The golden tub steamed, scented with lavender and crushed roses, but Iris hardly noticed. Her mind was reeling.
Banquet. The same one where the original Salira had rejected Adam—the first prince. The same one that had triggered the story's chain of tragedies.
She had two hours.
Iris let the maid wash her hair, massage oils into her skin, and drape her in a robe. But when the girl brought out Salira's usual pastel gown, Iris stopped her.
"No," she said firmly. "Bring me something else."
The maid hesitated. "But… this is your usual—"
"I said no." Iris met her reflection in the mirror. Her red hair was still damp, curling against her skin like flame. Her green eyes gleamed. "Bring me something that suits me. Not Flora."
Half an hour later, she stood before the mirror again, dressed in a dark crimson gown that fit her like liquid fire. The neckline was regal, not showy; the sleeves embroidered with black thorns. Gold accents shimmered like hidden firelight. Her hair was swept into a loose, intricate braid crowned with a circlet of jet and ruby.
No pastel. No bows. No ribbons or pearls.
Just fire, shadow, and pride.
A villainess? Maybe. But not someone who begged for love.
The carriage ride to the imperial palace was quiet. Iris kept her chin lifted, hands folded, gaze unwavering. She wasn't Salira, desperate for scraps of affection. She was Iris, and she had already died once. She had nothing to fear.
Except maybe… how devastatingly handsome Adam would look.
The ballroom glittered with light. Crystal chandeliers danced above heads bowed in noble conversation. The smell of wine, perfume, and rosewater was cloying. Every noble family was in attendance. And at the center of it all…
Flora.
Bathed in white and lilac, laughing softly as she held court with the young ladies and the ever-adoring Duke Alpher. Her golden curls bounced, her eyes sparkled. She looked like a painting.
And yet, when Iris entered—
The room fell silent.
Heads turned. Glasses froze mid-air. Fans dropped.
Even Flora's laughter stopped short.
Alpher's eyes widened as if he were seeing Salira for the first time. There was a flicker of… what? Awe? Regret? Confusion?
Good, Iris thought. Let them all look.
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Is that… Lady Salira?"
"She's never dressed like that before—"
"She looks like a queen—"
A voice from the crowd—light, mocking: "Perhaps she's finally done pretending to be Flora's shadow."
Iris caught Flora's eyes. Her smile was faint but devastating.
Let her wonder.
Then the great doors opened again.
And he arrived.
Prince Adam.
Dressed in black and navy military formal, trimmed with gold. His shoulder cape billowed slightly as he walked. Sword at his hip. Hair perfectly combed back, framing his sharp features. The faintest of scars beneath his eye, barely visible, gave him a deadly edge. Every step radiated control.
People feared him. The first son of the emperor. A prince with no power, cast aside in favor of his half-brothers. The one called "Blood Prince" for his unrelenting victory in battle.
They said he hated women.
They said he had no heart.
But when his eyes found her—found Salira—
He stopped walking.
Their eyes locked across the marble floor.
And for a moment, the world disappeared.
Iris smiled. Soft, steady, knowing.
Adam's lips twitched—just barely.
And he walked straight to her.
The nobles parted like waves, heads turning, mouths gaping.
Flora's face paled. Alpher turned sharply.
Adam stopped in front of Salira. His voice was calm, clear, but quiet enough to draw the attention of every soul in the hall.
"Lady Salira Hasrima."
She tilted her head. "Your Highness."
His gaze was unreadable. But his voice didn't waver.
"In front of the imperial court," he said, "I wish to make a formal proposal."
The crowd held its breath.
"I ask for your hand in marriage."
A collective gasp. Wine spilled. A fan snapped.
Even Flora's face turned as white as her gown.
Alpher's mouth opened, but no words came.
Iris felt her heartbeat in her ears. In the book, Salira had scoffed. She had made a scene. She had begged for Alpher's hand instead.
But not this time.
She looked up at Adam—his strong jaw, his dark eyes, his perfect calm—and smiled.
"I..."
She let the word hang, tasting the shift in fate on her tongue.
And then—
Blackout.
---
To be continued in Chapter 4: "The Answer That Changed Everything"