The fire still hissed in the brazier, but its heat didn't touch her.

In its glow, Theron's face was carved in fury.

For a moment, she thought she imagined it.

Then his voice came—sharp as frost.

"Keep pretending. But hear this—no matter what game you play, the only one I love is Marzella."

It hit like a blow to the chest.

She couldn't breathe.

Just then, a guard burst through the tent flap.

A village nearby had been raided by Wildfolk. Marzella had led a patrol—now trapped, calling for reinforcements.

Theron's face changed in an instant.

"Grab the medical kit. You're coming."

He shot her a glance before storming out, like he feared Marzella might vanish if he took a breath too long.

The fire roared behind her.

But Vionna stood there, colder than the snow outside.

In the past, Theron had never let her near the front.

Even after battle, he kept her away from the wreckage.

Part status. Part protection. He used to care enough to shield her.

Now, for the first time, he was dragging her into a war zone.

Because Marzella might be hurt.

Vionna swallowed the ache and packed her kit.

Whatever had changed, one thing hadn't—she was still the camp physician.

Orders were orders.

She would see it through.

***

Theron rode ahead toward the village. Vionna followed, flanked by his guards.

By the time they arrived, the Wildfolk were gone. Soldiers were clearing the wreckage. Villagers wept quietly as they worked.

Theron was nowhere in sight.

Vionna didn't wait. She knelt beside the injured, hands steady as she cleaned and wrapped fresh wounds.

She hadn't even tied off a bandage when a soldier rushed up.

"Commander Morwynne's been cut. Lord Theron's beside himself—he wants you now!"

She wanted to refuse. Wanted to send someone else.

But the guard didn't budge.

So she followed.

Inside the warm house, she found Marzella curled in Theron's arms.

Only when Vionna stepped in did Marzella lift her hand—pale, delicate, bleeding.

Barely.

A shallow scratch skimmed her wrist. No blood, barely skin-deep.

Vionna frowned. This was what they dragged her from the wounded for?

Outside, men with shattered limbs still waited.

"I told him it was nothing," Marzella said sweetly. "Theron insisted you come."

When Vionna didn't move, Theron snapped, "Are you deaf?"

She looked up, lips pressed tight, then knelt and applied the salve.

"Ah—" Marzella flinched, breath catching.

"Does it hurt?" Theron leaned in, glare sharp. "Be gentle."

The warning in his eyes was clear.

He thought she was being cruel on purpose.

She didn't argue.

What would be the point?

"Theron, must you be so harsh with Miss Vale?" Marzella pouted. "It's barely a scratch. You didn't have to fuss so much."

"You're my future bride. I won't allow even a scratch on you."

They spoke like she wasn't there. Flirting openly. Shameless.

The wound was nothing—a flick of powder and it was done.

Vionna left the moment she could. Another breath in that room and she might've choked.

But Marzella wasn't finished.

Outside, Vionna bent to gather her kit—but as she turned to go, Marzella blocked her path.

"Princess Vionna," she said smoothly. "Or did I misremember?"

Vionna's brow furrowed.

Only a few of Theron's guards knew who she really was. Marzella had grown up in Stormrest—how did she find out?

Before she could speak, Marzella let out a quiet, scornful laugh.

"So this is the princess of Aurenza. Playing physician in a camp full of men. Don't you feel ashamed?"

Each word landed like a slap.

Vionna's eyes narrowed. "Aren't you in this camp too? We're both here for Aurenza's soldiers. Why say such things?"

Marzella smiled. "You and I are not the same."

Vionna didn't reply.

That tone said it all—'I'm deputy commander. You're just a medic.'

No point arguing.

She moved to leave—then froze as Marzella dropped to her knees, tears springing to her eyes.

"Your Highness, I know I shouldn't love Lord Theron! Punish me if you must, but please... spare my family!"

Vionna froze.

Behind her, a voice cut through the air.

"Marzella!"

Theron stormed past, hands shaking as he caught Marzella in his arms. Then he turned—eyes blazing.

His hand struck before reason could catch up.

Smack—

Vionna's head whipped sideways. A ringing flood filled her ears.

Silence crashed down—then his voice, hard as steel.

"So this is what you've been so quiet lately? Pulling rank behind my back?"

The blow knocked Vionna to the ground.

Pain bloomed fast—her cheek swelling, blood coating her tongue.

She reached up with shaking fingers. The moment they grazed the welt, her eyes flooded.

Theron had never struck her before. Not in this life. Not in the last.

She looked up, but tears blurred everything—just his shadow standing over her.

"My gods... Viona Vale is Princess Vionna?"

"What's she doing in a border camp?"

"I heard she chased Lord Theron for years. He was doing fine in Crownspire—until her obsession drove him out."

"If she's truly Princess Vionna... doesn't that make him her uncle? The king's sworn brother and all?"

"A disgrace to the royal house, that's what."

The voices crept from every corner, sharp as thorns.

It felt just like her wedding day in the life before.

No blessings then, either.

Only sneers.

They said she drugged him. Said she married Theron pregnant and proud.

That she trampled every rule, throwing herself at the man her father called brother.

That she was cold, cunning—that Marzella died so she could take her place.

Lies from both lives tangled in her head, buzzing like wasps.

But above it all, one voice roared through.

"Vionna, apologize to Marzella!"

She pushed herself up, cheek aflame, eyes bloodshot.

"Why should I?"

In the last life, she'd sinned. She paid. She died.

But this time?

What crime had she committed?

