

Twice Was She Forsaken
Princess Vionna of Aurenza was dead, frozen in the snow with her unborn child. In her last breath, she cursed the love that destroyed her. Now she's been reborn - on the very day her tragic fate began. Given a second chance, Vionna has only one goal: to ensure Theron Thornefell, the man who broke her heart, finally finds happiness with his true love, Marzella. But as she tries to orchestrate their union, shadows from her past life threaten to destroy her again. Can she truly escape destiny, or will she be forsaken once more?Chapter 1 Chapter 1
"Why are you crying, Vionna? Isn't this what you wanted?!" The pain at her throat jolted Vionna Valebright awake. She gasped, eyes flying open—then froze. She'd been reborn. It was the day Theron was drugged. Again. In her last life, she had loved him. Foolishly. They met during the royal hunt, held once every three years. He rode beside her father, King Aldric—his sworn brother-in-arms. Tall, sharp-eyed, ceremonial robes drawn tight at the waist—Theron Thornefell commanded the field without a word. When assassins struck and took the king's daughter hostage, it was Theron who loosed an arrow through the captor's throat and caught her mid-fall. Vionna, wrapped in his cloak, gave him her heart. At her coming-of-age, she confessed her feelings to Theron—nine years older. He turned cold. Said she'd confused gratitude with love. The next day, he requested to leave Crownspire for Stormrest, his stronghold in the North. Vionna, stubborn to the end, knelt at the palace gates till King Aldric gave in and let her follow. At first, everyone at Theron's estate in Stormrest treated her with deference. But for a full month, she never once saw him. So she cast off her gowns for roughspun, took the name Viona Vale, and slipped into his army as a battlefield physician—just another common girl. In her third year, Theron was drugged by a traitor. She stepped into his command tent and offered herself as the cure. By morning, they were discovered—by Marzella Morwynne, his deputy commander and childhood crush. The girl fled the camp in tears. On the road, ambushed and cornered, Marzella threw herself from a cliff. Theron changed after that. He built a chapel within his estate in her name, posthumously named her Heroic Commander, and later petitioned to marry Vionna. By the time the royal decree reached Stormrest, the damage had been done. They called Vionna shameless. Said she'd seduced and drugged the Warden of the North. That she'd murdered Aurenza's finest female commander and used her bloodline to force his hand. By her wedding day, Vionna was already visibly pregnant. She'd spent the months before stitching her gown in silence, thinking only of the child. Only that day did it hit her—Theron despised her. From then on, the radiant, beloved Princess Vionna was gone. Only a woman remained—trapped in a distant house within Theron's estate, wasting away day by day. In three years of marriage, Vionna lost three children. The first slipped away before the third month. The physician blamed the tonic she'd taken to conceive—said even if the child had lived, it might not have been whole. The second, lost in the fourth month. She'd spilled the wine in Marzella's chapel and was punished—three days kneeling, wrists bound, bleeding into the dirt. The last reached eight months. That winter, a storm came—the worst in a century. Every house on the estate was reinforced. Except hers. The snow fell through the night. By dawn, the skies cleared. Stormrest stood unscathed. The townsfolk had prepared. But Vionna and her unborn child were buried in that storm. After death, her soul lingered above. She watched Theron clutch Marzella—miraculously alive—tight in his arms. Theron's household rejoiced. Their lord had finally gotten what he'd begged the gods for. And her? She was the villain who'd stood in the way. No one mourned her. Better off dead. Maybe the heavens took pity. She had saved many in those three years in the camp. Somehow, she was reborn—on the very day Theron was drugged. In this life, she had only one goal— To bring Theron and Marzella together.
