Chapter 3: Freedom
952 Words
The garden was a dream — a sea of blooming roses and neatly trimmed hedges, with sunlight slipping through the leaves like strands of gold. Birds sang in the distance, and a soft breeze carried the faint scent of lavender.
And yet, Celine — now Seranya Falkreath — sat rigid on a carved stone bench, her mind anything but peaceful.
A husband.
Not just any husband, but a man so notorious that no one even dared to say his name.
Her fingers toyed with the hem of her dress as she tried to piece together the puzzle. She’d overheard bits and pieces from the maids and gardeners. Enough to paint a picture she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.
General… Warlord… A hero to some, a demon to others.
They said he had no mercy — that he could end a man’s life without blinking. That his enemies feared him more than death itself. That his mere presence could silence an entire room.
Celine swallowed hard. And that’s my husband?
The word felt strange in her head. Husband. Husband to a man whose reputation made battle-hardened soldiers step aside. She imagined a towering figure with cold, merciless eyes, a man who’d see her as nothing more than a political convenience.
Her chest tightened. She’d also learned that Seranya — the woman whose life she’d inherited — had been only nineteen when she married him. A year later, she was barely twenty, living in this grand estate… alone.
It hadn’t been a love story. Not even close.
Her family, once powerful, had collapsed into ruin — debts, lost lands, stripped titles. And then, from nowhere, the General offered marriage.
Her parents hadn’t thought twice. They’d pushed their young daughter into his hands like a pawn on a chessboard.
Celine clenched her fists. So she never had a choice. Never had a life of her own.
The breeze stirred the petals at her feet, and she stared at them for a long moment. The more she thought about it, the more questions tangled in her head.
Why would a man like that — a man who could have chosen princesses, noblewomen, anyone of power and beauty — choose a girl from a crumbling house?
Pity? No, a man like that wouldn’t waste his time on pity.
Strategy? Maybe.
Something darker? Possibly.
She frowned. What are you planning, General Falkreath?
Her heart thudded a little faster. The uncertainty was suffocating, but deep down, a flicker of curiosity burned alongside her fear.
The sunlight in the garden was warm, but Celine—no, Seranya—felt a chill run through her. She sat under a blooming pear tree, staring at the ripples in the fountain, her thoughts tangled in knots.
If this really is reincarnation… then that means the real Seranya Falkreath is… gone.
The thought made her uneasy.
How did she die?
Her mind ran through possibilities.
Murder? No… The General had been away for nearly a year, leading his army. Could it have been an assassination? After all, being the wife of a powerful warlord made you a tempting target.
She chewed her lip, eyes narrowing. Or maybe… it was something else. Something no one’s willing to talk about.
But then another thought slipped in, uninvited—what if I’m next?
She quickly shook her head. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. We’re not going down that dark rabbit hole.” She swatted at the air like she could physically bat away the thought.
Still… her husband’s return loomed in her mind. The butler’s words echoed: He’ll be home soon.
Soon meant within a week.
Her stomach flipped. A man whose reputation could silence a battlefield was about to walk through those doors… and she’d have to smile at him like a perfect wife.
The very idea made her want to bury herself under the rose bushes.
But then, a spark of rebellion flickered inside her chest. Wait a second… I still have a week.
Her lips curved into a sly grin.
“A week of freedom… before Scary War Husband shows up,” she muttered to herself. “Alright then. I’m going to live it up.”
The wind carried the scent of flowers as she leaned back, her mind racing with possibilities.
She’d never had a youth worth remembering—always working, always climbing ladders that led to more work. Now, in this new life, she had the chance to try everything she’d missed.
Popular trends in this world? She’d find them.
Ridiculous luxury activities? Sign her up.
Eating cake for breakfast? Already on the mental list.
Seranya clenched her fist with mock determination. “Before he gets here, I’ll have the most fun this body has ever had. And if my scary husband dares to complain—” she glanced toward the sky with exaggerated defiance, “—he can take it up with the new me.”
The door creaked open, and the old maid—ever composed, ever watchful—stepped inside with a tray of steaming tea.
“Your Grace, I’ve brought your afternoon tea.”
Seranya barely glanced at it. “Thanks, but I want to go out today.”
The maid hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m sorry, Your Grace… but the General has forbidden you from leaving the estate.”
The words hit Seranya like a bucket of cold water.
He… controls even that?
Her shoulders slumped, then tensed. “What is he, my jailer?” she muttered under her breath. A frustrated sigh escaped her, but almost instantly, her expression shifted.
“Fine then. If I can’t go out, I want sweets. Three times a day.” She flashed a mischievous smile.
- Writer
