It’s an order, not a request. 

The words of the Queen painted my mind, bleaching it stark into my brain. It made me ill to think my old friend would have to use the method of scolding to gather her point across. 

Titles and upbringings never dictated the companionship we had, so why was it so apparent now? 

I couldn’t think of that now. I have a job to do. 

I walk down the long, lavishly decorated hallway, the faint clicking of heels against ceramic echoing through the moonlight. With my blurry vision I still managed to see the amount of detail placed into the castle; from masterfully painted cherubs to the gold trim connecting the walls and ceiling, every detail was planned out to the utmost perfection. Now a detail would be slightly out of place. 

An intruder had weaseled her way into the palace. 

My eyes zeroed in, seeing the slight glimmer of pure white doors at the end of the corridor. The first step in my plan had gone by without a hitch. 

Now for the second step, it had involved the complete and utter trust of Jeanette. 

Influenced guards outside the chamber. 

The words from the note rang in my head as I spotted two guards in traditional Clestian armor, each placed on opposite ends of the pearl-colored doors. 

“Good evening boys,” I mused, the foreign cadence of my words feeling familiar on my tongue, “Have this cleaned by dawn, would you?” 

They nodded curtly, letting me slip away into the master bedroom: the king’s quarters. 

The hardest part of the task has begun. 

I shrugged off my heels, keen on avoiding any unwanted noise to alert my presence. The room though dark, its windows were spilling over with the glow of the moon, making it easy to maneuver and locate the bed. In it lay the king, the youth of his prince hood still apparent on his face. He still has yet to live out much of his life. 

And there it is again. Personal feelings don’t belong in this matter. 

Shrugging off my ignorance, my eyes focus on the bedside table, a chalice and a few books comfortably resting on the surface. 

Step 3. The poison. 

My hand flies to a hidden pocket in my dress, feeling for my thin silk gloves that mask any fingerprints that could be made during this exchange, a century-old purchase was made for the dukedom so a rather ancient pair could get burned with no record as to where they came from. As I slip the familiar gloves on, I grab the poison I know will do just the trick to take care of things and eliminate my target. 

Most kingdoms have a food taster for their royalty, to prevent them from an untimely death but most nobles know that the Clestian Kingdom isn’t known for their loyalty. Most heirs grow up increasing their tolerance to common poisons so if the subject of tampering does arrive, the culprit can easily be snuffed out. 

But not every poison has been discovered yet. Flowers that grow in the dukedom are airborne once set free and kill in minutes but have no distinct scent, prime for killing targets. 

The delvin flower’s pollen secured in its velvet pouch feels nostalgic in my hand. So many lives have been dealt with from the dukedom’s trump card. 

Thank goodness I developed immunity for it. 

I take a pinch in between my covered fingers and drop it into the chalice, just a small amount deteriorates the organs of a human being. 

I quickly pulled the strings on the satin bag, the only toxins of the powder beginning to smoke up and drift into the air of the room. 

And with a final look back, I left the King on his deathbed, soon to be writhing in pain from the most powerful poisons in the world. 

“Wait an hour before you enter his majesty’s bedroom,” I whispered loud enough for the knights to hear from the door, grabbing my heels in my hand and taking my leave to the carriage waiting for me outside. 

“Welcome, Duchess Margau,” my maid, Fina calmly spoke out, adjusting the curtains of the carriage to close, leaving us with a single candle warmly lit in a lantern on a shelf attached to the wall. “How did your latest assignment turn out?” 

I rolled my eyes at her question. Why ask when Fina already knows the answer? Still, I couldn’t just leave her question open-ended. 

“Excellent.” 

—

It had been months since the King had passed, a ruthless investigation unraveling what little dignity nobles of the country had left. This led Jeanette into a wretched despair, loyal servants of the castle gossiping that their dear Queen has never been so distraught before. She was rumored to be pushing meals away and sleeping till noon, a drastic change in her majesty’s bright personality. 

Another fact about Jeanette was that she was always great actress. 

For the funeral, she had decided to plan a banquet to celebrate the death of her beloved, something every noble was keen on attending to ease their curiosity: how was her majesty doing? 

Even now, the buzz of these pompous idiots never ceases, all stuffed in black gowns and suits and ready to express their fake sympathy. What they were really waiting for in the extravagant ballroom was to see if the rumors were true, a skinny version of their Queen hollow with grief. 

“May I have everyone’s attention!” The announcer at the top of the grand staircase called out as the nobles snapped their necks at the entrance door. “The sun of the kingdom, her Majesty Queen Jeanette Victoria Chéron of Clestia!” 

Two knights began to open the door, the light from the ballroom leaking into the hallway where Jeanette resided. She stood in a black translucent veil, covering her face to the ground she stood on. It rested like a halo surrounding her entire body as she walked down the stairs, two knights holding her arms up so she wouldn’t trip on her own garments. 

The entire room was stuck in an eerie silence, bowing with their bodies but faces completely fixated on Jeanette. She made slow strides to the throne, each click in her heel more menacing than the last. 

“She isn’t really-“ 

“Her majesty couldn’t be sitting on his throne?” 

“So early in his death?” 