The wind tore through the village, sharp as blades—but she stayed standing.

She locked eyes with him.

"I won't apologize for what I didn't do."

Theron's face contorted. "You think your royal title gives you the right to bully others?"

Vionna let out a bitter laugh.

Her? Hiding behind a title?

If that were true, she wouldn't have buried her name for three years among strangers.

She'd swallowed every insult, bent under every stare—just to keep her place.

If she meant to harm Marzella, she'd have done it long ago.

But Theron wouldn't listen. His heart was chained to Marzella. Reason had no place.

Still, Vionna stood her ground.

She wouldn't bow for a lie.

"Do you want to be punished under military law?" he roared, eyes fixed on her bruised cheek.

He didn't see it.

The girl he once kept quiet and sweet in his manor—she was gone.

Before he could speak again, a voice split the air.

"Avalanche!"

"The ridge—it's coming down!"

All heads turned.

The mountain roared. Snow came crashing like the sky itself had fallen.

"Go!" Theron shouted, hoisting Marzella into his arms. In one swift motion, he mounted and galloped away, leading the retreat.

All Vionna saw was his back—vanishing fast.

The same back that once shielded her from flying arrows.

Now, that image shattered.

Like the avalanche roaring down, burying all in its path.

She was back in that final moment.

Cold sank deep into her bones.

Her heartbeat faltered. Thoughts drifted, pale and scattered.

And then—darkness.

When Vionna opened her eyes, she was back at Theron's estate.

He sat beside the bed, face tight with exhaustion.

At her stir, he finally exhaled. "You're awake."

She blinked. Was that worry?

Then the truth settled in. She was a princess. If she died at Stormrest, he'd have a hard time answering to her father.

"Marzella will be by soon," he said. "Apologize. Thank her. And stop being reckless.

"If you hadn't harassed her and stalled the group, the avalanche wouldn't have caught us. She begged the soldiers to spare you. You owe her."

He met her gaze.

"I know you still have feelings for me, but we come from different worlds. I'm nine years your senior. This—whatever you imagine—was never possible."

Vionna sank back against the pillows, her mind swimming.

Then, softly: "I understand, Uncle Theron..."

And she did.

She didn't love him anymore.

So when Marzella entered, Vionna dragged herself upright—offered the apology, the thanks.

Whatever he asked, she gave.

He told her not to return to camp.

Now that her identity was out, and the avalanche had taken lives, the blame landed squarely on her. If she returned, she'd find no kindness—only stares and sharpened words.

The rumors were already spreading.

She hadn't imagined that even with a second chance, she'd end up here again—name soiled, reputation shattered.

All she could do was hope her father wouldn't turn her away.

And pray Elsha would come.

Take her home...

But Elsha never came.

***

Vionna spent days in recovery at Theron's estate while the household buzzed with wedding plans.

No one looked her way.

She didn't care.

But the first day she felt strong enough to walk the garden path—

Someone struck her from behind.

When her eyes opened, she was tied at the edge of a cliff.

Marzella was there too, bound beside her.

Two Wildfolk stood over them, blades gleaming.

Vionna's pulse jumped.

How had it come to this?

One moment in Theron's estate... the next, a mountainside.

And Marzella—how had she survived this in the last life? Where had she gone in those vanished years...?

The wind howled through the valley, sharp and wild against Vionna's ears.

A cold thought crept in.

Marzella knew these men.

But when Vionna tried to speak, her voice crumbled. Nothing but breath lost to the wind.

Gone.

Marzella caught her confusion and smiled—thin, gleaming.

"Don't bother, Your Highness. The drug won't wear off till tomorrow. Just sit still. I'm not here to kill you. I just want to see—when it's life or death—who he'll choose."

A chill spread through Vionna's chest.

What was left to choose?

Hadn't the avalanche answered that already?

In the last life, a single lie about Marzella's death had cost Vionna everything.

Not just her life.

Lives.

Then—footsteps.

Theron appeared alone at the cliff's edge.

His eyes scanned the scene, then fixed on the Wildfolk.

"Whatever you want, we can talk. Let them go."

One of the men laughed. "Warden of the North, I didn't bring them for ransom."

Theron's gaze sharpened. "Then what?"

The brute pressed his blade closer. "Your people butchered mine. They say one of these women is your betrothed. The other—the princess you raised like blood. You can save only one. The other dies, for the honor of our dead."

He loosened the ropes just enough to send both women swaying at the cliff's edge.

Marzella turned pale. Her voice cracked.

Then she looked to Theron, weeping. "Save Princess Vionna, please! I'm only your deputy. If someone must die, let it be me.

"His Majesty won't fault you for choosing Her Highness. If I die with the baby, it's still a death with meaning."

Theron's jaw clenched.

"Let Marzella go!"

The decision struck like a blade.

The Wildfolk grinned.

Even Marzella—still shaking—let herself relax, just slightly.

They untied Marzella. She stumbled into Theron's arms, sobbing with relief.

But his gaze flicked to Vionna.

She didn't cry.

Didn't scream.

Just stared—calm. Too calm.

Something about that stillness made his chest tighten.

He'd seen it before.

A pale face in the snow. Gone before he could place it.

He shook the thought off and raised a hand to signal his hidden men.

But before the command came, weight pressed into him.

"Theron," Marzella whispered, clinging. "I thought the baby and I would never see you again..."

His arms closed around her without thinking.

Then—his eyes widened.

The rope snapped.

Vionna fell like a butterfly with torn wings, swallowed by the wind.

"Vionna—!"