Three days after the night in the dungeon, Rowena had almost grown accustomed to her new routine. She woke when the distant church bells rang six times. She ate breakfast in her room while reading the reports Kaelan had gathered. She spent her days in the library until the sun began to set. She endured dinner with the family—the part she hated most—and then returned to her room to write notes until late into the night.
Today was different. Today, the royal family's entourage would arrive.
Rowena stood in front of the large mirror in her room, letting Elara and two other maids adjust her gown. The dress Lady Mirabelle had chosen for the occasion was a mourning gown of black fabric, cut extremely tight at the waist and sleeves, with a high collar that covered her neck almost to her chin. Rowena suspected the choice was deliberate—to make her appear like a grieving, fragile, and perhaps slightly unstable woman.
"The Duke of Ashworth and his party will arrive in one hour, Lady Celine," Elara said as she pinned a silver hairpin into Rowena's updo. Her hands trembled slightly. "Your stepmother has asked you to wait in the blue drawing room with the family."
"Celine," Rowena corrected her gently. She had tried to get Elara to call her Rowena, but the maid had looked so confused that she had given up. For now, she would remain Celine in public. "Just call me Celine, Elara. You don't need to say Lady Celine every time."
Elara gave a small smile, though her eyes remained anxious. "Yes, Lady—yes, Celine."
Kaelan was waiting in the corridor, as always. Since the night in the dungeon, he had never let her out of his sight for more than ten steps. Today he wore full knight's attire—a dark blue uniform with the Veyne family crest on his chest, a longsword at his hip, and a short leather cloak that made him look like a hero from the epic paintings hanging in the palace halls.
"You look nervous," he said as they walked toward the blue drawing room.
"I'm not nervous," Rowena replied. That was a lie. She was nervous. Not because of the royal family—she had met nobles and high officials in her previous life during research presentations—but because she didn't know how much the royal family knew about her "death" or how much they suspected.
"You're biting your lip," Kaelan pointed out. "You always do that when you're nervous. Celine did too."
Rowena stopped biting her lip.
They entered the blue drawing room—a grand space with an eight-meter-high ceiling, walls lined with pale blue silk, and a polished white marble floor. Duke Alistair was already seated in the main chair, with Lady Mirabelle beside him. In the other seats sat Lady Mirabelle's two children from her previous marriage: Lysander, a twenty-five-year-old man with Mirabelle's black hair and Alistair's pale blue eyes (a strange genetic irony), and Celestine, a nineteen-year-old girl who resembled her mother in every way—black hair, green eyes, and the same sharp smile.
Lysander smiled when he saw Rowena enter. "Celine! Thank the gods you're safe. I heard you fainted in the dungeon. You must be more careful—that place is dangerous even for someone like you."
His tone sounded concerned, but his eyes were cold. Rowena had read about Lysander in Kaelan's notes—he was the primary candidate to replace Celine as heir if anything happened to her, despite having no de Montfort blood at all.
"I'll keep that in mind, Lysander," Rowena said flatly. She sat in the opposite chair, with Kaelan standing directly behind her.
Celestine did not greet her. She merely stared at Rowena with an unreadable gaze, then turned her eyes to the window.
It didn't take long. Less than fifteen minutes later, a servant opened the door with formal ceremony and announced in a loud voice:
"His Grace Duke Armand Ashworth of the Kingdom of Ashvold, Crown Princess Seraphina Ashworth, and their entourage."
Rowena stood with the others, following the protocol she had secretly studied in the library's etiquette books. She observed every detail as the royal family entered.
Duke Armand Ashworth was a man of about fifty, with graying blond hair and a face marked by the weariness of power. His deep blue eyes, sharp and piercing, immediately fixed on Rowena as he entered. He did not smile.
Crown Princess Seraphina Ashworth—now this was interesting. Seraphina was about twenty-eight years old, tall, with platinum-blonde hair styled in an intricate updo, ice-blue eyes identical to her father's, and a completely unreadable expression. She wore a simple silver gown with minimal adornment, yet her presence filled the room like something far larger than her physical body.
Behind them walked two personal guards—both women, both carrying swords with the posture of people who knew exactly how to use them—and a man Rowena didn't recognize: a young man of about twenty with reddish-brown hair, golden-brown eyes, and a smile far too friendly for a mourning occasion.
