On the day of my difficult labor, my sister threw herself against a wall to induce a miscarriage—just to lure our mother, a renowned physician, away from my side. I begged my mother to stay, pleading that my child was the Duke’s heir. But my sister, bleeding and petulant, refused any other doctor and died crying for our mother. After her death, my family acted as if nothing happened. No blame, no resentment. Until the Duke became King. His first act was declaring my sister his ‘First Queen’—his one true love. I was cast aside, my marriage annulled, banished in disgrace. At my family’s estate, my mother forced poison down my throat. I writhed for seven days before dying. My father drowned my infant son in the fountain, snarling, "The spawn of Isadora’s killer doesn’t deserve to live." They scattered my ashes over her grave, whispering, "We’ve avenged you." Then—I woke back in the birthing bed. My mother stood over me, hands bloody. "Isadora is hemorrhaging. Your labor can wait." 1 A sharp, violent pain tore through my abdomen. I instinctively grabbed my mother's sleeve, the old, familiar plea rising in my throat. She shook me off, her face a mask of fury. "Isadora's life is in danger! If you have a shred of decency, you will let me go right now." Hearing those words, I knew. I had been reborn. I was back on the day my world had ended. In my last life, my baby was in a breech position, a dangerous and difficult birth. I had summoned my mother, the most celebrated physician in the capital, to ensure my safety. But my sister, Isadora, hearing of this, took her five-month pregnancy and hurled it against a stone wall, all to pull our mother away from me. I had begged my mother to stay, reminding her that my child was the Duke's heir, whose birth would secure our family's future. After a moment of hesitation, she had agreed. I delivered my son safely, but moments later, word came that Isadora, in a fit of pique, had refused all other medical aid and bled to death. My parents had collapsed from grief. But when they awoke, they never spoke of Isadora's death again, treating me with the same cool affection as always. It was a lie, a long and patient performance of forgiveness. Until Duke Alistair became King. He named my dead sister his 'First Queen,' while I, the mother of his heir, received no title. I was nothing. Alistair himself had the royal guard hold me down while he personally severed the tendons in my wrists. "If it weren't for you," he'd spat, his voice thick with hatred, "Isadora and I would have been together forever." He cast me out, sending me back to my parents for the final judgment. My mother brewed the poison herself, a special concoction designed not for a quick death, but for maximum suffering. As I lay convulsing on the stone floor, I watched my father drown my son, my beautiful boy. He threw the small, lifeless body at my feet. "This monster who killed my Isadora should never have been born! We let him live in luxury for years. That was mercy enough." Trapped in a prison of agony and boundless hatred, I suffered for seven days and seven nights before I finally died. My last memory was of them at her grave, their voices mingling in a triumphant whisper. "She and the monster are dead, Isadora. You can rest now." Remembering it all, this time, I let go of my mother's sleeve. I let her go. As she rushed from the room, I forced my mind to focus, recalling the techniques my mother had used in my previous life to turn the baby. I called for the midwives. "Help me," I gasped. "We have to turn him. Now." Hours of excruciating effort followed. Finally, through a haze of pain, I gave birth to a son. The sound of his first cry was the sweetest I had ever heard. The breath I had been holding for two lifetimes finally escaped my lips. But my relief was short-lived. My father burst into the room, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't insisted your mother attend you, Isadora would never have hurt herself!" He started pulling me from the bed. "Her child is gone, and she won't stop crying! You're coming with me to her house. You will let her vent her anger on you until she is calm." 2 Five months prior, Isadora had been married off to a minor court official and moved into a lavish new villa our mother had prepared for her. It was a half-hour's ride from the ducal palace. It was early winter now. I had just given birth. To be dragged out into the cold would be a death sentence. The royal physician stepped forward. "My Lord, you mustn't! Her Grace just endured a perilous birth. This could kill her!" he pleaded. "If she catches a chill now, she may never recover." My father hesitated, but the thought of Isadora's tears hardened his heart. "She has always been strong. A little cold won't kill her. She can recover later. But Isadora is fragile. If she keeps crying, she'll do herself a permanent injury." The icy wind bit at my skin as he dragged me out the door. I shivered violently. "Go!" I hissed to my handmaiden. "Get the Duke! Now!" Her face was streaked with tears. "His Grace left with your mother for Lady Isadora's villa hours ago! He hasn't returned!" My father shoved me into a carriage. I was wearing nothing but a thin bed robe. When we arrived at Isadora's villa, her room was warmed by underfloor heating. She was wrapped in a thick fox-fur blanket, nestled in the arms of Duke Alistair. My mother was patiently coaxing her to drink a tonic. "There's a good girl. It's not bitter. Just a few sips." Isadora took two small sips and pushed the bowl away, burying her face in Alistair's chest. "My love," she sobbed, "our baby is gone. It's not fair! Why does she get to have your son, when our child never even had a chance to be born?" In that single, devastating moment, I understood everything. The child in Isadora's womb was Alistair's. My father, my mother, Alistair—they all knew. I was the only one in the dark. The marriage to the official was a sham, a cover to legitimize the birth of the Duke's bastard. Of course. Alistair had always preferred her. If the old Queen hadn't forced his hand, insisted he marry me for political alliance, he would