The holy fire had felt like salvation. Even as it consumed my flesh, even as my son—my beautiful, traitorous son—stood beside Lucius and watched me burn, I'd welcomed the flames. Death was mercy compared to what they'd done to me. Compared to what *he'd* done to me. But the gods, it seemed, had a crueler fate in mind. I woke to silk sheets and the scent of moonflowers. My hands flew to my stomach, and I felt it immediately—the slight swell, the gentle pulse of life that wasn't quite my own. Four months along. The same stage I'd been when everything began to unravel in my previous life. "No," I whispered into the darkness of my chambers. "No, no, no." But the evidence was everywhere. The calendar on my desk showed the year 1247, exactly twenty-three years before my execution. The betrothal portrait of Lucius and me still hung above the mantle, both of us looking regal and cold, the perfect vampire nobility. My skin was smooth and unmarred, free of the scars I'd earned in the war that would begin in three months. The Great Purge. That's what they'd call it in the history books. A holy war between vampires and werewolves that would rage for two decades, ending only when both sides had bled themselves nearly to extinction. I pressed my palms against my eyes, but I couldn't block out the memories. They crashed over me like a tidal wave—Lucius's face when he'd testified against me at my trial, swearing I'd betrayed our kind to the werewolves. Lilith, his precious childhood friend, weeping crocodile tears as she held *my* son. My son, who looked nothing like me, who had Lilith's green eyes instead of my crimson ones, who carried the taint of werewolf blood in his veins. The child they'd switched for mine. My real son—my pureblooded heir—had been killed within hours of his birth. Smothered, probably. Disposed of like trash while Lilith's bastard half-breed took his place in my arms. And I'd loved him anyway. Gods help me, I'd loved that child with every fiber of my being, even as he grew to hate me, even as Lilith poisoned him against me year after year. A knock at my door made me flinch. "My lady?" It was Serra, my handmaiden. Sweet, loyal Serra, who would die protecting me during the siege of Blackthorn Castle in year fifteen of the war. "Lord Lucius requests your presence at breakfast." Lucius. My blood-bonded partner. The male I'd been tied to since we were both children, our houses united through ancient magic and political necessity. The bond was supposed to be unbreakable—we could feel each other's emotions, sense each other's presence, share our very life force. He'd used that bond to monitor me. To control me. And when the time came, he'd severed it himself, standing before the High Council and declaring me unworthy of our sacred connection. The pain of that severance had nearly killed me. Would have killed me, if they hadn't wanted me alive for the execution. "Tell him I'm unwell," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "He... anticipated that response, my lady. He says it's urgent. Something about the werewolf delegation." My blood ran cold. The werewolf delegation. I'd forgotten—this was the year they'd sued for peace, sending envoys to each of the great vampire houses. Our house, House Morgrave, had hosted them for a week. That's where Lilith had met *him*. Kieran, the werewolf warrior with silver eyes and a smile that could charm the moon from the sky. She'd fallen into his bed within days, and nine months later, she'd given birth to the child they would use to destroy me. "I'll be down shortly," I said. Serra hesitated. "Should I prepare your blue gown? The one Lord Lucius favors?" In my previous life, I'd worn that gown. I'd wanted to please him, to be the perfect partner, the perfect lady of House Morgrave. I'd braided my black hair the way he preferred and worn the sapphire jewelry he'd given me on our bonding day. He'd barely looked at me during that breakfast. His attention had been fixed on Lilith, who'd sat across from us in a simple white dress, looking fragile and beautiful and utterly false. "No," I said. "The red one. With the high collar." The red gown was a declaration. In vampire society, red meant you were done playing nice. It meant blood and war and consequences. Let him wonder. I dressed myself, waving away Serra's attempts to help. My hands trembled as I fastened the clasps, but I forced them steady. I'd died once already. Whatever came next couldn't be worse than burning alive while my own child cursed my name. The dining hall was exactly as I remembered—vaulted ceilings, ancient tapestries depicting the glory of House Morgrave, a table that could seat fifty but currently held only three place settings. Lucius sat at the head of the table, devastatingly handsome in black and silver. His dark hair was pulled back from his face, emphasizing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Those