Chapter 1
I transmigrated as the princess offered to The Tyrant, Alexander Blackwell, for a political marriage.
That very night, I dropped a bombshell. "Your Majesty, in three years, you'll be poisoned by your favorite consort."
He pinched my chin, a cold smile on his lips. "You're the seventh to say that."
Then he led me to the crypt. Six crystal coffins stood there, each containing a woman who looked eerily similar to me.
On each coffin lid, there was an inscription.
[Transmigrator One, died because she talked too much.]
[Transmigrator Two, died for being too smart for her own good.]
Alexander traced his fingers over the sixth, empty coffin, his gaze locking onto mine. "You're Number Seven."
*****
When I transmigrated as Ravenland's princess, sent to marry Alexander, I was marching straight toward my doom.
Brian Hoffman, the envoy escorting me, looked like he was mourning already.
His voice trembled. "Princess Sophia, His Majesty is ruthless. The first six princesses... none survived more than three days. Pray for yourself."
I clutched the sleeve of my wedding dress, saying nothing.
My mind raced, frantically trying to remember every plot twist from that trashy web novel, The Tyrant's Consort.
The Tyrant, Alexander Blackwell, took the throne at twenty-five. In just three years, he slaughtered his brothers, crushed the six kingdoms, and ruled the world.
But by chapter three, he was poisoned by his favorite consort, Isabella Frost. His death was so humiliating and sudden.
And now, I was the seventh princess sent for a political marriage.
I was also the last one.
Ravenland was out of princesses to send.
All six before me were dead. No one knew what happened to them.
Brian kept warning me, "If His Majesty asks about the previous princesses, whatever you do, don't admit you know them."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because," Brian whispered, "each of them claimed to be The Chosen One who could see the future."
"And then?"
"And then, every single one of them ended up dead."
My fingers trembled.
They could see the future?
They were all Transmigrators?
"We're here," Brian said, his voice trembling. "Princess Sophia, please."
I looked up.
The black palace loomed before me, like a beast crouching, mouth wide open, waiting to swallow me whole.
I took a deep breath and walked inside.
The hall was shrouded in darkness, with only a handful of candles flickering weakly.
A lone figure lounged on the throne, clad in black robes, his forehead resting on his hand as if he were half-asleep.
"Princess Sophia of Ravenland pays her respects to Your Majesty," I said, giving him a curtsy.
There was no response.
I stole a glance upward.
At some point, he'd woken up and was gazing down at me.
The candlelight caught half his face, accentuating his sharp nose, lips sharp as a blade, and eyes chilled to the bone.
"Look up," he said, his voice low and raspy, still laced with sleep.
I lifted my head and locked eyes with him.
He stared at me for what felt like an eternity.
My knees started to ache.
"You resemble the previous six," he said suddenly.
My heart skipped a beat. "Your Majesty."
"Rise." He gestured. "Come closer."
I stood up and approached the dais.
He bent down, gripping my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze. "Tell me, what makes you different?"
"I..."
"All six before you claimed they were special," he cut me off, his thumb pressing firmly against my chin.
"The first one said she could make gunpowder.
"The second claimed she could wipe out epidemics.
"The third said she could make the fields yield a thousand pounds per acre.
"The fourth boasted she could foresee disasters.
"The fifth insisted she could talk to ghosts and gods.
"The sixth swore she could become immortal."
With every word he spoke, my heart sank a little deeper.
"And then what?" I heard my own voice, dry and trembling.
"And then?" He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "They all died. Because they were all lying to me."
He released my chin and leaned back in his chair. "Now, it's your turn, Princess Sophia.
"Tell me, what makes you special?"
The hall fell dead silent.
A candle flickered, popping with a tiny flare.
I met his gaze, enunciating every word. "Your Majesty, in three years, you'll be poisoned by your favorite consort."
His eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"It's Isabella Frost.
"She mixes a slow-acting poison into the elixirs you take every day.
"Three years from now, the poison will take your life.
"After you're gone, Aetherion Kingdom will fall into chaos, the six kingdoms will claw their way back to power, and the world will be thrown into the wars again.
"That's the fate that awaits you."
I held mine, waiting for his reaction.
Shock? Anger? Demands? None of that.
He watched me quietly, his gaze unreadable.
Then, he gave a faint laugh. "You're the seventh to say that."