Chapter 1

My sister and I were both reborn on the very day the marriage pacts were to be chosen.

In our previous life, she was the one who married Adrian, the Black-Armored Duke whose reputation for cold brutality struck fear into all. She endured his indifference until she was cast out and sent back to the Vere family in disgrace. I married Lucian, the White Knight, gentle and gracious as carved jade. I wore the Duchess's coronet and became the envy of all.

She was consumed by jealousy, convinced I had stolen her true love. So she killed me.

And so, this time around, she rushed ahead of everyone else, personally tying the white stag ribbon that represented Lucian, shoving the Black Wolf that everyone feared straight into my path.

She was certain she had seized the glory that was meant for me. She had no idea that the dazzling life of a Duchess had cost me endless drug trials, prolonged captivity, and countless escape attempts that nearly killed me.

The moment Lucian leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, I heard his icy thought. [Which drug should I try tonight that won't leave marks?]

My sister was still basking in the thrill of her conquest.

She thought she had stolen my golden life. She had no idea that what she was clutching so tightly was the very hell I had spent my entire previous life fighting to escape.

Chapter 1

The runaway horses dragged the carriage hurtling toward the gorge. Rosalyn's fingers clamped around my wrist, her nails digging deep into my flesh. Her face was white as paper, but there was no fear in her eyes, only the savage satisfaction of someone who had won.

The carriage slammed into the mountainside, and the crack of shattering bone reached my ears before anything else.

"Elena." Her breath came in ragged gasps, but her smile was cold and cruel. "In this life, don't even dream of being Duchess."

The next second, the carriage plunged off the cliff.

I bolted upright on the prayer room bench, my palms pressed flat against the cold stone floor. Outside, the bells rang out and nuns hurried through the corridors. One hour until the Twin Rose Oath Ceremony.

The spot where the old needle marks dotted my wrist still throbbed with a dull, bruised ache.

In my previous life, Lucian always rolled up my sleeves with that warm smile of his and pushed a vial of blue liquid into my veins. He told me it was just something to calm my nerves. By the end, I couldn't remember what I had written, couldn't remember who I had seen. Everything about my past had to come from his lips.

The prayer room door swung open.

Rosalyn walked in, lifting the hem of her skirt, her face a perfect display of sisterly concern.

"You look awful. Are you scared about marrying Adrian?"

Her lips said nothing more, but the voice inside her head came crashing into mine, crystal clear.

[This time, the White Knight Lucian will be mine.]

I looked up at her in silence.

Rosalyn had been reborn too.

She believed my previous life of wealth and glory had all come from Lucian's protection. She believed that Adrian, the Black-Armored Duke rumored to be cold and savage, was the one who had ruined her life and sent her crawling back to the Vere family. She had no idea that every jewel Lucian gave me was an invisible chain, nothing more than pretty wrapping put on display for the world to admire.

In the corridor by the window, a tall figure in black armor flickered past. The hem of his heavy cloak was damp with the cold rain of the northern lands. His profile was sharp and severe, handsome, but radiating the kind of presence that warned everyone to keep their distance.

The thoughts of passersby buzzed around me in a constant, noisy stream. But this man was like a sealed well. I couldn't hear a single thing.

Adrian Hawthorne.

The one man I never managed to see through, not even by the time I died in my last life. The same man my sister had schemed so hard to steal.

Rosalyn looped her arm through mine, her smile warm and harmless. "Come on, dear sister. Today, we both get to pick ourselves a good husband."

I watched her quietly, not exposing her true thoughts. In both this life and the last, she was always this single-minded about taking what she wanted, even if it meant killing me.

If she was so desperate to have it, then let her. Let her take everything she believed was the best.

Chapter 2

Two crested shields hung high in the Hawthorne family hall.

Lucian stood before the White Stag shield. He wore a silver-white ceremonial suit with golden hair falling to his shoulders, and even the way he bowed to the bishop looked as precisely composed as a painted portrait. On the other side, the space beneath the Black Wolf shield was empty. Adrian hadn't even removed his armor. He stood at the far edge of the crowd, utterly out of place among the festivities.

The bishop finished reading the lengthy vows, and Rosalyn immediately stepped forward to tie the red ribbon tightly around the white stag's antler.

"I choose Young Lord Lucian." She lifted her chin, her voice ringing clear. "He is kind and gentle, the sort of man who truly knows how to treat his wife."

Lucian bowed and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand, his smile so perfect not a single crack showed.

[Pretty and docile. Perfect for keeping in a cage.]

The shadows of my previous life hung so heavy that in this one, just hearing his thoughts made my stomach churn and sent a chill crawling across my skin.

