Chapter 2 The Moon Goddess' Cruel Joke

"Sister. Sister, are you all right? You are crying." I looked down at the little girl tugging at my sleeve. For one strange moment, I did not know her. Then I did. Elizabeth. My sister. "Does your shin still hurt?" Beth asked. "I told you Catherine could get down from the tree on her own." Catherine. Her ginger cat. Yes. I remembered that too. "No, Beth. I am not hurt," I told her, resting a hand on her head, although I was not entirely certain that was true. Only moments ago, I had been inside a carriage careening around a bend. I remembered the locked door, the coachman's face, the sickening tilt as the wheels left the road. I remembered dying. Yet I stood beside a window with sunlight warming my face and my little sister staring worriedly up at me. I was not Ophelia of House Valdieri anymore. This was not Monteluce. "Ophelia, my sweet, it is rude to stare at your guests." "Father!" Beth abandoned me at once and ran toward the man entering the chamber. Our father. Of course. King Edric Kastark of Valdoren. He lifted Beth easily into his arms while she immediately began reporting my crimes. "Sister was crying while staring out the window, Father. I thought her shin still hurt." Father frowned at me. "You wounded yourself on your naming day? How are you supposed to dance later?" "It no longer hurts, Father." That, at least, was true. My head was another matter. I remembered eighteen years as Princess Ophelia Kastark of Valdoren. I remembered Father carrying me on his shoulders when I was small, Beth being born, Catherine appearing in the kitchens as a half-starved kitten, lessons, feast days, arguments with tutors. And somehow I also remembered another life. Another father. Another kingdom. Another husband. Ramiro. The name alone made my chest ache. Had the Moon Goddess finally taken pity on me? Had she given me another life far from Monteluce, with a father who loved me and a home where I was wanted? "You two should already be in the courtyard greeting our guests," Father said. He tickled Beth until she squealed. "Especially you, Ophelia. It is your naming day." Of course. My naming day. Apparently remembering one's death was no excuse for neglecting royal duties. "What was I even looking at?" I murmured as I turned toward the window again. Banners crowded the courtyard below, their colors bright beneath the morning sun. Noble houses from across Valdoren had come for the celebration, along with envoys from neighboring realms. Then I saw it. A grey wolf upon blue-gray cloth. My breath caught. No. "Fa -- Father." He had already reached the door. "Why are there Monteluce banners outside?" Father glanced toward the window. "Oh, they have arrived already?" His expression immediately became more serious. "We must go down. The King of Monteluce himself has honored your invitation. We cannot leave him waiting." The King of Monteluce. My stomach twisted. Still, there was one comfort. Tristan. Surely Father meant Tristan. The old King had been dying when I left the keep. Tristan had been Crown Prince. He would have inherited Monteluce after his father's death. Perhaps Ramiro was not even here. "Father, is it only the King attending?" I asked as we hurried toward the stairs. "No other members of the royal household?" Father looked back at me, puzzled by my sudden interest. "Their letter named only the King and his entourage." Good. I could manage Tristan. I would certainly rather face him than Ramiro. Or Isolde. Apparently death had done very little to improve my opinion of that woman. "How long..." I stopped myself. How long had I been dead? The question sounded ridiculous even inside my own head. Lycans lived far longer than humans. Tristan could easily still be King even if decades had passed. We reached the courtyard before I could decide how to ask without sounding mad. Father placed Beth at his left and motioned for me to stand at his right. Normally Mother would have stood beside him, but I had lost her young in this life as well. Perhaps even the Moon Goddess could not remake everything. But this life was still different. I hope. I was the eldest daughter of a king. Father loved me openly. Beth adored me when she was not blaming me for her cat-related disasters. Valdoren was small, but it was mine in a way Monteluce had never been. Perhaps I could marry someone kind. Someone who wanted me because he chose me, not because a goddess had tied our souls together. Perhaps I could have children this time. Perhaps I could finally have the ordinary happiness I had begged fate for before. The thought steadied me. Then House Ardelune's banner entered the courtyard. My heart betrayed me immediately. The royal carriage followed behind it. I told myself again that Tristan would step out. Tristan. Not Ramiro. The carriage rolled to a halt before us. Suddenly I remembered another crowded hall eighteen years -- or perhaps an entire lifetime -- ago. My first debutante's ball. I had looked across a ballroom and found a pair of cold blue eyes already fixed upon me. Ramiro had known immediately. It had taken me only two breaths longer. Within a month, I had given him my whole heart. I curled my fingers into my skirts. That girl was dead. Literally, it seemed. The Moon Goddess could not possibly be cruel enough to return him to me now. The carriage door opened. Every fragile hope I had gathered shattered at once. Ramiro stepped down. Not Prince Ramiro. The King. He looked almost exactly as I remembered him. A little rougher, perhaps. His black hair had grown longer, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw. There was something heavier in the way he carried himself now, something I did not recognize. But those eyes were the same. Steely blue. Beautiful, cold but warm if he wants them to be. "My sweet, you look as though you have seen a ghost." Father's voice barely reached me. I realized I had seized his arm hard enough to wrinkle his sleeve. Perhaps fainting would have been sensible after all. Father had said the King of Monteluce was coming. And there stood Ramiro. My husband. No. My former husband and my supposed murderer. The man who had never been meant to inherit the throne, yet every lord in the courtyard bowed to him. King Ramiro of Monteluce lifted his gaze and looked directly at me.