"Who is that?" Rowena whispered to Kaelan without moving her lips.
"Lord Theron Ashworth," Kaelan whispered back at the same low volume. "The Duke's youngest brother. A recognized bastard son. He just returned from the magic academy this year. Be careful with him."
"Why?"
"He's too clever for his age. And he's too friendly to people he shouldn't be friendly with."
Rowena filed the information away in her memory.
After ten minutes of formal greetings—all about condolences for the "incident" that had befallen Lady Celine and hopes for her swift recovery—they finally sat down. Duke Alistair and Duke Armand took the adjacent main seats, with Lady Mirabelle beside Alistair and Princess Seraphina beside her father.
Rowena was seated slightly apart, a position deliberately assigned to her—close enough to hear, far enough not to be considered part of the main conversation. It was a subtle tactic of exclusion, and Rowena recognized it clearly.
Lord Theron, seated even farther away, caught her eye and smiled. Rowena ignored him.
"So," Duke Armand said once the servants had finished pouring tea, "I hear Lady Celine was found unconscious in the family dungeon. No wounds. No explanation. And the initial report mentioned… death."
All eyes turned to Rowena.
Duke Alistair answered for her. "The report was premature. My daughter merely fainted from exhaustion. The physician has examined her and found no serious issues."
"Exhaustion," Princess Seraphina repeated. Her voice was flat, but there was a tone that made the word sound like an accusation. "Interesting. Because I heard there was blood. A great deal of blood. On the dungeon floor. And that Lady Celine was unconscious for two full days."
Duke Alistair didn't blink. "Celine has been frail since childhood. Her mother's death affected her deeply. Sometimes she experiences… episodes."
Rowena saw the small smile that appeared on Lady Mirabelle's lips at the word "episodes." This was the narrative being built—that Celine was mentally unstable, prone to strange "episodes," and perhaps unfit to be the heir.
And if Rowena protested now, she would seem defensive. If she agreed, she would strengthen that narrative. If she stayed silent, she would allow it.
So she did the unexpected.
She laughed.
Her laughter was light, soft, and entirely out of place. Everyone in the room turned to her with varying expressions—Duke Alistair with slightly raised eyebrows, Lady Mirabelle with a smile that hardened slightly, Princess Seraphina with open curiosity, and Lord Theron with something resembling admiration.
"I'm sorry," Rowena said, stopping her laughter gracefully. "I was just imagining how boring this discussion would be if we all kept talking about my 'episodes' as if I weren't even in the room. Father, Your Grace Duke Armand, Your Highness the Crown Princess—I am here. Healthy. Alive. Perhaps more alive than before." She glanced briefly at Lady Mirabelle. "So perhaps we could talk about things that actually matter, like why the royal family sent such a large entourage just to inquire about my health?"
The room fell silent for three full seconds.
Then Princess Seraphina smiled. Not the polite smile she had shown earlier, but a genuine one—thin, sharp, and full of appreciation.
"I like her," Seraphina said to her father, without looking away from Rowena. "Father, I like her."
Duke Armand snorted. "You always like the people you're not supposed to like."
"I don't like boring people, Father. And Lady Celine here is clearly not boring."
Lady Mirabelle tried to salvage the situation. "Your Highness, Celine can sometimes be a little… impulsive. Since she was a child—"
"I was not speaking to you, Lady Mirabelle," Seraphina cut in, her tone still flat but now laced with ice. "I was speaking about Duke Alistair's daughter. Not about you."
Lady Mirabelle's face turned pale, then red, then pale again. Duke Alistair showed no reaction. Lysander clenched his fists in his lap. Celestine continued staring out the window.
Rowena stored every detail in her memory.
Duke Armand let out a long sigh. "Seraphina, please don't cause a diplomatic incident before we discuss the actual matter."
"What is the actual matter, Your Grace?" Rowena asked.
Duke Armand looked at her with eyes as sharp as his daughter's. "Do you know about the Three Pillars, Lady Celine?"
"That is not the right question," Rowena replied. "The right question is: how much do I know about the Three Pillars. And the answer is: enough to know that something is threatening their balance. Otherwise, Your Grace would not have come personally to a duchy that is only one step below you in the hierarchy."
Now Duke Alistair turned to look at her. For the first time, his cold eyes showed something resembling surprise.
