The Prince Who Keeps Dying

Chapter 1

No person should know that a knife to the heart is less painful than burning to death.

It soothed me somehow that this time I hadn't died in the worst way possible. Some of my other deaths were terrible. I don't recommend acid or jumping off a castle wall; it's an ugly death, and your coffin has to be closed after that. And my face is not the one to be hidden in a closed coffin, let me tell you that.

At the beginning, it was terrifying. Me dying at the hands of my beloved. Turns out she was sleeping with my brother, and together they wanted the throne, since I am the firstborn. So much for loyalty.

Anyway...

The important part is that I didn't stay dead. I woke up in my own bed. The same bed, the same room, the same day. The day my beloved stabbed me through the heart.

At first, I thought it was a miracle. A second chance from the gods. Knowing what would happen, I avoided her entirely. I skipped dinners. Ignored invitations. Refused to be alone with her.

I survived exactly until nightfall.

Then a drunk nobleman stumbled into me during a banquet and sent me over a balcony.

The next time, I drowned.

The time after that, I choked on a fish bone.

Since then, the universe has become disturbingly creative.

Sometimes I imagine two gods arguing over me. One desperately trying to kill me. The other refusing to let me stay dead long enough to enjoy it.

But the perks of knowing you'll leave after death? Yeah, that was the real kicker. Because if you could call me pompous before, now I was absolutely unbearable. I said whatever I wanted because I knew no one would remember it the next day. I went on naked walks just to shock people, and let's just say I may have jumped off the highest tower in the castle simply because I could.

It was a blessing and a curse.

Today wasn't any different. Same day, same people, and me eating my weight in food. No worries about getting fat. Just cakes for breakfast and beautiful women all around me while I lay in bed eating.

"Prince, do you want to play with us after breakfast?" one of the girls asked.

How could I say no to that?

"Of course," I said. "And then you'll steal the strawberry tart from my plate, claim it wasn't you, and blame poor Martha when she comes to collect the dishes."

The room went silent.

The blonde girl stared at me.

"What?"

"You always do that."

"No, I don't."

"You do."

She looked at the tart. Then at me. Then back at the tart.

"Well..." she muttered. "I was going to."

I grinned triumphantly. The others laughed. Nothing unusual there. The same conversation happened every loop. Every single loop.

Then the blonde reached for the tart.

I leaned back, waiting. Instead, she grabbed a pear.

I frowned.

The tart remained untouched. A strange sensation crawled up my spine.

"You're not taking it?" I asked.

"No."

My smile faltered.

"You always take it."

She blinked.

"No, I don't."

The room suddenly felt smaller. For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then one of the other girls laughed.

"Have you been drinking already?"

Normally, this was where the maid entered.

Three.

Two.

One.

The door remained closed. My stomach dropped. The maid was always on time. Always.

I slowly stood. The girls exchanged confused looks.

"Your Highness?"

I ignored them.

Three hundred and forty-two deaths. Three hundred and forty-two identical mornings.

The maid had never been late. Not once. Something had changed.

I kept staring at the door.

Around me, the room carried on exactly as it always did. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows. The girls lounged across my bed, stealing fruit from the breakfast tray and arguing about something completely unimportant. The scent of fresh pastries lingered in the air.

Everything looked the same. Everything felt wrong.

All those deaths had taught me many things. They taught me that drowning was worse than people imagined. That falling from great heights gave you far too much time to regret your decisions. That people became remarkably honest when they believed they would never see you again.

Most importantly, they taught me patterns.

This morning had a pattern. Every morning had a pattern. Martha entered the room exactly seven minutes after I woke up. Not six. Not eight. Seven.

Always carrying the same silver tray, but the door remained closed. I found myself counting the seconds.

The conversation around me continued, but it sounded distant. The blonde girl who normally stole my strawberry tart reached for a pear instead. Another inconsistency. Another crack in the familiar routine.

I didn't like it. With horror, I realized I didn't know what would happen next. The thought unsettled me more than any death ever had. Then the handle turned.

Relief swept through me so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

Finally.

The door opened, and my relief died immediately. It wasn't Martha.

A woman stepped into the room wearing a servant's uniform I didn't recognize. She couldn't have been older than me. Dark hair framed a sharp face, and her posture was entirely wrong for a servant. It was too confident.

I knew every servant in this palace. I had never seen her before.

The girls barely acknowledged her presence. Why would they? To them, she was just another servant beginning her day.

My pulse started to climb. The woman looked directly at me. A strange chill worked its way down my spine.

I slowly stood.

"Who are you?"

The question seemed to amuse her. A small smile appeared on her lips. Not a servant's smile. The smile of someone who had finally found what they were looking for.

Then she tilted her head and studied me for a moment.

"Three hundred and forty-two deaths," she said quietly.

My heart stopped. The room remained exactly the same. The girls were still talking. The sunlight still poured through the windows. Yet everything had changed.

No one was supposed to know that number.

The woman took a single step forward.

"You counted correctly, Your Highness."

For the first time since this nightmare began, genuine fear settled in my chest. The smile on her face widened.

"Don't look so frightened," she said softly.

Her eyes gleamed with something I couldn't name.

"You're not the only one trapped here."