The Phoenix Consort

"You shall die today. That is my final decision." Prince Jian's voice cut through the cold air like a blade. Lianhua’s knees hit the wooden execution platform with a dull thud as the guards forced her down. Her wrists, bound with rough rope, burned from struggling. The scent of incense mixed with the distant smell of burning oil, but neither could mask the stench of betrayal. "Please, Your Highness!" Her voice cracked as she lifted her tear-streaked face toward the man standing above her. "I am innocent!" Prince Jian. Her prince. The man she had loved more than life itself. The same man who now stared at her as if she were a criminal. "You’ve been proven guilty," Jian said, his voice empty of warmth, empty of her. "You committed treason, and you must die." Lianhua’s chest tightened. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs. No. This isn’t real. He wouldn’t do this to me. "You think I would betray you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmuring crowd. "Jian, you know me." Jian’s face was unreadable. "You almost killed my mother, you fool." His jaw tightened, fury flashing in his dark eyes. "Do you take me for an i***t?" "You already know how this palace works!" Lianhua choked out, her breath hitching. "The Queen and Han they framed me! You know how dangerous they are. Jian, please" The moment she said Han’s name, something flickered in his gaze. He turned away, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. "I should have never trusted you," he muttered. Lianhua’s hands trembled as she clenched the hem of her torn robes. The Queen and Han stood a few steps away, watching in satisfied silence. The Queen Jian’s mother wore an expression of serene triumph. Han, with her delicate frame and soft smile, rested a protective hand over her belly. The belly that carried the prince's heir. Lianhua swallowed the lump in her throat. The weight of their stares crushed her more than the ropes biting into her skin. Ying, her loyal maid, knelt at the foot of the platform, silent tears streaming down her face. She clutched the wooden steps, knuckles white. "Your Highness, please," she begged, voice breaking. "Mistress Lianhua would never.." "Silence." Jian’s voice was as cold as winter’s first frost. Ying flinched, pressing her forehead against the wood. Lianhua wished she could reach out and comfort her. A rustle of fabric. The executioner stepped forward, his steel blade gleaming under the torches. Lianhua’s breath caught. A chill crept into her bones. This was really happening. No. No. No. Her gaze lifted to Jian the Prince Jian, her Jian searching for something, anything. But his expression remained stone. And then, the executioner did something that made her blood freeze. He offered the sword to Jian. No. No. It had to be a mistake. Surely, Jian wouldn’t But his hand wrapped around the hilt. And suddenly, Lianhua understood. This wasn’t just an execution. It was a message. Jian himself would be the one to strike her down. Her lips parted, a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaping her throat. "So this is it?" she whispered. "You're going to kill me yourself?" Jian’s fingers tightened around the sword. His knuckles turned white. "You were never meant to be by my side," he said. And then he swung. The world slowed. Pain. A sharp, searing pain. Lianhua gasped, her vision turning hazy. Her body crumpled, blood pooling beneath her. She could barely hear the Queen’s soft laughter. Han’s quiet satisfaction. Ying’s wailing cries. All she could feel was hatred. She had given Jian her heart. And he had crushed it beneath his heel. If there was an afterlife, she would curse him. She would curse this land. And she would have her revenge. As Lianhua closes her eyes in death, Lianhua gasped. Her body lurched upright, her hands flying to her throat. No blood. No pain. Her breath came in sharp, frantic bursts. She wasn’t dead? Silk sheets. A familiar ceiling. The faint scent of jasmine oil. Her hands trembled as she scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over her own feet. Heart hammering, she staggered toward the bronze mirror across the room. A girl young, untouched by flames or blood stared back at her. Her fingers brushed her cheek. Smooth. Unscarred. No… This was… Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the carved wooden furniture, the delicate silk drapes, the tiny red box on her vanity. Everything was exactly as it had been… before. Before her death. Before him. She stumbled back, hands pressed against her chest as if trying to calm her racing heart. This was real. Somehow some impossible way she had returned. But how far back? A knock at the door startled her. "Mistress Lianhua?" A soft, familiar voice. Ying. Lianhua’s eyes widened. "Ying?" she croaked. The door creaked open, and Ying peeked inside, her expression concerned. "You're awake," she breathed. "You slept for so long, I was worried." Lianhua barely heard her. Her mind was still spinning, heart pounding as she tried to make sense of everything. How much time had she been given? How long before the Queen’s traps, before Han’s schemes, before Jian A sharp breath. Jian. Lianhua’s hands curled into fists. She had spent her past life loving him, trusting him, believing in him. And he had let her die. Fate had given her another chance. And this time… She would not love Jian. She would destroy him first.