Chapter 2 Chapter 2
Just as Theron's hands reached to tear her clothes, Vionna shoved him back with all her strength and bolted from the tent. "Viona Vale! What are you doing out here? How's Lord Theron?" His personal guards stood around the command tent, eyes sharp with concern. Vionna clutched her torn clothes close. Luckily, the northern winter had her wrapped in thick layers. "He's not doing well. Regular treatment won't work. Fetch Commander Morwynne—now." Several soldiers barked back. "If it's that serious, why'd you leave? Calling someone else now just wastes time.""If something happens to Lord Theron, can a lowly physician like you take the blame?" She didn't flinch. Someone had already gone for Marzella. She arrived moments later, dismounting in one fluid motion, dressed in riding leathers. She stopped in front of Vionna, eyes narrowed. "Viona Vale, what game is this? You clawed your way into Theron's tent to marry into power. Now, with the chance in your lap, you call for me instead?" The wind bit hard. Snow pressed down like that final day. Vionna could barely breathe. Fists clenched, she met Marzella's gaze. "If you don't go in now, he won't survive." A low groan rose from within the tent. Marzella's expression shifted. With a crack of her whip, she shoved Vionna aside and stormed through the flap. Moments later, fabric tore. Then came the sounds—raw, unmistakable. Even the guards turned red. A man's low growl. A woman's sharp gasp. Furniture crashing. And then—pleasure. Loud, unashamed. Each cry landed like shards of ice against Vionna's chest. "Lord Theron's got stamina, I'll give him that.""Good thing it was Commander Morwynne. If it'd been Viona, she wouldn't survive the night. Be dead before morning. So much for chasing rank." The guards' vulgar talk choked the breath from her lungs. Drained and hollow, Vionna drifted from the tent. Only once she stepped into the warmth of her own shelter did the tears fall—hot, unstoppable. First came the quiet sobs. Then the wails—raw, broken, as if she were coughing up two lifetimes of shame. That night, the lights in Theron's tent never dimmed. And she never slept. *** By dawn, Vionna had washed and dressed. She left the physicians' quarters under the guise of gathering herbs and rode straight to the city's largest apothecary. The moment the shopkeeper saw her, her eyes welled with tears. "Your Highness... what happened to you?" Vionna didn't need a mirror. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Her clothes, torn by Marzella's whip, had been clumsily stitched back together. There wasn't a trace of a princess left. But the woman before her wasn't just any shopkeeper—she was Elsha Grey, the Shadowguard her father had secretly assigned to protect her since childhood. Elsha had raised her. Of course she saw the wreckage. But Vionna had no words left to explain. She collapsed into Elsha's arms, voice barely a whisper. "Elsha... send word to my father. I want to go home."
Chapter 3 Chapter 3
"Good, good. You've finally come to your senses." Elsha's voice trembled as she looked at the girl she'd protected her whole life—now worn thin by grief. "His Majesty said it from the start—Theron Thornefell was never right for you. If you hadn't clung to that hope, none of this would've happened. "But thank the stars you saw it in time. Once you're back in Crownspire, His Majesty will choose a proper husband. With him behind you, no one will dare lay a finger on you again." Tears welled in Vionna's already swollen eyes. Her father had warned her, long ago. She hadn't listened. She'd knelt at the palace gates, begging to be sent to Stormrest—only to waste a lifetime. She died without ever seeing him again. Vionna clenched her fists and forced a smile. "I was foolish then. I won't let my father worry like that again." She wouldn't cling to Theron anymore. She didn't even dare. *** After leaving the apothecary, Vionna returned to camp by carriage. Her name was still on the army's rolls. She couldn't just vanish and follow Elsha back to Crownspire. If she meant to leave Stormrest, she had to settle things first—tend the wounded, tie up her duties. And one border report needed to reach her father. Elsha was the only one she trusted. So Vionna wrote the letter and placed it in her hands for immediate delivery. All she had to do now was wait. Wait for someone who loved her... to bring her home. The thought alone eased the weight in her chest. For the first time in days, she let herself smile. But as she lifted the flap of her tent, she walked straight into someone. Theron. Clad only in an undershirt, his bare torso showed a fresh wound—and scattered above it, a tangle of marks. Vionna didn't need to ask what they were. She'd lived through too many nights with him not to know. Her smile vanished. She turned away. "Why are you in my tent?" Theron narrowed his eyes, lingering on the redness around hers before letting out a cold snort. "You're my physician. I'm injured. Isn't it natural I come for treatment?" Vionna frowned. He wasn't wrong—tending his wounds was part of her role. But before, he'd always summoned her to the command tent. Theron coming to her? That was rare. Vionna said nothing. She opened her kit and got to work. The gash on his side was ugly—deep, jagged, torn wider after last night's exertion. Blood had soaked through the bandages. She peeled them back and found a mess of red and ruin. Once, a sight