ice-blue eyes tracked me as I entered, and I felt the familiar pull of our bond, that constant awareness of each other that had once brought me comfort. Now it just felt like a leash. "Seraphina." He rose, ever the gentleman. "You look well." "I look ready for war," I corrected, taking my seat at his right hand. "Let's not pretend otherwise." Something flickered in his expression—surprise, perhaps. I'd never spoken to him like this before. The old Seraphina had been soft, accommodating, desperate for his approval. She'd died screaming in holy fire. I was what remained. "The werewolf delegation arrives this afternoon," he said, studying me with new intensity. "I trust you'll be... cordial." "Of course. House Morgrave has always honored its obligations." I accepted the blood wine a servant poured, watching the deep crimson liquid swirl in the crystal glass. "Though I wonder at the wisdom of hosting them at all. The tensions between our peoples—" "Will be resolved through diplomacy, not prejudice." The third chair scraped back, and Lilith entered like a ray of sunshine in a tomb. She was beautiful, I had to admit—golden hair that cascaded in perfect waves, emerald eyes that sparkled with false innocence, a figure that drew every male gaze in the room. "I'm so sorry I'm late!" She pressed a hand to her chest, breathless. "I was picking flowers for the guest chambers. I want our visitors to feel welcome." Our visitors. As if she had any authority here. She was a ward of House Morgrave, taken in after her family had fallen into disgrace. She had no title, no power, no claim to anything. Except Lucius's heart, apparently. "How thoughtful," I said, my smile sharp enough to cut. "Though I doubt werewolves care much for moonflowers." "Seraphina." Lucius's voice carried a warning. I met his gaze over the rim of my glass. Through our bond, I could feel his confusion, his irritation, and underneath it all, a thread of something else. Concern? Guilt? Too little, too late. "I'm merely stating facts, my lord. Werewolves prefer wild roses. Everyone knows that." Lilith's smile faltered for just a moment. In my previous life, I hadn't known that detail. I'd learned it years later, after watching Kieran present Lilith with wild roses every time he visited, after their affair had become an open secret that everyone pretended not to notice. "How knowledgeable you are," Lilith said sweetly. "I'll have the servants change the arrangements at once." She would do no such thing. She would keep the moonflowers, and Kieran would notice, and he would mention his preference for wild roses, and she would remember. It would become their little secret, the first of many. Unless I changed things. The child in my womb fluttered, and I felt sick. This child—Lucius's heir, the pureblooded son I'd never gotten to raise—was the key to everything. In my previous life, they'd needed to replace him because he was proof of my loyalty, my commitment to our house and our people. Without him, what was I? Just a noblewoman bound to a male who loved someone else. The thought crystallized into certainty, cold and clear as winter ice. I couldn't let history repeat itself. I couldn't bear this child, couldn't watch him be murdered and replaced, couldn't raise Lilith's bastard as my own while she played the victim and stole everything from me. There was only one way to guarantee a different future. I had to destroy the heir myself. "If you'll excuse me," I said, rising from the table. "I'm afraid I'm still not feeling well." Lucius stood immediately, his hand reaching for mine. Through our bond, I felt a surge of worry. "Should I call the healer?" "That won't be necessary." I pulled my hand away, ignoring the hurt that flashed across his face. "I just need rest." I made it to my chambers before the trembling started. Serra tried to follow me inside, but I dismissed her with a sharp word that I'd have to apologize for later. If there was a later. I knew what I had to do. The question was whether I had the strength to do it. My hand went to my stomach again, feeling that gentle pulse of life. In another world, this child would have been my everything. I would have loved him, protected him, died for him. But in this world, he was a liability. A weakness they would exploit. I crossed to my desk and pulled out a locked drawer, retrieving the vial I kept hidden there. Nightshade extract, concentrated enough to kill a full-grown vampire in minutes. For a pregnant vampire, it would work even faster. The child would die first, of course. The poison would stop his heart before mine. It would be painless for him, at least. For me... well. I'd already burned alive once. How much worse could this be? I held the vial up to the candlelight, watching the dark liquid shift and swirl. "I'm sorry," I whispered to the life inside me. "But this is the only way to save us both."