Baron Vere leaned in from the side, impatient. "Elena, it's your turn. Don't keep the Hawthorne heir waiting."

Every guest in the hall was staring at me. They were all waiting to see me cry, waiting to watch me tremble in fear of Adrian's fearsome reputation, waiting for me to admit out loud that my sister had stolen the match that should have been mine.

I lifted my skirt and walked, step by step, to the Black Wolf shield, tying the red ribbon firmly in place.

Adrian finally raised his eyes to look at me. His irises were so dark they were unsettling, like the surface of the North Sea churning before a storm.

"Do you understand what tying that ribbon means?"

"I do." I met his gaze. "It means I chose you."

He stared at me for a long moment without asking why.

Behind me, Lucian slipped the White Stag ring onto Rosalyn's finger, and another idle thought drifted into my ears.

[Which drug should I try tonight that won't leave marks?]

Rosalyn gazed at her new husband, her eyes brimming with happiness.

She had just shoved me away from the edge of hell, and in the very next breath, she had thrown herself in headfirst.

Chapter 3

At the banquet, a flock of noblewomen crowded around Rosalyn, showering her with compliments. She deliberately raised her glass toward me in a distant toast, her look clearly saying: See that? I'm the one who won.

I looked down at the red wine swirling in my glass as memories from my previous life surged through my mind.

In our previous life, it was Rosalyn who married Adrian. Day after day she complained that her husband stayed stationed in the north and refused to come home, that he wouldn't let her set foot in the war tower, that he wouldn't show her a shred of affection. After the guards barred her from the tower door, she went around weeping to anyone who would listen about how the Black Wolf Duke mistreated his wife.

By contrast, I married Lucian, whom everyone praised. The world saw him playing the harp for me, gifting me precious gemstones, taking me for walks by the sea. No one knew he had intercepted all my correspondence. No one had seen the leather straps on the stone bed in the hidden chamber, or the syringes that stole my sanity one by one.

On the night of the First Frost Feast, Adrian suddenly collapsed from poison and died. Lucian, as the sole remaining Hawthorne heir, seized control of the entire domain, and I became his most convenient test subject.

Later, Rosalyn was sent back to the Vere family on a flimsy excuse. When she saw me wearing the Duchess's coronet, she became convinced I had stolen her life. So on the mountain road, she sabotaged the carriage axle and dragged us both over the cliff.

In this new life, I would never again place my fate in any man's hands. I wanted wealth, an estate of my own, a freehold charter in my name alone. Once I saved enough silver marks, no one in this world would ever cage me again.

A sudden commotion broke out at the banquet. Sir Rowan strode into the hall and placed a military dispatch in Adrian's hands. As Adrian read it, his expression darkened instantly.

"North Bridge has been attacked."

He looked at me, his tone flat and even. "I may not make it back for the wedding."

Rosalyn could barely contain her smirk.

But I remembered clearly from our previous life that the supply route through North Bridge had nearly been severed. Adrian wasn't abandoning his new bride out of cruelty. He was defending the entire Hawthorne domain from disaster.

I nodded. "You should go protect your lands."

Adrian seemed surprised by my response. He was silent for a moment, then said, "I'll come back."

Once again, I couldn't hear a single thought inside his mind.

Yet for some reason, I was willing to believe that promise.

Chapter 4

On the wedding day itself, Lucian personally escorted Rosalyn into the hall. The floor before the White Stag shield was carpeted with flowers, and cheers and laughter filled the air. In stark contrast, the Black Wolf altar stood vast and empty, with me as the sole bride standing there all alone.

"Looks like the Hawthorne heir genuinely despises the Vere girl," someone whispered behind cupped hands.

Rosalyn clung to Lucian's arm and deliberately raised her voice. "Thank goodness my Lucian would never abandon his new bride at the altar."

I ignored her provocation and signaled to Rowan, who displayed the military orders from the front for all to see.

The Black Wolf family's wax seal was stamped clearly on the parchment: enemy cavalry had burned supply wagons at North Bridge, and the heir had personally led his riders to hold the mountain pass.

"Adrian didn't abandon this wedding. He is defending Hawthorne's supply lines." I addressed the entire hall. "Today, let all our prayers go first to the soldiers bleeding at North Bridge. If any of you truly value this alliance, consider donating a cartload of grain."

The hall fell silent. No one spoke.

I had the attendants bring out a donation ledger. Baron Vere, unable to bear the embarrassment, was the first to write down a contribution. One by one, nobles eager to curry favor with the Hawthorne family followed suit.

The very people who had been mocking me for being abandoned by my husband were now all signing up to donate grain.