Whispered between the nobles traveled like vines, all leading up to Jeanette sitting on the throne of her dead husband. 

The tasteless small talk only never ceased, only to get louder as Jeanette’s veil was slowly being risen by one of the knights. 

Not a single ounce of sadness plagued her face. 

“I guess the rumors were false.” 

“Why would they lie?” 

“I would have their heads if I were her majesty.” 

More meaningless muttering erupted throughout the room, all being ceased by a simple wave of Jeanette’s hand. 

“Welcome, people of the Clestian Kingdom. I brought you all here to celebrate the life of our true sun, King Jean-Pierre Louis Chéron. But this isn’t the only reason either. For I have found the culprit of my beloved’s murder,” Jeanette spoke to the crowd, silencing the room once again with her actions. 

What? 

Jeanette never wrote anything about revealing a culprit. My heart began to pound out of my chest like a beast bashing its fists against its cage. This wasn’t a part of the plan. 

“My dearest friend, Duchess Margau. Why have you killed my husband?” 

Because I was ordered by you to do it. 

I felt a knight place his hand on mine, yanking them behind my back, the other with a sword to my throat. 

“Move, scum,” he spat hoarsely. 

“How could you do this to me?” Jeanette wept, fake tears sliding down her cheeks. 

Every fiber in my being wanted to strangle the life out of Jeanette. If looks could kill she would be dead and rotting on the throne. 

As I was being dragged away I felt a deep rage bubble up inside of me, inhuman resentment flowing freely in my veins. 

I was used. And I was restless. 

—

The guillotine. The sentence for treason. 

It was a fitting end. I wasn’t quite expecting Jeanette to keep me around if she was already planning on selling me out. Exile wasn’t befitting of the cruel Queen she had become. 

As I was led out from the cold, filthy cell I had been occupying I could hear the wails of my maids as I walked down the dungeon’s dingy hallways. Truthfully, their cries were oddly comforting. 

For they knew the truth. Something the help and I both knew wasn’t going to matter in the grand scheme of things. A servant’s opinion holds no weight in this society. 

“Keep walking, wench!” the guard holding my arms barked. Any louder and my ears would’ve bled. He would probably relish in that possibility. Everyone despised the Duchess who killed their King. 

Before I knew it I was being forced to walk the very same hallways that clothed me in its darkness, welcoming me opening to slaughter their precious owner. Now they bled with the red of dusk, compelling me to remember his blood. Demanding me to recall the actions of the apostate I was. 

As I walked out the doors of the castle, I saw the sky burning with a sickening orange, imprinting its animalistic fire into the eyes of the crowd. The blade of the guillotine stung my vision, it’s metal rendering me blind from the reflection of the great sun. 

Even nature was cursing my existence. 

Is this really my end? 

It couldn’t be. I wasn’t ready. 

My head was placed inside the wooden structure, my gaze fixated on nothing but a puny basket.

I wasn’t sad either. How could a betrayal of my closest friend be a tragedy? 

It was barbarity. 

And I was enraged. 

“Do you have any last words, Duchess?” the executioner asked, doing nothing to hide the acrimony in his voice. 

Last words? 

I shook my head. 

No words could change the bitterness they felt for me. 

As the blade came down to sever my head, only one thought had come across my mind. 

I would do anything to see Jeanette fall. 

—

I had awoken to the familiar sound of birds chirping outside, a chilly breeze blowing in from a nearby window. 

Didn’t I? 

I sprung up from my bed, ankles nearly getting caught on the fabric of my nightgown. I shrugged it off, turning towards the long mirror in the corner of the room. 

It was me. 

Alive. 

I laughed at my reflection, combing my silky black hair and feeling my soft cheek, still puffy from the previous night’s sleep. 

“My lady? What seems to be humoring you?” My butler, Matthew questioned calmly, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

I couldn’t help but let tears of relief flow freely from my eyes. I’ve never been more alleviated to see Matthew standing near the doorway next to my maid Rina. 

“Rina?” 

“Uh- yes! Miss,” she squeaked, her expression much like a startled deer. 

“It’s good to see you both,” I sighed out, a broad smile widening over my features. 

“My lady, if I may,” Matthew laughed out a little as he cleared his throat. “I’m quite surprised to see that you have already learned the name of our newest maid. It’s only been three days since she’s arrived at the dukedom.” 

Three days? 

Rina’s been at my side for the past five years. 

Now it was my turn to look like a deer, stunned in my tracks. The question has struck me just as a blow of freezing air hit my back, chills erupting from my spine. 

Just how did I come back to life? 

I turned back towards the mirror once again, looking closely at the smoothness of my skin. Was I younger? 

“Matthew.” 

“Yes, my lady?” 

“What year is it?” I questioned him, a bewildered look apparent on his face. 

“It’s the year 1763,” he said plainly. 

Impossible. I died in 1768. 

But if I am standing here today in the year 1763 that means King Jean-Pierre is now the crown prince, still trying to find a crown princess so he can make his descent to the throne. 

Three years before Jeanette and Jean ever crossed paths. 

My prayers were answered. 

I will live to see the day where Jeanette is defeated.