Wedding in Three Days

Lady Lysandra's words echoed in the grand chamber, yet the woman lying on the ornate bed remained frozen in shock. Ivy Reed—the world's most feared assassin, the Night Reaper, Death's Empress—was now trapped in the body of a lovesick noblewoman who had died after falling from a balcony. It was absurd. Unbelievable. 

Was this some kind of cruel joke? 

Her expression remained unreadable as she processed the situation. Her piercing gaze, once accustomed to hunting prey in the shadows, now settled on the delicate hands that weren't hers. 

"Lady Ivy?" Lady Lysandra's voice pulled her from her thoughts, concern lacing her tone. 

When no response came, whispers rippled through the chamber. 

"Do you think she lost her voice?" Lady Isolde murmured to Lady Isabeau. 

Ivy finally spoke, her voice hoarse. "Water." 

Her throat burned with dryness, making her wonder how long this fragile body had been unconscious. 

"Oh! My apologies, my lady," a maid in a simple uniform gasped before quickly pouring a glass and bringing it to Ivy's lips. The moment the cool liquid touched her tongue, she drank greedily, finishing four glasses before her thirst was sated. 

Just then, the doors creaked open, revealing a familiar face—Ivy recognized the maid, Anya, followed by the family's physician. The gathered ladies instinctively stepped aside as the elderly man approached. 

"What time did she wake?" he inquired. 

"A few moments ago," Lady Lysandra replied. 

The physician turned to Ivy with a professional yet gentle gaze. "Pardon me, my lady." He reached for her wrist, checking her pulse before placing a glowing orb on her palm. The sphere flickered between green and blue before he retrieved it, examining the result closely. His brows furrowed in disbelief. 

"Strange," he muttered. "Lady Ivy's wounds have healed completely." His eyes flicked to Lady Lysandra. "Did you perform any healing magic on her?" 

Lady Lysandra stiffened slightly before responding, "No. As you know, I'm not skilled enough to attempt such magic. I wouldn't risk harming Lady Ivy with my mediocre abilities." 

She was lying. 

Ivy knew it immediately. Years of training had honed her ability to detect deception, and this woman was definitely hiding something. But why? Did she not want to heal Ivy? Weren't they supposed to be friends? 

The physician ran additional checks, his disbelief deepening. "I've never seen anyone heal at such an unnatural speed. But unless my assessment is flawed—of which I am quite certain it is not—Lady Ivy will make a full recovery with just a bit of rest." 

A hushed murmur swept through the room. Some sounded surprised; others, displeased. 

A voice, dripping with disdain, cut through the tension. 

"Oh? So she's perfectly fine while the victim remains bedridden? Seems the devil looks after his own." 

A tall, imposing man strode in, his presence demanding attention. His fiery red hair gleamed under the candlelight, his sharp golden eyes cold with contempt. Dressed in luxurious fabrics that reflected his noble status, Crown Prince Lucius Embercrown—her supposed fiancé—looked anything but pleased at her miraculous recovery. 

"Your Highness." The room bowed in unison. 

His gaze locked onto Ivy, expectation clear in his expression. 

Surely, he didn't expect her to stand and bow while still recovering? 

Forcing weakness into her voice, she spoke, "Forgive me, Your Highness, for my inability to show proper etiquette. My body remains weak." 

He scoffed. "Right. I wouldn't want anything to happen to my dear fiancée—not when the wedding is in three days." 

Three days? 

The wedding was originally planned for two weeks later. Why had he moved it forward? 

The physician stepped forward hastily. "Your Highness, though Lady Ivy's recovery is progressing remarkably, she requires at least a week of rest." 

Lucius merely stared, utterly indifferent. "She looks well enough. Make sure she's ready in three days." Without another word, he turned and strode out, leaving a suffocating silence in his wake. 

Soft whispers filled the void he left behind. 

"We knew the prince disliked Lady Ivy, but isn't this too cruel?" one maid murmured. 

"But she did push Lady Irene off the balcony. It's surprising enough that he's still going through with the marriage," another responded. 

"Shhh! She might hear us," the first warned. 

The tension in the room lingered as the noblewomen exchanged glances. Lady Lysandra cleared her throat, forcing a polite smile. "It's good to see you recovering, Lady Ivy. We would stay longer, but it's getting late." 

With that, she and the others swiftly took their leave. 

The physician turned to Anya, concern in his gaze. "Ensure she eats properly. A full recovery requires nourishment as well as rest." 

"I will, Doctor," Anya vowed. 

Once the room emptied, Anya hesitated before falling to her knees beside the bed, tears welling in her eyes. 

"The Crown Prince is so cruel to you," she whispered. 

Ivy watched her carefully. Anya was a sweet girl—one of the few who had always remained loyal to Lady Ivy. Since childhood, she had defended her lady against the whispers of the court, insisting she was simply misunderstood. And yet, despite Anya's unwavering kindness, the former Ivy had never treated her well. 

"Please, my lady, don't marry him," Anya pleaded. "There's—" 

She suddenly stopped, realizing what she had just said. Fear flickered across her face. 

If the original Ivy were here, she would have slapped Anya for such an outburst. But Ivy Reed wasn't her. And honestly? The girl had a point. 

Instead of scolding, she smiled. "You don't need to apologize, Anya. You're only looking out for me." 

Anya's eyes widened in shock, a trace of fear still lingering. "My lady… are you feeling well? Did the fall affect your head?" She reached out to check Ivy's forehead. 

Ivy laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I'm fine. The fall just made me realize that I need to cherish what truly matters." 

Anya hesitated before whispering, "But… are you really going to marry him? He doesn't even love you." 

Ivy's smile dimmed. "The marriage was sanctioned by the king himself. It would be a grave insult to call it off for something as trivial as love." 

Anya didn't look convinced, but she nodded nonetheless. 

Sighing, Ivy changed the subject. "For now, can you bring me something to eat? I'm starving." 

At once, Anya jumped to her feet. "Oh! Right! I'll get your food immediately." 

She rushed out and soon returned with a tray. After Ivy finished eating, Anya helped her bathe and change into fresh clothes. 

Later, as she sat by the window, Ivy sifted through the former lady's memories. It didn't take long to realize something unsettling—this Ivy had known nothing. She had never studied magic, the kingdom's economy, or even its political landscape. Her entire world had revolved around being the Crown Prince's wife. 

That needed to change. 

"Anya," Ivy called, turning to her maid. "Take me to the library. I need books." 

Anya blinked in shock. "My lady, you're still weak! If there are any books you need, I'll bring them to you." 

Ivy considered her words. Walking might be too much for this body just yet. "Alright. Bring me books on magic, the kingdom's economy, and its constitution." 

The maid stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Did… did you hit your head harder than we thought? Should I call the physician?" 

Ivy chuckled. "No, I'm fine. Just bring the books, Anya." 

If she was going to be forced into this life, then she would arm herself with the greatest power there was— knowledge.