The Reborn Saintess's Revenge

The Southlands priest once prophesied that the Duke of Winslet's house would produce a Saintess who could command every beast alive. I'd hidden the golden serpent mark on my wrist since childhood, but my cousin, Rose Winslet, flaunted a poisonous snake coiled around hers every day. When the marriage decree came, she got exactly what she wanted: the Crown Prince. I was given to the Seventh Prince instead, a man with two ruined legs whom the entire court despised. For six years after that, I trained hawks to carry messages and drove wolves through enemy lines, and it was my hands that put him on the throne. The day he was crowned, I told him, overjoyed, that I was the true beast-commanding Saintess all along. He had my hand tendons severed and threw me into the Serpent Pit. "Monica, if you had to pretend to be someone, why did it have to be Rose? If you hadn't hidden that mark on purpose, how could I have mistaken my true savior for someone else? "Rose was tortured to death by the Crown Prince, and it's all because of you!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the priest tested the Saintess's identity before the entire court. The Seventh Prince got there first, slicing open his palm and letting his blood drip into the mouth of the venomous snake Rose kept as a pet. "Father, I'll give up my claim to the throne. I only want to marry Rose Winslet." Chapter 1 The instant the Seventh Prince, Weston Grey, said this, the great hall fell into dead silence. Blood dripped from his palm, and the crimson snake coiled around Rose Winslet's wrist lapped it up greedily. Weston's gaze swept past the crowd and landed on me, daring me to react. "Father, I'll give up my entire military command. I only want to marry Rose as my primary wife!" Understanding settled over me at once, and I nearly laughed out loud. So he'd been reborn too. "Monica Winslet." The King, seated high on his throne, frowned slightly and broke the hall's dead silence. "You and Weston have been engaged since childhood. Now that he insists on marrying your cousin, what do you have to say?" Every eye in the room turned to me at once. As far as they were concerned, I was about to become a woman publicly jilted by a crippled prince. Weston stared at me without blinking, the corner of his mouth curling into a barely visible sneer. I drew a slow breath and bowed low, deeply respectful. "Since Prince Weston and Rose are truly devoted to each other, I am glad to see it through. I pray for Prince Weston and Rose's happiness, and I wish them an early blessing of children." A collective gasp went through the hall. The satisfaction on Weston's face froze, then curdled into fury. He lowered his voice, biting out each word, "Monica, don't think I don't know exactly what game you're playing. Last time, you got Rose killed. This time, I'm going to make you watch her rule as Queen with your own eyes. I'm going to make you kneel at her feet and beg." I lifted my head and met his hate-filled eyes, feeling strangely detached. Playing games? He thought far too highly of himself. A cripple who'd only ever risen by feeding off my blood, and he actually believed he was destined for the throne? Seeing how graciously I'd handled it, a flicker of approval crossed the King's face, though he still looked troubled. "Since Monica is being so generous, I'll grant Weston's request. But you've been wronged, Monica, and I intend to find you a fine match of your own..." The King's gaze swept over the ministers and noble sons filling the hall. That was when Crown Prince Roman Grey, who had been sitting off to the side watching in cold silence, set down his wine cup. "Father." Roman walked slowly to the center of the hall and came to stand beside me. "Since my brother's heart lies elsewhere, I would offer the position of Crown Princess as my betrothal gift, and ask for the hand of the Duke of Winslet's eldest daughter, Monica Winslet." Weston whipped around to stare at Roman, disbelief written across his face. He had no idea that in my last life, if I hadn't thrown myself in front of every disaster meant for him and cleared his path at every turn, he wouldn't have been fit to touch the hem of Roman's robe. He'd wagered everything he had on that fake. Fine. I'd let him have her. The day after the marriage decree came down, the entire capital erupted. Over tea and idle gossip, everyone had something to say about the two young ladies of House Winslet. "Did you hear? Monica Winslet got dumped by Prince Weston, and then Crown Prince Roman snapped her right up!" "Everyone knows Crown Prince Roman is a vicious, bloodthirsty man. He had a corrupt official skinned alive in the street just the other day. Monica won't survive three months in his hands, I'd bet." "If you ask me, it's Rose Winslet who got the good end of the deal. The priest