Chapter 1

The Kingdom of Valoria

Land where wealth, influence, and power determined one's place in society.

At the heart of the kingdom stood two great dukedoms—Ravelle and Ashbourne.

Though both families held immense influence over Valoria, their strengths could not have been more different.

The Dukedom of Ravelle, ruled by Duke Alistair Ravelle, was known throughout the kingdom for its brilliance in commerce and industry. The Ravelles possessed an extraordinary understanding of business, trade, finance, and every establishment that could strengthen their family's influence.

Their merchants could turn failing enterprises into thriving fortunes.

Their advisors could see opportunities long before others noticed them.

And their minds were said to be as sharp as blades.

Among the nobles of Valoria, one fact was rarely disputed:

No other duke possessed wealth quite like Alistair Ravelle.

Yet wealth was not the only measure of power.

To the east stood the formidable Dukedom of Ashbourne, ruled by Duke Cedric Ashbourne.

Where Ravelle commanded gold, Ashbourne commanded steel.

The Ashbourne name had been built upon generations of military strength. Their lands produced some of the kingdom's finest knights and soldiers, trained from childhood in discipline, strategy, and warfare.

Their knights guarded the kingdom's borders.

Their soldiers answered the crown's call.

And their fortress stood as a reminder that no enemy would easily threaten Valoria while an Ashbourne banner still flew.

If Duke Alistair Ravelle could purchase an empire with gold, then Duke Cedric Ashbourne could defend one with an army.

Thus, the two dukedoms stood as the pillars of Valoria—

For generations, their families had remained among the most influential houses in the kingdom.

Yet, within the magnificent walls of the Ravelle estate, where wealth and elegance had always been the pride of the family, something unexpected shattered the morning's calm.

From the upper floor—

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

A woman's piercing scream echoed through the entire manor.

The servants froze.

A maid nearly dropped the tray in her hands.

The guards stationed outside the halls immediately turned toward the sound.

Even the quiet corridors of the grand estate seemed to tremble beneath the force of the cry.

"What happened?"

"Was someone hurt?"

"Was it Lady Elowen?"

Panic spread through the servants like wildfire as they hurried toward the source of the scream.

Inside the lady's chamber, however, the answer was far more astonishing than anyone could have imagined.

Because the young lady who had just screamed was staring at her own reflection in the mirror.

Her hands trembled.

Her breathing came in short, frantic gasps.

She touched her face as though she could not believe what she was seeing.

Her eyes widened.

"No…"

Her voice barely escaped her lips.

She looked around the room—the familiar curtains, the bed, the furniture she had not seen in years.

Then realization struck her like lightning.

"This… this is my room."

Her heart pounded violently against her chest.

Standing in the room she had left behind years ago.

Elowen stared at the mirror, her face slowly turning pale.

Then she whispered the words that would change the course of her second life.

"I've returned…"

Elowen remained frozen before the mirror.

Her fingers slowly touched her cheeks, then her hair, as if she needed to feel them to convince herself that she was truly awake.

But her mind refused to accept what her eyes were telling her.

How?

She remembered everything.

The chains around her wrists.

The cold, miserable room where she had taken her final breath.

She remembered dying.

Then why was she here?

Elowen stepped away from the mirror, her breathing becoming uneven.

"Am I dreaming?"

She pinched her arm.

Hard. "Ouch!"

She immediately rubbed the spot, staring at it in disbelief. "That hurt…"

Her eyes darted around the room.

Everything was familiar—the curtains, the furniture, even the small vase on the table that she had broken years ago during an argument with her father.

It was all exactly as she remembered.

Yet none of it made sense.

"Maybe I'm still dreaming…"

She closed her eyes tightly.

Perhaps this was some cruel illusion before death. Perhaps a witch had cursed her, forcing her to relive her own life as punishment.

Or perhaps someone—or something—was playing with her fate.

"What kind of witch does something like this?"

Elowen whispered, her voice trembling.

She opened her eyes again.

The room remained.

She looked down at her hands.

They were smaller. Softer. There were no scars. No marks from chains.

No signs of the years she had suffered.

She slowly clenched her fists. "This isn't a dream…"

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Then what happened to me?"

For the first time since waking, fear replaced her confusion.

Because if she had truly returned to the past—

then somewhere in this world, Julian was still alive.

The war had not begun.

And Nathaniel…

She suddenly stopped breathing.

Her engagement to Nathaniel had not happened yet.

Elowen's eyes widened.

A chance. She had been given something she never thought she would have again.

A soft knock suddenly came from the other side of the door.

"My Lady? Are you all right?"

Elowen's heart jumped.

"Yes!" she called out, forcing her voice to sound steady. "I'm fine. I just… saw something frightening in my dream."

There was a brief silence.

"A dream, my Lady?"

"Yes. Just a bad dream."

She barely finished speaking when the door slowly opened.

Her personal maid stepped inside, carrying a tray of breakfast.

"Good morning, Lady Elowen."

The maid carefully placed the tray on the small table near the window, but her eyes never left her mistress.

Elowen noticed immediately.

The worry was still written plainly across the young woman's face.

"You heard me scream, didn't you?"

The maid hesitated.

"Yes, my Lady. Everyone in the hallway heard it. I was terribly worried."

Elowen forced a small smile.

"I apologize. I suppose I was louder than I intended."

Her maid looked unconvinced.

"You looked frightened when I came in."

"I was."

"What did you dream about?"

Elowen's smile slowly faded.

For a moment, the memories returned with painful clarity.

She lowered her gaze toward the breakfast waiting before her.

"Nothing important," she whispered.

The maid continued watching her.

Elowen knew that expression.

So she reached for the cup of tea and calmly took a sip.

"It was only a dream."

But even as she said those words, her fingers trembled around the cup.

Because Elowen knew the truth.

It had felt far too real to be a dream.

Elowen remained quiet for a moment, watching the steam rise from her tea.

There was one question burning in her mind.

What year is it?

But she couldn't simply ask.

If she suddenly asked her maid how old she was, the question would sound strange. She had lived this life before. She should already know.

She needed to be careful.

Elowen lifted her eyes toward her maid and tried to sound casual.

"By the way…"

"Yes, my Lady?"

"When is my next birthday?"

Her maid tilted her head, surprised by the question.

"Your birthday? It's still several months away, my Lady."

Elowen's heart skipped.

"Several months?"

"Yes. You won't turn sixteen until the end of the year."

The teacup nearly slipped from Elowen's fingers.

Fifteen.

She was fifteen.

Her eyes slowly widened as memories rushed through her mind.

The engagement.

She remembered it clearly.

She had been fifteen when the Ravelle and Ashbourne families began discussing her future with Nathaniel.

Their engagement would come later.

And she would marry him at eighteen.

Three years.

She had returned three years before her marriage.

Three years before the life she had once thought would be filled with love.