The Reborn Empress

The marketplace buzzed with life – merchants hawking silk bolts clashed with spice traders' voices, camels bellowed near caravansaries, and the metallic tang of blacksmith forges mixed with rosewater perfumes. Yet Ella Smith stood frozen mid-step, her basket of medicinal herbs forgotten as her gaze locked onto the figure astride the ebony stallion at the crossroads.Ethan Davis.

Even at sixteen, he carried himself like a battlefield commander. Sunlight glinted off the chainmail beneath his simple linen tunic, his posture straight as the sword strapped to his back. A peasant child scrambled beneath his horse's hooves chasing a runaway chicken; Ethan's gloved hand didn't merely rein in the stallion but swept the boy to safety in one fluid motion. The crowd cheered. He tipped his silver-chased helmet with a boyish grin that hid iron resolve.

And Ella remembered.

The execution ground stank of rust and cowardice. They'd dragged Ethan's mutilated corpse for days behind Hunnic chariots before tossing what remained onto the palace steps. Emperor James had laughed while crows feasted on his childhood friend's ribcage.

"Move, girl!" A porter's elbow jostled her. Ella stumbled, the physical shock grounding her. Her nails dug into her palms – not the calloused hands of an empress but the soft ones of a fourteen-year-old noble maid. Alive. He's still alive. And we burn in seven years.

Flames tore through the Davis manor's archives first –

that's how the purge began last time. Ella watched from her palanquin as King's Guard torched thirteen generations of military strategies. Lord Owen Davis's head had already rolled into the gutter, his famed silver beard matted with blood and horse dung. They'd declared him a traitor mere hours after his youngest son fell at the Battle of Black Sands. A convenient accident, James called it when his poisoned dagger found the old general's spine during their celebratory feast.But Ella knew the truth now – the Davis men hadn't perished from Xiongnu arrows or even imperial betrayal. They'd been killed by their own brilliance. For who else could rally the western garrisons in three days? Who else's battle formations had broken three sieges with half the troops? The Davis legacy was a sword too sharp for any emperor's sheath.

It took the court two months to dismantle what remained. Widows hanged with their own mourning veils. Children sold to salt mines. Even the hounds bearing the Davis crest were dashed against stones. And when the last heir – stubborn, brilliant Ethan – marched into that doomed ambush...

Ella's stomach churned. She pressed a lavender sachet to her nose, the scent failing to mask phantom smoke.

The stallion's shadow fell across her. "You've been staring, my lady." Ethan's voice held wary amusement. Up close, his eyes weren't brown but the gold-flecked hazel of forest streams. "Do I offend?"

You die screaming for a kingdom that brands you traitor, she nearly spat. Instead, Ella bent her knees in perfect curtsy – not to him, but to the ghost of Smith blood that would spill next. "Your maneuver with the child was... unexpected, Lord Davis."

He dismounted, armor clinking. Towering over her even without the helmet, he tilted her chin up. Heat flared where skin met gloves. "And how does a cloistered rose know military maneuvers?"

Before she could retort, steel shrieked. Ethan's blade intercepted the dagger aiming for her ribs."Run!" He barked, shoving her behind him as three attackers surged from the crowd. Ella's mind fractured – the marketplace dissolved into the throne room where assassins had come for her children. Not again. Never again.

Ethan fought like a wolf cornered in its den. His parries weren't the showy arcs of tourneys but brutal efficiency honed in border skirmishes. When the last assailant fell gurgling, he didn't sheathe his sword. "Who sent them?"

Her pulse thrummed. This wasn't random violence. These men bore the triangular armguards of Black Mountain mercenaries – James's favorite tools before his coronation. But he's still a prince. He shouldn't know me yet. Unless...

Ella touched Ethan's bloodied gauntlet. "They weren't after you."

His laugh held no mirth. "Forgive my skepticism, Lady...?"

"Smith. Ella Smith." She let her hood fall, revealing the ebony hair nobles whispered was too wild for marriage prospects. "And you'll find their leader's right boot carries imperial silver. The kind minted for shadow transactions."

Ethan's grip tightened. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped – the boy who'd buried two brothers before his tenth summer. Then came the slow, dangerous smile that once made Hunnic warlords retreat. "Shall we interrogate your theory together, Lady Smith?"She unclasped her mother's pendant – twin phoenixes encircling a Smith crest ring. "Proof is for liars and fools. I give you this."

He studied it, then tucked the token into his breastplate. "Why?"

"Because in another life," she turned so he wouldn't see the tears, "you died asking why no one warned you."Ethan's armored fingers brushed hers. A pledge. A precipice.As Ella walked the road home, autumn wind carried the Davis guard's oath from the walls: "Loyal unto ashes!"Soon, the wind will change.