The letter arrives sealed in silver wax, the Levy crest glinting like a blade under the morning sun. My hands tremble—not from nerves, but memory. This is the moment everything began. Last time, I married Luke. Last time, Jane poisoned me at the banquet. This time, she smiles, pressing the envelope into my palm. "You always wanted the palace," she says, voice honeyed with lies. "Go. Be empress. I’ll take Luke off your hands." Her eyes flicker—just once—with something like sorrow. But I know that look. It’s the one she wore before she killed me.

The carriage waits outside, ready to carry me to the Imperial Selection trials. One step forward, and I’m back on the path to death. One step back, and Jane wields the Prime Minister’s power alone. Or… I could tear the letter. Refuse them both. But then what? The clock is ticking. The past is breathing down my neck.