The Dowager Duchess Beatrice studied me for a long time, then instructed her servants to move the heir's empty high-backed chair to my side.

"The Hawthorne seat should not sit empty."

The smile froze on Rosalyn's face.

Before the household key ceremony began, she passed by me, pretending to straighten my cloak, her fingertips ice-cold.

[The key to the restricted armory is already hidden inside her cloak.]

I lowered my gaze, taking everything in.

My sister still hadn't learned one simple lesson: when you're setting a trap, don't be so eager to leave your own fingerprints behind.

Chapter 5

After the evening feast came the ceremony where the new brides received the household keys. Each room had its corresponding key: the general storeroom, the silverware room, the apothecary. But the black iron key to the restricted armory was to remain solely in the heir's hands, as tradition dictated.

Rosalyn spoke first, her tone carefully hesitant. "When my sister was changing earlier, I think I saw something fall out of her cloak."

The words were delicate, but her gaze locked onto me, making it perfectly clear she intended to frame me for hiding the armory key.

I didn't rush to defend myself. I turned to the maid on key duty and said calmly, "By custom, both brides' ceremonial cloaks should be returned to the coat-of-arms rack. Why not bring them both out for inspection, so we can all clear our names?"

A flash of panic crossed Rosalyn's eyes.

She hurried to her own cloak, the one with the white stag crest, and reached into the inner pocket. When the heavy black iron key emerged halfway, Beatrice had already seen it plain as day.

The entire hall went silent.

"I, I was just—" Rosalyn's face turned ashen as she scrambled for an explanation.

"Just making sure the key was safe." I finished her sentence for her, then turned to the maid. "Bring out the key registry and check the seal records."

The registry was perfectly clear. That afternoon, someone had used a forged White Stag Wing authorization to take the armory key without permission. The maid on duty crumbled under questioning and fell to her knees, confessing that Rosalyn had bribed her with gold coins.

Lucian stepped forward and took Rosalyn's wrist, his outward demeanor warm and impeccable.

"She was simply worried about her sister. A momentary lapse in judgment, that's all."

[Can't even hide a single key properly. What a fool.]

Rosalyn couldn't hear what he was actually thinking. Believing her husband was wholeheartedly defending her, her eyes reddened with emotion.

Beatrice, her expression cold and stern, removed the jeweled belt from Rosalyn's waist and announced that her entire seasonal allowance was revoked and her high table privileges stripped.

Late that night, the door to the bridal chamber opened.

Adrian walked in, drenched in rain and carrying the faint scent of blood. The first thing he saw was that I had bolted the connecting door between the main bedroom and the side chamber.

He stood outside the door and asked, "Why do you want separate rooms?"

Chapter 6

My palms were slick with sweat. I said it plainly. "I don't want anyone touching me. At least for now, absolutely not."

Adrian didn't lose his temper. He slowly removed his iron gauntlets and set them on the table, settling in as if preparing for a proper negotiation.

"Then what kind of marriage do you want?"

Since being reborn, I had turned this question over in my mind countless times.

"Separate chambers. In public, we maintain appearances for each other and for the Hawthorne name. I want access to the treasury office and management of one estate. After one year, if we still haven't consummated this marriage, you will cooperate with me in filing an annulment with the bishop."

He studied me for a long time. "Any other conditions?"

"No."

"I do," Adrian said. "No one is allowed past your bedroom door. Including me. In exchange, you will not use the Hawthorne name to covertly support a rival house."

I never expected him to take the deepest fear in my heart and write it into a binding agreement between equals.

Beatrice and the monastery clerk were brought in as witnesses. The parchment contract was spread across the table, and I signed my name first. Adrian put pen to parchment without a moment's hesitation.

After signing, he produced an unnamed black wax seal.

"A proxy seal. Report to the treasury office tomorrow to observe. Don't worry about earning a profit for the Hawthornes right away. First, figure out who has been draining the family's coffers."

I took the seal and silently calculated: ten thousand silver marks, plus a freehold charter in my name alone. That was the price of my freedom.

The next morning after prayers, Adrian fastened the Black Wolf sash across my shoulders in front of everyone. I took my seat in the place reserved for the heir's spouse.

But Rosalyn had already claimed the chair. She turned to me with a saccharine smile. "We're all family here. No need to be so particular about who sits where."

Chapter 7

Faced with Rosalyn's brazen overreach, Adrian didn't raise his voice. He simply glanced at the clerk.

The clerk immediately opened the ancient book of seating laws and read aloud, "The seat of the heir's spouse represents the future lord. Anyone who takes that seat without permission forfeits their entire seasonal allowance and is barred from the high table."