like that would've rattled her. Now, she didn't even blink. As Vionna scattered healing powder over the wound, Theron broke the silence. "You've heard, I'm sure. It's done. I'll marry Marzella. Since you're still stationed here, I expect no more foolishness." She didn't look up. "Understood, Uncle Theron." He stiffened. She hadn't called him that in years. Back in Crownspire, she'd trail after him with wide eyes and that silly, soft voice—'Uncle Theron' this, 'Uncle Theron' that. Later, when her heart turned, she tried every name but that one. Until now. Theron frowned, ready to speak—but the tent flap lifted, slicing through the silence. "Theron, I've already moved my things. Did you tell Miss Vale?" He snapped out of it, brushing past Vionna as he rose to meet Marzella. "I told you to rest. Someone else could've done that." His voice softened—for Marzella. Then his gaze cut back to Vionna, still on one knee from the shove. The warmth vanished. "This tent's closest to mine. Marzella will stay here now. Pack your things. You're moving to the physicians' quarters." Marzella nestled into him, murmuring like they were alone. "Theron, that's a bit much, isn't it? She's been here nearly three years... Maybe I should just stay in my old tent?" She turned to go, but he looped an arm around her waist. "You'll be my bride soon. You can stay wherever you please. If we were already wed, I'd move you into my tent itself." Then he looked at Vionna—stone-cold. "As for Miss Vale... she'd do well to remember her place." And that was it. He hadn't come for treatment. He'd come to remind her—she no longer had a place here. He wanted her gone. He wanted Marzella close. Vionna swallowed the bitter taste rising in her throat. Brushed off her robes. Rose. "I'll pack now." She'd leave this tent. Leave Stormrest. And soon—she'd return to Crownspire—to her father. She wouldn't come back.
Chapter 4 Chapter 4
Vionna returned to the tent she'd first been given when she arrived. A single cot, the sharp stench of herbs, and bloodied bandages heaped in the corners. She remembered how she'd loathed it once—how she'd begged Theron for days before he let her move closer to him. Now, standing in it again, her feelings had changed. It was still small. Still miserable. But better than the place she died last time. At least here, she wouldn't freeze alone in the snow. ** In the days that followed, Vionna began handing off her patients. Each morning, she left with the herb cart. Each night, she returned late. Waiting. Just waiting for Elsha to come and take her home. The camp buzzed with joy. Everywhere she turned, someone was praising Theron's devotion. How he'd chosen the nearest auspicious date—just a month away—to marry Marzella. Still, the wedding would be grand. Whispers spread fast: House Morwynne's dowry was lacking, so Theron had opened his vault. Sent 108 treasure chests to her family, they said. Added a bride token himself, sealing a match fit for legend. Vionna listened. She smiled when others smiled. Gave blessings like everyone else. Wished them love that would last a lifetime. ** That morning, as always, Vionna followed the herb cart out of camp. She stepped onto the stool—then pain flared through her wrist. Theron's hand clamped around her arm, yanking her back. "You've been avoiding me, haven't you?""I haven't." Her head shook before she could think. His eyes darkened. He stepped closer. She kept retreating until there was nowhere left to go. "You expect me to believe that? You're my physician, yet you vanish every day with the herb cart. You barely look at me. If that's not avoidance, what is? Because I'm marrying Marzella?""No," she said quickly. "You've found your match. I'm happy for you. I wish you both a long, joyful life. When you return to Crownspire with her, I'll have a gift prepared." She steadied her voice. "Uncle Theron, there's no need to worry. I know my place. I understand now—you'll never love me. I've let you go. I won't be a burden." The words were calm. Measured. True. But Theron's expression only darkened. Let him go? That was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "Vionna, I'm not falling for some cheap game of push and pull.""I'm not—""Aren't you?" he snapped, yanking her into the tent and shoving her toward the table. A wooden box sat there. Vionna froze. "You say you've let go," Theron said, voice cold, "yet you leave this in Marzella's tent to provoke her? Letters. Sketches. You've chased me from Crownspire to Stormrest for years—and now I'm meant to believe you've suddenly moved on?" Her gaze locked on the box, eyes burning. Inside were the letters she'd written him in secret. Sketches drawn in quiet, stolen moments. She'd forgotten them after she came back to life. And now he'd flung them at her feet. She knew how it looked. Knew how hollow her words must have sounded. In her first life, she had schemed—just to stay close. And Theron, who didn't know she had already died once, could only see another ploy. But this time... she truly didn't dare love him. "I did love you. For a long time. But you're betrothed now. And I may be a princess, but I'm not shameless enough to ruin someone's wedding." Her eyes reddened. She met his gaze one last time. Then she reached into the box. One by one, she pulled out the letters. The sketches. And fed them to the brazier. "Vionna!" His voice cracked the air, furious. The fire caught fast. Flames rising.
