I craned my neck and twisted my body around in the mirror to try and see the full extent of the mark. While I wasn’t able to take in the whole thing at once, it appeared to be spreading down from my neck, the image of the hooded wolfsbane flower now sporting a handful of other, identical blooms along with a network of roots that cascaded across my shoulder blades.

Clearly, not only had I failed to rid myself of the curse, its spread indicated that I had managed to make things worse!

I couldn’t believe it—I had killed an assassin by means of a twisted appeal to self-defense and now I was even more cursed. On the upside, circumstances could only improve from here, right?

Nevertheless, I felt utterly rattled, and I dressed quickly, choosing another high collar dress with long sleeves. It was time to get serious. I headed downstairs towards the library—like any estate worth its name in Biwyth, mine had its share of tomes featuring the legends of old. Perhaps there was a book that might have some insight into this horrible turn of events.

I turned the corner into the library and nearly crashed headlong into Faewin, who was herself in the process of turning in my direction.

“Oh,” she said, startled—and quickly moved to hide something behind her back.

No. It couldn’t be.

A horrid sense of deja vu descended upon me like cold water as I remembered waking up after having been murdered and finding Faewin with the prince’s wedding invitation. There was no sense in beating around the bush; if I were right, I’d rather know sooner than later.

I reached out to my cousin, unceremoniously extending my arm in a gesture that brooked no deference. “Hand it over, Faewin.”

Faewin looked startled to be addressed in such demanding terms from her closest relative. “Why don’t we have some tea—”

“Faewin,” I barked, “Give it to me.”

Not giving her a chance to respond, I grabbed her hand and pried the letter from her grasp. Then, ignoring her protests, I sliced the envelope open and pried out the sheet of matte paper within.

It was an invitation from the palace. Just as I had suspected.

“Perhaps you ought to turn it down,” Faewin was saying, but I wasn’t listening.

You are Invited, the gold-embossed script proclaimed mockingly, to Attend the Wedding of Prince Emory and Princess Calliope…

“When did this arrive?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Just a few minutes ago,” Faewin told me, “but why—”

Utterly shaken, I fled the library and ran back upstairs to my room, flinging open the trunk where I had stashed my bloodied dress, cloth, and dagger last night.

The chest was empty.

Which could only mean one thing…

I slumped in despair against the chest, sliding to the floor.

I was back in the loop, damned for eternity. Not only had I made everything worse, I was now wondering if the myths were true—maybe it really was impossible to break the curse.

What if I never got out of this?

Faewin knocked softly on my door. “Are you okay?”

I could feel my face crumple. “No,” I said, “I’m not okay.”

My cousin stepped fully into my room and crouched down next to me. “I know getting that invitation must have been upsetting. Will you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?”

I sniffled, tears starting to form behind my eyelids. “I appreciate the offer,” I told her, “but there’s nothing you can do for me. I’m doomed.”

A look of genuine alarm crossed Faewin’s face. “Should I fetch a doctor?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “I’ll be fine.”

Faewin looked like she wanted to respond, but I was already on my way outside, caught in a daze. Was I going to have to get through this day over and over again?

I found myself passing by the blacksmith shop when I saw Sir Garnier talking to the blacksmith in the doorway. Bitterly, I thought back to the previous same day I’d experienced—I had been so sure of myself, so convinced that by killing Marlowe before the fateful wedding, I would break the curse.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

At least, considering that I had ended up back in the moment of the invitation’s arrival, Marlowe couldn’t yet be dead. That was some comfort.

Garnier looked up, waving, as I passed the smithy. “Good morning, milady. Is there anything I can do for you today?”

A dismissal was already on my tongue when it struck me—might I still be able to change my destiny?

What if I had been wrong to kill Marlowe?

I had been so wrapped up in my logic, my conviction that it was either him or me, that he had to die. And I still believed that he must have betrayed and poisoned me. It was the only logical conclusion one could draw from the circumstances.

But what if killing him had only sent me back to be killed by him yet again the night of the wedding?

I stopped in my tracks, suddenly struck by an idea.

What if I tried to change his mind?

What if we became friends? Would a friend want to kill a friend?

I was willing to find out.

The more I considered it, the more I warmed to and appreciated the idea—I had a month to get Marlowe to like me.

To be entirely honest, I didn’t think it would be all that difficult, considering the way he had looked at me. How he had put his muscular arms on each side of me, boxing me in…and that smoldering look in his eyes; the way they seemed to ignite when he brushed his fingers against my cheek.

But I also knew that attraction and trust weren’t necessarily the same thing.

“Milady? Are you alright?”

Garnier’s concern served to snap me out of my reverie. “Yes, thank you. Sir Garnier, would you accompany me to the garden? I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

The conversation that ensued flowed mostly along the lines of the one we’d had on this day the last time. While he initially appeared alarmed at my bringing up the infamous assassin Marlowe, he affirmed his trustworthy nature and agreed to set up a meeting between the two of us.

Satisfied, I returned to the house, finding Faewin in the library answering some correspondence that must have come in earlier that week. “I want you to accept the invitation,” I said, without preamble.

Faewin startled at my words, apparently not expecting me to have returned from my outing so soon. She set down her pen and looked at me directly, distress clear on her face. “Persephone,” she pleaded, “do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Faewin,” I said, “Have you ever known me to do something reckless?”

She, perhaps wisely, did not respond to this question, so I added, “I have my reasons,” and left her looking somewhat calmer as I returned to my room.

When Mary, the youngest of my lady’s maids, brought me an envelope sealed with the emblem of a snake eating its own tail affixed in blood red wax, I smiled. Things were falling back into place.

After reading Marlowe’s cryptic invitation to meet him in the private room above the tavern, I threw it into the fire, watching for a moment as the embers caught, flames dancing across the paper and turning it to black dust.

This time around, I needed to be my most charming.

I stood up and walked over to my armoire, ready to select something slightly more appealing than the dark dress and cloak I had been wearing the day I had killed Marlowe. It needed, of course, to have a high collar and long sleeves, which did limit my options somewhat, but after rummaging through the ample number of clothes inside I found a workable garment.

Stepping into the purple dress in question, I looked in the mirror. The gown gave a sensual impression despite its modesty, the violet color highlighting my light olive skin; my reddish-brown hair curling prettily around my shoulders.

As I fastened a slightly elaborate hair piece into place, I thought about the dagger. Marlowe was, after all, still an assassin. If I was correct and he had in fact killed me the night of the wedding, he could potentially kill me at any time.

I couldn’t afford to trust him. I would do well to remember that.

Footsteps sounded outside my door, and Faewin stopped to peer in. “I’m off to deliver our acceptance of the palace’s invitation,” she said, with a slight smile, “Where are you going, all dressed up?”

I grinned, pleased that she had noticed.

I could only hope that Marlowe would notice, too.