declared her the beast-commanding Saintess, and Prince Weston gave up his military command just to marry her. Now that's true love." The rumors were still making their way through my household when they reached me. I was reclining on a couch, unhurriedly trimming a prized pot of black orchids. "My Lady, the things people are saying out there are so unfair. Prince Weston doesn't know a good thing when he sees it!" My maid, Lyanna Larsen, had gone red-eyed with anger. I set down my shears. "Let them talk," I said mildly. "Only the dead don't have anything to say." The words had barely left my mouth when the gate was kicked open. Chapter 2 Rose swept in, trailed by a dozen servants carrying lacquered boxes. She was looking every inch the conquering queen. The boxes were stuffed with pearls, red coral, and jewelry, an entire fortune Weston had sent over first thing that morning. She'd dressed in a garish scarlet silk gown for the occasion, with that same crimson snake still coiled around her wrist. "Oh, Monica, I really am sorry. I promise I didn't come here to show off." Rose hid a giggle behind her hand. "It's just that Prince Weston dotes on me so much; he insisted on emptying half his treasury for me. I couldn't possibly use it all, so I thought I'd pick out a few of the lesser pieces as a wedding gift for you." She walked right up to me and looked down her nose. "After all, you're about to marry that bloodthirsty tyrant of a Crown Prince. Who knows, you might end up drawn and quartered one of these days. You can't take any of this with you when you die, so you may as well enjoy looking at it now." I didn't so much as lift my eyes, just took a sip from the teacup on the table. "Then I wish you a swift rise to the queen's throne," I said, blowing on my tea, my tone even. "Though you might want to be careful. Wouldn't want that little beast on your wrist to bite you dead before you get the crown." Rose's expression froze, and she flinched, drawing her wrist back without meaning to. "Don't you dare act jealous of me! Monica, you're the one who deserves to die!" She glared at me, teeth clenched. "Whether it's Prince Weston or the whole kingdom, everything I want will be mine. Just wait, you'll be tortured to death in the Crown Prince's residence." With that, she gave a cold snort and swept out with her servants in tow. I watched her go, my mouth curling into a mocking line. Did she really think painting on a false mark and keeping a poisonous pet made her a Saintess? In my last life, if I hadn't quietly kept those venomous creatures in check for her, she would have been eaten alive by her own poison long before now. That afternoon, Anthony Pickett, Weston's personal guard, showed up at my courtyard uninvited. He didn't bother with a greeting, just tossed a bottle of cheap wound salve onto my stone table like he was doing me a favor. "Lady Monica, a gift from Prince Weston." Anthony's nose was practically in the air, his voice dripping with condescension. "His Highness says that while you're spiteful and vindictive, the two of you were engaged once, so he'll show you some mercy. "If you're willing to go to his residence right now, kneel, and apologize to His Highness and Lady Rose, after the wedding, His Highness might even consider taking you in as a concubine. "That way, you won't have to suffer under that tyrant of a Crown Prince. This is an enormous act of grace on His Highness's part. Lady Monica, shouldn't you be thanking him?" I looked at the shoddy bottle of salve on the table, and my expression turned utterly cold. Take me in as a concubine? He actually had the nerve to come here and insult me like this? I rose to my feet, picked up the bottle, and hurled it down at Anthony's feet while his smug expression was still in full bloom. The porcelain shattered, and powder scattered across the ground. Anthony startled, then bellowed, "How dare you refuse such an honor!" "Get out." I spat out the two words, my eyes cold. "Go back and tell Weston that if he ever sends someone to insult me again, I'll break his other leg. There's nothing left between him and me. He chose Rose, so he'd better keep her on a tight leash and stop letting her run around biting people." Anthony's face went livid with rage. He pointed at me, sputtering, unable to get a word out, before finally storming off in a huff. "You're dead! His Highness will never let this go!" I looked down at the shattered porcelain on the ground, my gaze ice-cold. "Never let this go? Good. Then let's see, this time around, who really won't let go of whom." Chapter 3 Half a month later, the royal spring hunt convened at the Western Hills preserve, right on schedule. For generations, this had been the moment when the royal family showed off its might and the princes vied for the King's favor. In my last life, Weston, crippled in both legs, had