Chapter 1

My family was loaded, and the Marquis' household had power. My elder sister, Evelyn, and the second young lord were a match made in heaven.

But the heir of the house was a snob. He picked on her at every turn and even wanted to take her as a concubine.

I was furious. So I decided to walk straight into the lion's den and give him a taste of being thrown aside.

During the Midwinter Fair, I pretended to get swept away by the crowd. Looking small and helpless, I grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

For a while after that, I stayed by his side. I kept him company on Midwinter's Eve, helped him decorate the hall with holly and candles, and played the perfect sweetheart.

When spring came and the flowers started blooming, his eyes were red as he said he wanted to take me back to the capital to meet his parents.

I left him a letter instead. It read: [It was all just a game. Don't take it seriously.]

I thought I would never see him again in this lifetime.

And yet at the Marquis' spring banquet, I was happily gnawing on a honey-glazed roast shank, grease all over my mouth.

When I looked up, the man I had ditched was sitting in the seat of honor, while the young heir stood beside him, bowing as he offered him a cup of wine with both hands.

The heir addressed him as "His Royal Highness."

*****

With a plop, a chunk of shank slipped off my hand and landed on the table.

Sauce splattered across my skirt, and a drop of oil popped onto the back of a noble guest's hand beside me.

The entire hall went silent.

I froze in my seat, still holding the roast shank mid-bite, my mind completely blank. I was done for.

Today was the Marquis' spring banquet. Word was that the Crown Prince, Edward Sinclair, had come in person.

"Beatrice!" My father, Richard Sutton, roared from the main table.

I flinched, instinctively grabbing the tablecloth and shoving it over my face.

I tried to hide from the embarrassment. After all, half a year ago, when I dumped that "poor scholar," the image I had carefully built was that of a gentle, well-mannered lady from a fallen noble house.

"You may dispense with the formalities." A cool, low voice cut through the hall.

Every hair on my body stood on end when I heard that voice.

The voice was hauntingly familiar—so familiar that I could instantly recall the electric shiver when that voice once whispered "baby" in my ear.

I stole a glance through the crowd. At the head of the table sat a man in a charcoal-black frock coat. He was strikingly handsome, with long, elegant fingers idly fiddling with a set of prayer beads.

He was none other than the poor scholar I'd toyed with and dumped, leaving behind a note: [You're too poor for me.]

And Miles Landon, the heir of the Marquis, usually so full of himself, was now bowing and pouring wine for him. He was the one I'd splattered with oil just moments ago.

His Royal Highness?

With a clatter, my shank hit the floor.

The starving scholar who used to write me sonnets by candlelight was Prince Edward? And Miles, the man I had spent months trying to manipulate for revenge, was nothing more than his lackey?

Good heavens.

My father, ever the social climber, barked across the room, "Beatrice, get over here and toast His Royal Highness!"

Toast? This wasn't a brush with royalty; it was a death sentence.

Every eye in the hall turned toward me. Edward shifted his gaze as well. His look was calm, but it cut like glass.

I forced myself to stand. I hunched over, with my feet turned out awkwardly, and as I got up, I spread the grease across my face even more. To top it off, I wiped my filthy hands twice on my silk gown, leaving two glaring stains.

I shuffled to the main table, keeping my eyes glued to Edward's polished black boots.

"I..." I began, pitching my voice into a harsh, gravelly croak. Just then, a massive, greasy burp escaped me, smelling strongly of the roast shank.

The room fell deathly silent. Miles looked absolutely mortified.

With nothing left to lose, I bowed. "Good day... Your Highness."

From above, I heard a soft chuckle. It was light, but it chilled me to the bone.

"Ms. Beatrice Sutton," Edward said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "You are... quite the character."

He was doubting his eyes. How could the graceful, spirited woman who broke his heart be the same uncouth wench standing before him?

"Pay her no mind, Your Highness," Miles said, pinching his nose. "She is a merchant's daughter. She is wet behind the ears and has no place in your sight. Mr. Sutton, shouldn't you have your daughter excuse herself?"

Bless you, Miles! That was the first useful thing that you have done in your entire life.

Playing along, I sniffled loudly and wiped my nose, which was perfectly dry, on my silk sleeve.

"He's right, Your Highness," I croaked, giving him a wide, toothy grin that showed off the dark gravy stuck between my teeth. "I've no schooling, you see. Don't know my left foot from my right when it comes to manners."

Edward watched me and frowned slightly. The suspicion in his eyes seemed to flicker out, replaced by blatant dislike.

"Very well," he said, waving a hand. "Dismissed."

It was music to my ears.

"Much obliged, Your Highness!" I chirped. I turned to bolt, intentionally tripping over my own feet and nearly performing a face-plant on the rug.

I scrambled back to my seat and stared at the remains of the honey-glazed roast shank, silently vowing that I would never have it again.

But then, my father's booming voice rang out again. "Since Your Highness has graced us with a visit, why not enjoy a stroll through the gardens? Beatrice knows every inch of the estate; she'd be delighted to give you a tour."

I sprayed a mouthful of wine directly across the table.

Father, are you trying to see me in an early grave?

Horrified, I looked up and locked eyes with Edward. He was wearing a faint, knowing smirk.

He set down his crystal glass and rose slowly to his feet. "In that case, I shall be in Ms. Beatrice's capable hands."

I was dead meat.