Chapter 5 Chapter 5
The fire still hissed in the brazier, but its heat didn't touch her. In its glow, Theron's face was carved in fury. For a moment, she thought she imagined it. Then his voice came—sharp as frost. "Keep pretending. But hear this—no matter what game you play, the only one I love is Marzella." It hit like a blow to the chest. She couldn't breathe. Just then, a guard burst through the tent flap. A village nearby had been raided by Wildfolk. Marzella had led a patrol—now trapped, calling for reinforcements. Theron's face changed in an instant. "Grab the medical kit. You're coming." He shot her a glance before storming out, like he feared Marzella might vanish if he took a breath too long. The fire roared behind her. But Vionna stood there, colder than the snow outside. In the past, Theron had never let her near the front. Even after battle, he kept her away from the wreckage. Part status. Part protection. He used to care enough to shield her. Now, for the first time, he was dragging her into a war zone. Because Marzella might be hurt. Vionna swallowed the ache and packed her kit. Whatever had changed, one thing hadn't—she was still the camp physician. Orders were orders. She would see it through. *** Theron rode ahead toward the village. Vionna followed, flanked by his guards. By the time they arrived, the Wildfolk were gone. Soldiers were clearing the wreckage. Villagers wept quietly as they worked. Theron was nowhere in sight. Vionna didn't wait. She knelt beside the injured, hands steady as she cleaned and wrapped fresh wounds. She hadn't even tied off a bandage when a soldier rushed up. "Commander Morwynne's been cut. Lord Theron's beside himself—he wants you now!" She wanted to refuse. Wanted to send someone else. But the guard didn't budge. So she followed. Inside the warm house, she found Marzella curled in Theron's arms. Only when Vionna stepped in did Marzella lift her hand—pale, delicate, bleeding. Barely. A shallow scratch skimmed her wrist. No blood, barely skin-deep. Vionna frowned. This was what they dragged her from the wounded for? Outside, men with shattered limbs still waited. "I told him it was nothing," Marzella said sweetly. "Theron insisted you come." When Vionna didn't move, Theron snapped, "Are you deaf?" She looked up, lips pressed tight, then knelt and applied the salve. "Ah—" Marzella flinched, breath catching. "Does it hurt?" Theron leaned in, glare sharp. "Be gentle." The warning in his eyes was clear. He thought she was being cruel on purpose. She didn't argue. What would be the point? "Theron, must you be so harsh with Miss Vale?" Marzella pouted. "It's barely a scratch. You didn't have to fuss so much.""You're my future bride. I won't allow even a scratch on you." They spoke like she wasn't there. Flirting openly. Shameless. The wound was nothing—a flick of powder and it was done. Vionna left the moment she could. Another breath in that room and she might've choked. But Marzella wasn't finished. Outside, Vionna bent to gather her kit—but as she turned to go, Marzella blocked her path. "Princess Vionna," she said smoothly. "Or did I misremember?" Vionna's brow furrowed. Only a few of Theron's guards knew who she really was. Marzella had grown up in Stormrest—how did she find out? Before she could speak, Marzella let out a quiet, scornful laugh. "So this is the princess of Aurenza. Playing physician in a camp full of men. Don't you feel ashamed?" Each word landed like a slap. Vionna's eyes narrowed. "Aren't you in this camp too? We're both here for Aurenza's soldiers. Why say such things?" Marzella smiled. "You and I are not the same." Vionna didn't reply. That tone said it all—'I'm deputy commander. You're just a medic.' No point arguing. She moved to leave—then froze as Marzella dropped to her knees, tears springing to her eyes. "Your Highness, I know I shouldn't love Lord Theron! Punish me if you must, but please... spare my family!" Vionna froze. Behind her, a voice cut through the air. "Marzella!" Theron stormed past, hands shaking as he caught Marzella in his arms. Then he turned—eyes blazing. His hand struck before reason could catch up. Smack— Vionna's head whipped sideways. A ringing flood filled her ears. Silence crashed down—then his voice, hard as steel. "So this is what you've been so quiet lately? Pulling rank behind my back?"
