It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, just after a witch trial. The priests were busy praising the Lord and delivering speeches to the masses—well, at least to those who weren't as well-paid, so to speak. Why would a high priest bother with such a fruitless task?
Ariadne stayed home, not wanting to witness the spectacle. This time, the accused witch was a commoner—always the same story. She picked up her hot tea, flavored with peach blossoms, and held it to her lips. Of course, it was still too scalding.
She reached for the small device sitting on the table—like a slender silver rod, but engraved.
She had been a witch in her last life, before dying at 27.
She tapped the rod against the teacup three times.
But she hadn't brought any magic to this world. Though a noble, she was completely powerless—unlike the commoners who were often killed for being born too strong in a low social class.
Suddenly, the tea cooled, and she took a sip.
The royal court had mages. The king loved seeking out talents among the nobles, and being born with magical powers as a highborn was a huge advantage. You could even join the Order of Lumen, the kingdom's secret division of mages.
That is, if your blood was pure enough. Otherwise, it meant death.
Still, Ariadne, who had a simple and very straightforward goal in this life, would have preferred to have magic to reach it. It had been so convenient the last time... though she knew she would probably never get over her fear of being burned at the stake.
God, those cheering masses outside had no idea how much that hurt.
Fortunately, at least she had high social status, and no one could force her to attend such events. And there were other ways to get things done besides magic.
For one, there were cleverly designed magical tools—available for the right price. Used to such convenience, she had ordered quite a few, using her generous allowance as the eldest noble daughter.
For another, there were always hands to hire—like the assassin who pushed her first fiancé off the cliff.
That was a secret, of course. It wasn't wise to get caught murdering a crown prince. And it had cost quite a lot.
Then came the second prince—that fool. She had a perfect plan to kill him, but he never returned from war. That might've had something to do with the poisoned charm she gave him beforehand, but in the end, it was a sword that killed him, not a stomachache. It probably would've ended the same way without her intervention.
And now, after all that death and scheming, here she was—engaged again, this time to the third prince.
Her money and status were probably enough to keep her safe from witch trials, but they had the opposite effect when it came to weddings.
Not to mention her deranged parents, who would've gladly traded something far more valuable than a daughter for a chance to become in-laws to a king.
So when she came to this world, retaining all her memories from several past lives, she was forced to face an unpleasant truth: another marriage was already on the horizon. She'd been engaged at the age of three. All she could do was drag it out for as long as possible—and if that began to fail, switch fiancés and start over.
God almighty, it had to be a curse. Because every single time, without fail, she died at 27. And there was always one thing in common across every life—she was married at the time of her death.
No matter what she tried, no matter how she tried to avoid it, it always ended the same.
Last time, she was discovered as a witch, literally one day before her birthday. The man who found out offered to keep her secret… in exchange for her hand. She said no, of course.
He didn't take it well.
He dragged her to the registry anyway, bribed the officer handsomely, forced her into his bed, and choked her until she nearly passed out—only to tie her up and report her as a witch the next morning. She was technically married, which must have been the reason they skipped the trial entirely.
Fun times.
She was tired of this bullshit. New worlds every time. Being a baby over and over again for years, just to start the same old boring romance story and die as a result. She was so done with it. It hadn't been like this the first few times.
There were words she liked more, and words she liked less. It always took time to fit in. Adapting to a new world again and again was exhausting. And every time, it was heartbreaking to gain things—only to lose them completely when she died.
It took her the first few cycles to realize that the deaths always happened at the same time, and that it wasn't a coincidence. Then it took her about a hundred more—oh, so many lifetimes—spent testing, prodding, adjusting, trying to find the cause of this anomaly.
And finally, she discovered one strange, terrifying truth: no matter what she did, she could never avoid getting married. It was literally impossible. She could change everything else—but not that.
So now, filled with newfound determination, she decided to stay single—against all odds.
Ariadne put down her teacup and slowly rose from the elegant couch.
So far, everything was going well. She just had to stay engaged to the third prince, who was notorious for being afraid of women. It would take a long, long time for the king to convince him to begin the marriage preparations. She only needed to hold out for two more years to break the curse. And if the prince agreed, there were ways to delay things even further.
She left the room and headed down the corridors of the mansion, craving a wisp of fresh spring air. On her way, she paused to admire herself in a mirror.
Oh, how she loved that flowy dress. It wasn't that bad being born a magicless noble, after all. The cut accentuated her waist a bit too well and made her look almost innocent. What a joke.
She made a mental note never to wear this dress when meeting the third prince (now technically the eldest, but she couldn't shake the habit of calling him the third).
As she stepped into the garden, a drop of water suddenly touched her cheek.
The weather was still sunny, though the sky had started to darken, with a red line smearing the horizon. She looked up and saw the droplet had fallen from the roof—probably a lingering remnant of the morning rain, caught in a crooked roof tile that held more water than it should have.
She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her face.
"Oh no," she gasped, as the handkerchief slipped from her hands and fell onto the grass, still damp from the morning rain.
She stood there for a while, debating whether she should pick it up. Her gloves that day were the work of the most talented masters; she couldn't bear the thought of dirtying them with mud.
Looking away, she fixed her gaze on a distant tree with a bench beneath it. Perhaps she should just get rid of the gloves and lie down to enjoy the evening. She could return to the library and fetch a book. Yes, what a wonderful plan. Every time she reincarnated, there were always new books to read. A joy that never ended.
As she mused, she didn't notice the person creeping toward her through the bushes.
That is, until he spoke.
"You dropped the handkerchief, Miss Witch," said a boy's voice.
Ariadne jumped. "You scared me," she snapped, turning sharply to face the stranger. How dare he sneak up on her! And he had done it on purpose—she could tell.
She looked over his clothes. It was obvious he was a stable boy, nothing more. His shirt was dirty from a long day's work. His face was clean-shaven, his wavy yellow hair tousled.
"Who are you?" she asked anyway, her heart beating frantically.
He had called her a witch—was that supposed to be a joke?
"Why, Lady Witch, I am what the stars bring when they rise. I am a moonbeam in your night. I am where you rest your scheming eyes. I am the one who is always right."
They stood in silence for a second. The stable boy looked at Ariadne, and Ariadne stared right back.
Did he really know something?
What the hell?
And what kind of stable boy talked like that to a noble lady? Unthinkable. Did he have a death wish?
"Anyway, that's a terrible poem," he said, deadpan. "I heard a guest reciting it earlier. I hope you're not offended—my ears certainly were. Here. Your handkerchief."
And before Ariadne could utter a word in return, he was gone.
She stood there, dumbstruck.
What the fuck?
Now she had to consider: did she have to kill that stable boy for knowing too much, or had he just accidentally said things that pressed some nerves? She wasn't a witch anymore, after all.
And what about that part about her "scheming eyes"? Did he know something—or was he just parroting words he didn't understand? Still, she couldn't ignore the possibility.
But how would he know about her previous life? Could he have been one of the prince's spies in disguise? That would explain the confidence, though not the unusual tone.
Weird. Very weird.
The next day, she had important plans, so she couldn't pursue the matter immediately. But she would need to double-check, just in case, whether the boy was a threat. And if he was… well, he'd have to be removed, of course.
She had several ways of silencing a servant. Perhaps a nice, long bath in a well. Or maybe just a little forest excursion with a soldier.
She suddenly remembered his eyes. He had very playful eyes.
Anyway, it wouldn't hurt to check first, she decided.
She could always kill him later.