My husband and I were the two people who hated each other most in this world. He hated me for tearing him away from the woman he loved. And I hated him because that his heart remained occupied by another woman. For eight years of marriage, the words we spoke to each other most often were not love, nor duty, but curses. Yet on the day the city fell, everything changed, the enemy banners were already visible beyond the inner gate. He rode ahead and took the road, putting his body between the enemy and my escape. “Live,” he said quietly. Then he raised his blade and did not look back. Arrows came like rain. As they tore into him, he turned his head once—only once— After that, his body held the road,and nothing passed. “If there is another life…may Your Highness grant me the mercy to belong to her.” That night, with the city in ruins and the people either dead or fleeing, I climbed the highest tower of the palace. I leapt. When I opened my eyes again, I went to the king. “The northern kingdoms require a royal bride,” I said. “I will go.” This lifetime, I will be the one to cross the border. In my previous life, he died believing he had failed her. This time, I will not allow that regret to exist. I will take the marriage meant for her. I will carry the crown meant to exile her. I will walk into a future she should never have to endure. Let her stay. Let him protect her. Let him live his life believing he has finally kept his promise.