Princess Seraphina's smile widened.
Lord Theron let out a low whistle, then quickly closed his mouth when everyone stared at him.
Duke Armand nodded slowly. "You really are not boring." He set down his teacup and leaned back in his chair. "Very well. I will get straight to the point. Two weeks before your 'incident,' one of the other Pillar families—House Veyne—experienced a similar event."
Kaelan tensed behind Rowena. She could feel it.
"Lord Aldric Veyne," Duke Armand continued, "was found dead in his family dungeon. In exactly the same condition you were in. No wounds. Blood everywhere. A circle of symbols around him. And… a mirror."
Rowena's heart beat faster.
"A mirror?" she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady.
"A black-silver mirror with a spiral-engraved frame," Duke Armand said. "Exactly as described by the servant who found Lord Aldric. But when we sent a team to investigate, the mirror was gone. Vanished. As if it had never existed."
Rowena remembered the mirror in the de Montfort dungeon. The one that had also disappeared when she and Kaelan returned.
"Lord Aldric Veyne was…" Rowena glanced briefly at Kaelan before turning back to Duke Armand. "He was Kaelan's uncle?"
"His father," Princess Seraphina corrected. "Lord Aldric was the head of House Veyne. And he died without a clear heir. Kaelan Veyne is his only son, but he… how shall I put it delicately…" She looked at Kaelan with an unreadable expression. "He chose to become your personal knight rather than manage his family's affairs."
Rowena heard Kaelan draw in a breath behind her, but he said nothing.
"So," Rowena said slowly, "one Pillar has lost its head. One Pillar—my family—has suffered an attempted murder of its heir. That means House Ashworth is the only Pillar that has not yet been touched." She looked Duke Armand straight in the eyes. "Unless… unless you have already been touched, and you are here not only to investigate, but to seek allies."
The room fell silent again.
This time, even Lord Theron did not whistle.
Duke Armand stared at Rowena with an unreadable expression for ten full seconds. Then he stood.
Everyone in the room stood with him, following protocol.
"I wish to speak with Lady Celine," Duke Armand said. "Alone."
Lady Mirabelle opened her mouth to protest, but one look from Duke Armand made her close it. Duke Alistair nodded without expression. Princess Seraphina rose gracefully, giving Rowena a brief glance before walking out.
Kaelan did not move.
"Sir Kaelan," Duke Armand said. "I said alone."
Kaelan looked at Duke Armand with cold silver-gray eyes. "With all due respect, Your Grace, my duty is to protect Lady Celine. I will not leave her."
"Kael," Rowena said softly. She turned and looked at the man. "I'll be fine."
Kaelan hesitated. Not because he doubted her ability, but because… Rowena could see it in his eyes. He was afraid. Not of Duke Armand, but of the possibility that something might happen to her while he wasn't by her side. Just like what had happened to Celine.
"Kael," Rowena repeated, even more gently. "I promise. I'll scream if anything strange happens."
It was an impolite thing to say in front of the royal duke, but somehow it made Kaelan smile faintly. He nodded, pressed his hand briefly against Rowena's shoulder—a gesture far too familiar for a knight-guard relationship—and then walked out.
The door closed.
Now only Rowena and Duke Armand Ashworth remained in the large blue drawing room.
Duke Armand did not speak immediately. He walked to the window, turning his back to Rowena, and stood in silence for a moment. Outside, the de Montfort family garden stretched out in shades of green and gold under the afternoon sun.
"Your father," Duke Armand said at last, "is an ambitious man. But his ambition is blind. He cannot see what is right under his nose."
Rowena did not answer. She knew this was not a question.
"He married your mother to form an alliance with House Veyne," Duke Armand continued. "He married Mirabelle to form an alliance with the palace. He sent Celine to the convent for seven years because he was afraid of her. But he never asked himself the most important question: why does the de Montfort family always give birth to twins? Why does one of them always 'disappear'? Why is there a dungeon beneath this house that even he himself does not dare enter?"
He turned around. His eyes gazed at Rowena with an intensity he had not shown before.
"But you, Lady Celine—or whoever you are now—you are different. I can see it in your eyes. You see. You question. You are not afraid of the answers."
Rowena held her breath. "What do you mean by 'whoever you are now'?"
