Twice Was She Forsaken

The blow knocked Vionna to the ground.

Pain bloomed fast—her cheek swelling, blood coating her tongue.

She reached up with shaking fingers. The moment they grazed the welt, her eyes flooded.

Theron had never struck her before. Not in this life. Not in the last.

She looked up, but tears blurred everything—just his shadow standing over her.

"My gods... Viona Vale is Princess Vionna?"

"What's she doing in a border camp?"

"I heard she chased Lord Theron for years. He was doing fine in Crownspire—until her obsession drove him out."

"If she's truly Princess Vionna... doesn't that make him her uncle? The king's sworn brother and all?"

"A disgrace to the royal house, that's what."

The voices crept from every corner, sharp as thorns.

It felt just like her wedding day in the life before.

No blessings then, either.

Only sneers.

They said she drugged him. Said she married Theron pregnant and proud.

That she trampled every rule, throwing herself at the man her father called brother.

That she was cold, cunning—that Marzella died so she could take her place.

Lies from both lives tangled in her head, buzzing like wasps.

But above it all, one voice roared through.

"Vionna, apologize to Marzella!"

She pushed herself up, cheek aflame, eyes bloodshot.

"Why should I?"

In the last life, she'd sinned. She paid. She died.

But this time?

What crime had she committed?

The wind tore through the village, sharp as blades—but she stayed standing.

She locked eyes with him.

"I won't apologize for what I didn't do."

Theron's face contorted. "You think your royal title gives you the right to bully others?"

Vionna let out a bitter laugh.

Her? Hiding behind a title?

If that were true, she wouldn't have buried her name for three years among strangers.

She'd swallowed every insult, bent under every stare—just to keep her place.

If she meant to harm Marzella, she'd have done it long ago.

But Theron wouldn't listen. His heart was chained to Marzella. Reason had no place.

Still, Vionna stood her ground.

She wouldn't bow for a lie.

"Do you want to be punished under military law?" he roared, eyes fixed on her bruised cheek.

He didn't see it.

The girl he once kept quiet and sweet in his manor—she was gone.

Before he could speak again, a voice split the air.

"Avalanche!"

"The ridge—it's coming down!"

All heads turned.

The mountain roared. Snow came crashing like the sky itself had fallen.

"Go!" Theron shouted, hoisting Marzella into his arms. In one swift motion, he mounted and galloped away, leading the retreat.

All Vionna saw was his back—vanishing fast.

The same back that once shielded her from flying arrows.

Now, that image shattered.

Like the avalanche roaring down, burying all in its path.

She was back in that final moment.

Cold sank deep into her bones.

Her heartbeat faltered. Thoughts drifted, pale and scattered.

And then—darkness.