If I never let myself care, I wouldn't get hurt.

But I forgot one thing. My fate had never been mine to decide.

*****

My father fixed his gaze on me.

"Charlotte, you're clever. I won't beat around the bush," he said.

He lowered his voice. "All the princes are scheming for influence. Prince Edward may seem unremarkable, but he wants our support."

"So, you mean..."

"He wants to marry you," my father said plainly. "I want to hear what you think."

I sat in silence for a long while.

In my previous life, I would've said "yes" without hesitation.

Back then, I truly believed he cared about me.

But now I knew the truth. His affection had been fake, his tenderness a performance.

But did I even have the right to refuse?

I was a Sinclair, and my marriage was never mine to choose.

When my father asked for my opinion, it was only for show.

He already knew what answer he wanted.

"I'll do whatever you decide, Father," I said quietly.

My father nodded, satisfied.

"Prince Edward may not be remarkable now, but I see great potential in him," he said, a hint of ambition in his eyes. "Charlotte, if you marry him, you'll be Queen someday."

The word "Queen" echoed in my mind.

In my previous life, I spent eight years as Queen, only to end up consumed by the flames.

Was I doomed to repeat the same path this time?