Chapter 6 Chapter 6
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.
Chapter 7 Chapter 7
When Vionna opened her eyes, she was back at Theron's estate. He sat beside the bed, face tight with exhaustion. At her stir, he finally exhaled. "You're awake." She blinked. Was that worry? Then the truth settled in. She was a princess. If she died at Stormrest, he'd have a hard time answering to her father. "Marzella will be by soon," he said. "Apologize. Thank her. And stop being reckless. "If you hadn't harassed her and stalled the group, the avalanche wouldn't have caught us. She begged the soldiers to spare you. You owe her." He met her gaze. "I know you still have feelings for me, but we come from different worlds. I'm nine years your senior. This—whatever you imagine—was never possible." Vionna sank back against the pillows, her mind swimming. Then, softly: "I understand, Uncle Theron..." And she did. She didn't love him anymore. So when Marzella entered, Vionna dragged herself upright—offered the apology, the thanks. Whatever he asked, she gave. He told her not to return to camp. Now that her identity was out, and the avalanche had taken lives, the blame landed squarely on her. If she returned, she'd find no kindness—only stares and sharpened words. The rumors were already spreading. She hadn't imagined that even with a second chance, she'd end up here again—name soiled, reputation shattered. All she could do was hope her father wouldn't turn her away. And pray Elsha would come. Take her home... But Elsha never came. *** Vionna spent days in recovery at Theron's estate while the household buzzed with wedding plans. No one looked her way. She didn't care. But the first day she felt strong enough to walk the garden path— Someone struck her from behind. When her eyes opened, she was tied at the edge of a cliff. Marzella was there too, bound beside her. Two Wildfolk stood over them, blades gleaming. Vionna's pulse jumped. How had it come to this? One moment in Theron's estate... the next, a mountainside. And Marzella—how had she survived this in the last life? Where had she gone in those vanished years...? The wind howled through the valley, sharp and wild against Vionna's ears. A cold thought crept in. Marzella knew these men. But when Vionna tried to speak, her voice crumbled. Nothing but breath lost to the wind. Gone. Marzella caught her confusion and smiled—thin, gleaming. "Don't bother, Your Highness. The drug won't wear off till tomorrow. Just sit still. I'm not here to kill you. I just want to see—when it's life or death—who he'll choose." A chill spread through Vionna's chest. What was left to choose? Hadn't the avalanche answered that already? In the last life, a single lie about Marzella's death had cost Vionna everything. Not just her life. Lives. Then—footsteps. Theron appeared alone at the cliff's edge. His eyes scanned the scene, then fixed on the Wildfolk. "Whatever you want, we can talk. Let them go." One of the men laughed. "Warden of the North, I didn't bring them for ransom." Theron's gaze sharpened. "Then what?" The brute pressed his blade closer. "Your people butchered mine. They say one of these women is your betrothed. The other—the princess you raised like blood. You can save only one. The other dies, for the honor of our dead." He loosened the ropes just enough to send both women swaying at the cliff's edge. Marzella turned pale. Her voice cracked. Then she looked to Theron, weeping. "Save Princess Vionna, please! I'm only your deputy. If someone must die, let it be me. "His Majesty won't fault you for choosing Her Highness. If I die with the baby, it's still a death with meaning." Theron's jaw clenched. "Let Marzella go!" The decision struck like a blade. The Wildfolk grinned. Even Marzella—still shaking—let herself relax, just slightly. They untied Marzella. She stumbled into Theron's arms, sobbing with relief. But his gaze flicked to Vionna. She didn't cry. Didn't scream. Just stared—calm. Too calm. Something about that stillness made his chest tighten. He'd seen it before. A pale face in the snow. Gone before he could place it. He shook the thought off and raised a hand to signal his hidden men. But before the command came, weight pressed into him. "Theron," Marzella whispered, clinging. "I thought the baby and I would never see you again..." His arms closed around her without thinking. Then—his eyes widened. The rope snapped. Vionna fell like a butterfly with torn wings, swallowed by the wind. "Vionna—!"