Duke Armand smiled. The smile of a man who had seen too much in life to be surprised by anything.
"House Ashworth has been the guardian of this kingdom's history, Lady Celine. We possess archives older than the kingdom itself. And in those archives, there are records of… replacements. Of souls that come from elsewhere to fill empty bodies. Of those called Anima Peregrina—the Wandering Souls."
Rowena felt her legs weaken. She sat down in the nearest chair without thinking.
"You know," she said. It was not a question.
"I suspect," Duke Armand corrected. "I do not know. But after hearing the reports of your 'death' and then your resurrection with such drastic changes in behavior, I began rereading the old records. And then the incident with House Veyne confirmed my suspicions."
He walked closer and sat in the chair facing Rowena.
"Something is happening, Lady Celine. Something bigger than family vendettas or throne struggles. Something that involves the Three Pillars, those mirrors, and… something that has been buried beneath this kingdom since long before the kingdom existed."
"What is it?" Rowena asked, her voice almost a whisper.
"I don't know," Duke Armand admitted. "But I know who might." He took something from the pocket of his robe—a small, old silver key with an intricate, elaborate shape. "This is the key to House Ashworth's secret archives. Archives that even my daughter has never seen. There are records there about ancient rituals, about Goddess Morana, and about… what happens to those who dare look into the mirrors."
He placed the key on the table between them.
"I am giving it to you because I believe that you, of all people, may be the only one who can read what is written there. The language in those archives is not known to anyone in the kingdom. But perhaps… perhaps you can."
Rowena stared at the key. Her heart pounded.
"Why do you trust me?" she asked. "You don't even know me."
"Because," Duke Armand said, and for the first time there was a note of weariness in his voice, "House Ashworth has guarded this secret for eight hundred years. Eight hundred years, Lady Celine. And we are no closer to the answers. Perhaps it is time for an outsider—someone not bound by the blood and curse of these families—to see what we have been trying to understand."
He stood.
"You have one week. After that, I will send Seraphina to retrieve the key, whether you are finished or not. Use your time wisely."
He walked toward the door, but stopped before opening it.
"And one more thing, Lady Celine—or whatever your real name is."
"Rowena," she said without thinking. The word slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.
Duke Armand looked at her for a moment. Then he smiled.
"Rowena. A fine name. An… ancient name." He opened the door. "Take care of yourself, Rowena. I believe we will need you."
He left.
Rowena sat in that chair for ten minutes, staring at the small silver key on the table.
Kaelan entered after Duke Armand and his party had departed—she could hear the palace gates opening in the distance. He stood at the threshold, looking at Rowena with a difficult-to-read expression.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I… I don't know," Rowena answered honestly. "He knows, Kael. Duke Armand knows I'm not Celine."
Kaelan didn't look surprised. "House Ashworth always knows more than they show. That is why they have remained in power for eight hundred years."
He walked closer and looked at the key on the table.
"What is that?"
Rowena picked up the key. The metal was cold in her palm, but it grew warm the longer she held it. As if the key was responding to something inside her.
"He said it's the key to House Ashworth's secret archives. Archives containing records about Morana, about those mirrors, about… about what happened to me."
Kaelan frowned. "And he gave it to you? Just like that? Without conditions?"
"Nothing is without conditions, Kael. He gave me one week."
They both fell silent, considering the implications of all this.
"Kael," Rowena said finally, "you said your father died in the same way as Celine."
Kaelan tensed. "Yes."
"You've never talked about it. Why?"
He didn't answer for several moments. His hand, usually so steady, gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
"Because," he said at last, his voice hoarse, "I don't know what to say. I don't know what happened. I don't know if my father died because something attacked him, or because… because of something inside him."
He looked at Rowena with eyes full of something he had never shown before: fear.
"You said you saw a mirror in the dungeon. I didn't see it. But… before my father died, he spoke about a mirror. He said he saw something inside it. Something that called his name. Something that had been waiting for him for a long time."
Rowena felt ice crawl down her spine.
"And you?" she asked. "Have you ever seen that mirror?"
Kaelan shook his head. "No. But…" He hesitated. "But I heard it. The night before he died, I heard a voice from his room. A voice that wasn't his. A voice speaking in a language I didn't understand. And the next morning, I found him in the dungeon. With blood everywhere. With a smile on his face."
He lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly.
"I couldn't save him, Rowena. I couldn't save my father. And when I found Celine in the same condition, I thought… I thought I would lose her too. I thought I would lose the only person who still…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Rowena stood. She didn't know what drove her—perhaps the lingering remnants of Celine's feelings in this body, or perhaps something deeper—but she reached out and took Kaelan's hand, squeezing it.
"You haven't lost anyone, Kael. I'm here. And we will find out what happened to your father and to Celine. But I can't do it alone."
Kaelan lifted his head. His eyes were red, but there were no tears. A Veyne knight might cry in silence, but never in front of anyone.
"You are not alone," he said. "I swear on my blood, you will never be alone."
Rowena smiled. "I know."
She released his hand and picked up the silver key from the table.
"Now," she said, her tone becoming lighter as she tried to ease the tension, "I think we need to plan a trip to the capital. Because the Ashworth family's secret archives won't come to Verlaine by themselves."
Kaelan frowned. "A trip to the capital? That's a three-day journey by carriage. And Lady Mirabelle will surely try to stop you."
"I know." Rowena smiled. It was the same smile she had worn when she decided to stay in a field tent with a broken leg rather than abandon her excavation site. The smile of a woman who had made up her mind and would not be stopped by anything. "That's why we won't tell her."
"We're going to sneak away?"
"Not sneak away. We're going to… take a spiritual journey for my health recovery. On the physician's recommendation. Who happens to be a friend of yours who can be persuaded to cooperate."
Kaelan looked at her with an expression caught between admiration and horror. "You… you really aren't afraid of anything, are you?"
"I'm afraid of many things," Rowena said honestly. "I'm afraid of the woman in that mirror. I'm afraid of what will happen to this body if I fail to find answers. I'm afraid Lady Mirabelle might try to kill me again. But fear is not a reason to stand still, Kael. Fear is a reason to move faster."
She slipped the key into the small pocket hidden beneath her belt, concealed within the folds of her gown.
"Tomorrow night. After everyone is asleep. Are you ready?"
Kaelan let out a long sigh. Then he smiled—the same smile he had shown in the dungeon, warm and gentle and slightly awkward.
"I'm always ready, Rowena. Always."
That night, Rowena could not sleep.
She lay in her enormous bed, staring at the ceiling painted with two moons, thinking about everything that had happened. Duke Armand knew. House Ashworth had secret archives. Kaelan's father had died the same way. The mirrors had vanished. Morana was waiting somewhere between worlds.
And on her wrist, the Sigillum Dei Mortis pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She reached for her notebook from the bedside table and began to write. Not notes about what had happened, but a letter.
A letter to herself. To Rowena Ashworth from Oxford, England, in the 21st century.
"You will never read this," she wrote, "but I have to write it. Today I realized something: I may never go back. Not because I can't, but because… perhaps I don't want to. This world is terrifying. There is something that kills people in ways science cannot explain. There is a woman in a mirror who claims to be a goddess and claims to be part of me. There is a knight who loves the woman whose body I now inhabit with a devotion so deep it hurts to watch.
But in this world, for the first time in my life, I feel that what I am doing truly matters. In Oxford, I spent fifteen years studying death. Here, I may have the chance to prevent it.
Or perhaps I'm just looking for an excuse not to return to my messy apartment with piles of books in every corner.
I don't know.
But I know one thing: I will not run. I will not be a victim. I am Rowena Ashworth, and no matter how much this world tries to scare me—I will find the answers.
And if those answers mean that I truly am part of something bigger than myself… then so be it. Perhaps that is what I have been searching for without realizing it."
She closed her notebook and slipped it under her pillow.
Outside the window, the two moons shone with different lights—pale blue and red like an open wound. Rowena stared at them until her eyes grew heavy.
Before she fell asleep, she heard something. Not a sound from outside, but a sound from within. A soft voice, like a whisper of wind through leaves.
"You are stronger than you think, Rowena Ashworth. But you are also weaker than you know. You will need both."
She didn't know if it was a dream or reality.
But when she opened her eyes the next morning, she found something new on her wrist. Beside the Sigillum Dei Mortis, a new symbol had appeared—small, almost invisible, shaped like a closed eye.
An eye that slept.
Waiting to be opened.