Viviennen.
The copper taste of blood was the last thing I knew.
Rain lashed against the stone execution platform, washing away the crimson pool spreading from my knees.
Above me, the heavy iron blade of the guillotine gleamed under the gray imperial sky.
“Look at me, Vivienne.”
The voice was sickeningly familiar.
I forced my heavy eyelids open.
Standing safely beneath a royal velvet canopy was Crown Prince Julian—the man I had loved blindly, the man I had ruined my own reputation to place on the throne.
Clinging to his arm was my half-sister, Catherine, wearing the silk radiant gowns that should have belonged to Me.
“You brought this upon yourself,” Julian sneered, his eyes devoid of the warmth he used to fake so well.
“A traitor’s daughter deserves nothing less than a traitor’s death.”
“Sister…” Catherine whimpered, though venomous smirk danced on her lips.
“If only you hadn’t been so greedy. His Highness never loved a brute like you.”
I choked on my own blood.
I didn’t waste my remaining breath begging.
For five years, I had bled in the mud of the southern trenches commanding his vanguard, only to be slaughtered like cattle.
If there is a next life, I vowed silently, my heart burning with feral rage, I will burn your kingdom to ash.
The rope snapped.
The heavy iron blade rushed down.
Schlack!
I bolted upright with a gasp, clawing desperately at my throat.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped beast.
Sweat soaked my skin, and my breaths came in ragged gulps.
I expected to find severed flesh and gushing blood.
There was nothing.
My skin was smooth.
Intact.
Warm.
“Miss? Miss Vivienne, what on earth is wrong with you?”
A sharp, annoyed voice broke through my panic.
My head snapped toward the sound.
Standing by the mahogany door was Sarah—a personal maid who had died three years before my execution.
She was holding a magnificent, gold-embroidered crimson dress.
The exact gown I had worn to my formal engagement ceremony five years ago.
I’m back.
Five years in the past.
“Get up quickly, Miss,” Sarah said, tossing the heavy gown onto the bed with complete disrespect.
“The Duke and Prince Julian have already arrived in the main hall. If you keep the future Emperor waiting because of a nightmare, the Duke will lock you in the attic again.”
I stared at the crimson dress, but I didn’t see the silk.
I saw a shroud.
In my past life, I wore this fabric like a good little doll, choking for air while pleading for an ounce of affection from men who intended to butcher me.
The naive girl who begged her abusers to love her died on that execution platform.
I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the solid rhythm of my pulse.
I was a survivor now, and this time, I would be the one holding the blade.”
“Miss Vivienne! Did you hear me?” Sarah snapped, crossing her arms.
“Move your—”
Slap!
The crack of my palm hitting Sarah’s cheek echoed through the room.
The maid stumbled back, clutching her burning face, her eyes wide with absolute shock.
The submissive, easily bullied girl she knew had never raised a finger against a servant before.
I stood up from the mattress, my body trembling not from fear, but from the raw physical trauma of my memory.
My breathing was ragged, face pale as death as I glared at the servant.
“Who gave you permission to speak to me like that?” My voice was low, freezing, and dripping with military authority.
“M-Miss…?” Sarah stammered, trembling under a gaze that felt like a blade at her throat.
I walked over to the bed.
I grabbed the expensive engagement gown.
Instead of mourning the past, my mind hardened with pure survival instinct.
I would never let these people choke the breath out of me again.
With a sharp, deliberate twist of my wrists, I ripped the delicate gold embroidery straight down the middle.
The fabric tore with a loud, satisfying scream.
“Go tell my father and Julian,” I said, tossing the ruined silk to the floor.
“The engagement is canceled.”
Leaving the maid frozen in terror, I marched to my wardrobe.
I bypassed the colorful dresses and pulled out a simple, stark black riding habit and leather boots.
No lace.
No suffocating corsets.
I tied my long dark hair back into a high ponytail.
I didn’t look like a blushing bride.
I looked like a general preparing for war.
I looked out the window toward the gray sky, my teeth clenching as I prepared to face the man who had severed my head.