Chapter 2

In the days that followed, I stayed in my chambers, nursing my wounds.

William came to see me every single day.

He would sit by my bedside, hold my hand, and talk about trivial things. Sometimes he told amusing stories from court, sometimes the ordinary affairs of the mansion, and sometimes he simply sat quietly and watched me.

If I didn't know the truth, I would've been moved by him.

What a wonderful husband. Even after my face was ruined, he never left my side. He stayed with me every day, gentle, attentive, and endlessly patient, never once showing any sign of disdain.

But I knew. I knew it all.

I knew that every time he came to see me, it was only to make sure I was recovering, nothing more. I knew that every time he held my hand, he was thinking, "At last, this face will never threaten Chloe's place again."

I also knew he had guards posted outside my chambers day and night—supposedly to serve me, but really to monitor my every move.

He was afraid I might lose control, cause trouble, or run out and let outsiders see my hideous face.

I kept quiet, did nothing.

I simply lay there, recovering.

Every time they changed my bandages, it was agony. They peeled away the gauze, leaving my mangled face exposed to the air, then applied fresh ointment.

The pain was enough to make someone grind their teeth to dust. But I never cried out, not even once.

I just lay there, unmoving, my eyes fixed on the sky outside.

Sunny today, cloudy tomorrow, rainy the day after.

One day. Two days. Three days.

After half a month, the bandages could finally be removed.

When they brought the mirror to me, the whole room seemed to freeze. No one dared to breathe.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

That wasn't me.

My original face was softly oval with curved brows and eyes. I had two faint dimples when I smiled.

My father used to say my eyes resembled his, bright and spirited. My mother always claimed my lips took after hers, delicate and charming.

Now none of those features remained in the mirror.

From my forehead to my chin, from the bridge of my nose to both cheeks, grotesque scars covered every inch. The newly healed skin was twisted and puckered in shades of red, purple, and white. It looked like tangled centipedes crawling across my entire face.

My eyes were still there, but scars ringed my eye sockets. My lips remained, but a scar at the corner pulled my mouth permanently to one side.

I didn't recognize the face in the mirror.

My maid, Hannah, sobbed, "Lady Yvette, please, don't look anymore."

I looked at her and smiled.

But I forgot. With my face ruined, my smile was even uglier than my tears.

Hannah recoiled in terror, then realized her lapse and dropped into a deep curtsy, her voice trembling violently. "Forgive me, Lady Yvette. Please forgive me. I meant no offense."

"It's alright. Get up," I said.

My voice was still the same as before.

That was probably the only thing left that hadn't been taken from me.

I reached out and set the mirror face down on the table. "From today on, no mirrors are allowed in my chambers."

Hannah nodded, crying.

I lay back down on the bed and closed my eyes.

Those words kept replaying in my head: "What Chloe needs is a shadow, someone who'd never be compared to her again. This is what Yvette supposedly owes Chloe."

I owed Chloe?

What exactly did I owe her?

Did I owe her the title of princess? Or did I owe her a face that was uglier than hers?

Chloe was my cousin, my mother's niece.

My mother and Chloe's mother were biological sisters. My mother married my father, a renowned general, while her sister wed a civil official, Yosef Moore.

One had married a warrior, the other a scholar, and each had found her place.

When we were little, Chloe and I saw each other all the time.

She was three years older than I, and she had been breathtakingly beautiful since childhood. She was so lovely that she had to wear a veil whenever she went out, or crowds would gather to catch a glimpse of her.

Everyone said the Moore family had a true beauty, a girl destined to become a queen one day.

Me? I was always trailing after my father, riding horses, shooting arrows, climbing trees, and chasing birds. I got so tanned and grubby that I barely looked like a girl at all.

My mother would always sigh, "Look at Chloe, then look at you. When will you ever act like a proper young lady?"

I didn't care.

I had my father, my mother, the General Manor, and my own pony.

I wasn't missing a thing.

Then my father died on the battlefield, and my mother got sick and followed him not long after.

And just like that, I went from a beloved, privileged daughter to an orphan.

When the Moore family came to pay their respects, Chloe stood in the mourning hall, dressed all in black, looking delicate and heartbreakingly beautiful. She took my hand, her eyes red with tears. "Yvette, don't be afraid. From now on, I'll be here for you."

I believed her.

I really believed her.

But once my mourning period ended, no one from the Moore family came to take me in. I was left alone in the empty General Manor, surrounded by my father's old servants and my mother's memorial plaque, with no idea what to do next.

Then William came.

William was the King's sixth son. He had been raised by the Queen. Gentle, refined, and always kind, he was known across Belmere as a model prince.

On the day he came to propose, I hid behind the door and stole glances at him.

He was dressed in a pale white robe, his features gentle and kind, his voice soft and warm, like a soft spring breeze.

He said he admired my father's honor and my spirited nature. He promised to cherish me and never let me suffer any hardship at all.

I said yes, my heart full of joy.

On our wedding night, William lifted my veil and stared at me, frozen for a moment as if caught off guard.

I thought he was mesmerized by my beauty. Only now did I realize he was only sizing me up to see if I looked enough like Chloe.

I did resemble her; I shared about half of her features.

But I was livelier than Chloe, more full of life.

That was why William kept me by his side for three years.

Three years later, Chloe finished her mourning period and was finally coming back.

So, I was meant to disappear.

No, I couldn't die. I just couldn't keep this face anymore.

William said that trading my beauty for a quiet life in the Prince Mansion was mercy.

Mercy.

I chewed on that word so many times, and it tasted like blood.