have chosen Isadora in a heartbeat. It was no surprise she had secretly conceived his child. A wave of profound desolation washed over me. A gust of wind made me cough, a small, weak sound. It was only then that my mother seemed to notice me standing in the doorway. "What are you doing just standing there?" she snapped. "This is your fault!" She rose, pulled a long, stiff peacock feather from a vase, and pressed it into Isadora's hand. "Here, my love. Your sister is here. If you are angry, take it out on her. It is not good to hold in such feelings." She turned back to me, her voice cold. "A woman's recovery is paramount. We cannot have you falling ill from grief." She tried to force me to my knees to apologize. I stood rigid, my neck stiff with defiance. "She threw herself against a wall. How is that my fault?" My words sent Isadora into a fresh paroxysm of tears. "How could I dare to be angry with my sister?" she wailed. "She is the Duchess, and I... I am nothing!" Her performance was flawless. My father, my mother, and Alistair all looked at her with heartbroken pity. My mother fell to her knees before the Duke. "Your Grace, Isadora has sacrificed so much for you! Will you let her suffer this indignity without a name, without honor? Even her own sister dares to bully her now!" Alistair's voice was thick with self-reproach. "It is my fault. I was too cowardly to defy my mother. I have made you suffer for years." He gathered Isadora into his arms, wrapping the furs tighter around her. "Come. We are returning to the palace. Tomorrow, I will go to the Queen. I will demand she grant you the title of Royal Consort!" 3 I was forced into the carriage with them. Isadora, cradled in Alistair's arms, met my gaze. A triumphant smirk played on her lips. I turned away, staring out the window, my mind racing. I had to get to the Queen. Isadora let out a delicate cough. "It's so stuffy in here," she murmured weakly. "The air is... heavy. I feel I might faint." Her words sent them into a panic. Alistair's eyes scanned the carriage, landing on me. "You. Get out. I'll send someone to fetch you later." We were on the busiest thoroughfare in the capital. I was in my bedclothes, my hair a mess, and he was going to throw me out onto the street. I refused, clinging to the carriage door. My father saw my defiance. He heard Isadora's coughing grow more frequent, and his face twisted with worry. Without another word, he kicked me. Hard. I tumbled out of the carriage and landed in a heap on the cobblestones, in full view of the entire city. The carriage sped away. A murmur went through the crowd. Who was this woman? Some nobleman's discarded mistress? I was freezing. I huddled in a darkened alleyway, trying to block out the whispers, praying Alistair would remember me and send someone. I waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a familiar voice cut through the noise. "Helena? What are you doing here?" I looked up into a face that was almost a perfect mirror of Alistair's. It was his twin brother, Prince Brigham. He stared at me, then his gaze dropped to my flat stomach. "When did you give birth? Why did my mother not say anything?" He took in my disheveled state. "And why are you here, dressed like this?" He saw me shivering and, without hesitation, removed his own heavy cloak and wrapped it around me. It was the first act of simple human kindness I had received in so long that I burst into tears. Sobbing, I told him everything. As he listened, a vein pulsed in his temple. He helped me onto his horse. "I'm taking you to the palace. We will have justice for this." But a sudden, chilling thought struck me. My son. He was still at the palace. If my father was willing to drown my child to avenge Isadora in one life, he would surely do it again in this one. "No," I begged Brigham, "take me back to the ducal palace. And please, go to the Queen. She is the only one who can help me now." I rushed into the palace grounds, my heart pounding. I found them in the inner courtyard. My father's hands were wrapped around my infant son's neck. He was hesitating, his hands trembling. Isadora was weeping. "When I look at him, I think of my own lost child. If only my baby had lived, I wouldn't feel this torment every time I see my sister's son." My mother's voice was a venomous hiss. "If you cannot bring yourself to do it, then take him to the lake. We will say Helena's labor was too difficult, that the child was stillborn. The Queen will have no reason to doubt us." My father, weak and suggestible, agreed. They started walking towards the ornamental lake, my baby in their arms. I stumbled after them, my legs weak, my body screaming in protest. I caught up to them just as they reached the water's edge. "He is my son!" I screamed, clawing at them, trying to snatch my baby back. "I am your daughter! This child is your grandson! Why are you so determined to destroy us? Isadora is human, but am I not? Is this child not?" My mother tried to wrestle the baby from me. We struggled, a frantic, desperate tangle of limbs. My father kicked me in the stomach, sending both me and my son tumbling into the icy water. The cold was a shock, a brutal embrace that stole my breath. But I could swim. Despite the weakness from childbirth, I fought my way to the surface, holding my son's head above the water, and swam towards the small pavilion in the center of the lake. I prayed with every fiber of my being. Please, let the Queen come quickly. My mother saw where I was headed. "Fools!" she shrieked at the guards. "Get a boat! Bring the Duchess back here! She has clearly sent for the Queen. If her majesty hears her lies, who knows what will happen to us. We must kill them both before she arrives! We'll say they both died from the difficult birth!" "With her gone," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "the way is clear for Isadora to become the Duchess." They found a boat and began to pole their way towards me. Just as they were closing in, a proclamation echoed from the palace gates. "Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived!"
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