spent that day being mocked and jeered at by every relative in the royal clan while stuck in his wheelchair. It was only because I'd secretly driven a pack of wolves to bring down a rare white tiger for him that he'd taken first place and won the King's attention. This time, he couldn't wait to prove his own judgment had been right, and he'd spent the whole morning loudly touting Rose's reputation as the "Saintess." "Father, as the Southlands Saintess, Rose can command every beast alive." Weston sat in his wheelchair, pale-faced but with a strange, fevered gleam in his eyes. "I can't hunt on horseback myself today, but Rose is willing to stand in for me and give Father a spectacle: every beast in the forest paying homage!" The King, seated on the raised platform, arched an eyebrow, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "Oh? Every beast paying homage? If she can truly pull that off, I'll reward her handsomely!" A murmur ran through the assembled nobles and officials, every gaze fixing on Rose. She'd dressed for the occasion in a garishly bright red riding outfit, mounted on a tall white horse. She shot me a smug glance, then pulled a Southlands beast-taming bone flute out from somewhere in her robes and pressed it to her lips, blowing hard. A shrill, piercing note echoed across the hunting grounds. Everyone held their breath, craning their necks toward the distant treeline, waiting for the spectacle of beasts descending from the mountains to pay homage. 30 minutes passed. Nothing stirred in the forest. Another 30 minutes passed. Not even a rabbit came out. Muffled snickers started spreading through the crowd, and the King's expression darkened by the second. Weston panicked, shouting from his wheelchair, "Rose! Blow harder! Bring out the biggest beast you've got!" Sweating, her face flushed red, Rose blew into the flute with everything she had. That was when a deep, ground-shaking rumble tore out from the depths of the forest. "It's coming! It's coming!" Weston shouted, ecstatic. But what burst out of the treeline wasn't some auspicious white tiger. It was a mob of wild boars, eyes bloodshot, foaming at the mouth, utterly rabid. Massive and sharp-tusked, they charged straight at the crowd. Rose's flute couldn't do a thing to calm the boars. If anything, the sound had only enraged them further. Rose, caught right in their path. She let out a scream and toppled off her horse, landing face-first in the mud. The rabid boars ignored her entirely and charged straight toward the platform where Weston sat, following the sound of the flute. "Protect His Highness! Protect Prince Weston!" Weston's guards scrambled into chaos, drawing their blades to hold the line, but there was no stopping that many thick-hided, frenzied beasts. In that split second of crisis, I stood at the edge of the viewing platform, watching the pandemonium below with a cold, detached eye. The largest of the boars suddenly veered off course and charged straight at the platform where I stood. Before I could even react, a broad, upright figure stepped in front of me. It was Prince Roman. Wielding his bow one-handed, he didn't even bother nocking an arrow. He simply swung the heavy iron-cored weapon down on the lead boar's skull, and its brains burst across the ground. Blood sprayed across him, and he didn't so much as flinch, only kept me shielded firmly behind him. Using the cover of his wide sleeve, I moved my fingers slightly. Beneath the fabric hiding it, the golden serpent mark I'd been born with flared to life, casting a faint but overpowering glow. A wave of terror, the kind only beasts could sense, rippled outward from me at its center. The boars, still charging in every direction a moment ago, suddenly reacted as though they'd run into some unspeakable natural predator. They let out a collective wail of anguish and wheeled around all at once. They stopped attacking everyone else and threw themselves, as if possessed, straight into Weston's ranks. "Ah! Help me! Father, save me!" Weston's despairing scream tore across the hunting grounds. The boars trampled his guards flat and knocked his wheelchair over. His already-ruined legs were crushed under the hooves of countless boars, the sickening crack of bone splintering as his flesh turned to pulp. Screams rang out across the grounds. The corner of my mouth curled into a cold, satisfied smile. Just this was already too much for him? The real show hadn't even started yet. Just then, Roman turned to face me. He reached out a blood-streaked hand and gently wiped a fleck of splattered mud from my cheek. He leaned in close, his voice dropping low enough for only the two of us to hear. "My Crown Princess, your methods sure are clean and efficient." A shiver ran through me, and I looked up at him sharply. In that moment, I knew for certain. He'd been reborn too.