Rosalyn tried to brush it off, invoking sisterly bonds and insisting there was no need to follow every old rule to the letter. But Lucian was already stepping forward, personally removing the last jeweled belt from her waist.

"Don't give people reason to say the White Stag Wing can't raise a lady with proper manners." His face still wore that gentle smile, but his fingers dug into her wrist like a vise.

Rosalyn's face went white from the pain, and she had no choice but to curtsy to me and step aside.

That afternoon in the gallery, I overheard her telling a maid that the punishment had been nothing more than a playful game between husband and wife. But behind the pillar, Lucian was slowly turning a ring fitted with a concealed needle between his fingers.

[If she doesn't learn her place, I'll have to teach her a proper lesson.]

I didn't step forward to expose him. Rosalyn was never an innocent victim. She had once been desperate to push me into what she imagined was Adrian's cruelty. Now she was simply tasting the bitter fruit of her own choices. But I wouldn't hand Lucian a weapon either.

Before long, Beatrice dropped a thick stack of salt tax ledgers from the past three years in front of me.

"Can you make sense of these?"

A few pages in, I spotted the problem. Salt production hadn't declined, yet the ledgers showed losses year after year. The money hadn't vanished into thin air. It was being siphoned off, layer by layer, through the docks, shipping fees, and middlemen.

One entry stood out: a glass transaction at St. Michael's Market at an outrageously inflated price. The merchant would be arriving at the castle tomorrow.

I looked up. "I'd like to verify this account personally."

Beatrice nodded her approval.

Outside in the corridor, Adrian stood in the gray light in his black armor, making no move to interfere. He left only one remark. "Come with me to the market tomorrow."

Chapter 8

St. Michael's Market was alive with noise and bustle. The glass merchant presented a crate of stained-glass panels, boasting that they were premium stock from North Sea workshops, and named an absurd price.

I held a piece of glass up to the firelight, then soaked it in salt water. Within moments, a dense web of white lines appeared along the edges. I tapped it with a silver spoon, and the sound came back dull and flat.

"Lead-laced rejects." I said it plainly. "Install these in a church and they'll crack within three years. Their real value is a tenth of your asking price, at most."

The merchant's face went livid.

Adrian didn't bother haggling down the price of the glass. Instead, he bought the merchant's North Sea winter road transit charter and his guild guarantee documents.

"Goods depreciate and spoil, but the right to a trade route never loses its value," he told me.

In that moment, I understood. I could calculate the profit and loss on a bag of salt, but I couldn't see the value behind an entire road.

Back at the castle, Beatrice publicly announced that the Salt Marsh Estate, which had been running at a loss for years, would be placed under my management as a trial. Adrian handed me a newly carved proxy seal with a distinctive notch cut into its edge.

I had barely closed my fingers around the seal when an urgent dispatch arrived from the north gate. He had to ride out immediately with his cavalry.

At the handover banquet that evening, disaster struck. To prove the wine in the cups was safe, the glass merchant seized the cup meant for Adrian and drank first. Within seconds, he collapsed in violent convulsions.

Brother Anselm examined the residue at the bottom of the cup and identified a mixture of silverleaf extract and blue nightshade.

The investigation quickly turned on me. Poison powder was found in my seal box, and a purchase order for blue nightshade stamped with the Black Wolf seal was laid before everyone. My personal maid came forward to testify that I harbored a grudge against Adrian and had plotted to kill him so I could seize the estate for myself.

Every piece of evidence was perfectly placed to seal my conviction.

I ran my fingers over the order. The wax seal had no notch, the one distinctive mark of the genuine proxy seal. It was a forgery.

I didn't expose it on the spot. While the testifying maid's back was turned, I quietly signaled Mara to slip a red thread knot, unique to the estate, onto the hem of the maid's skirt.

In the crowd, Rosalyn stood watching. The thought inside her mind was so shrill it nearly split my eardrums.

[This time, let the Black Wolf condemn her to death himself.]

Beatrice, her expression grave, followed clan law: she removed the Black Wolf sash from my shoulders, confiscated my seal, and ordered me locked in Raven Tower to await trial.

Deep in the night, fire was lit at the base of the tower. The guards locked the heavy iron door, intending to burn me alive and pass it off as a guilty suicide.

I soaked a wool blanket in brine and pressed it over my nose and mouth while sliding the forged order into a crack between the stones. As thick smoke filled the tower, the Black Wolf horns suddenly blared from outside the castle gates.

Adrian dismounted, caked in blood, and the first thing he saw was Raven Tower engulfed in flames. He asked no questions. He drew his sword and charged straight for the tower door.

"Where is my wife?"

The blade came down hard.