Chapter 2
"Your Majesty, I beg of you, grant me a draft to prevent conception. If I were to be with child, it would give me away when I marry." I didn't rush to ask for anything valuable, but just made a reasonable request, making sure every word sounded like I was thinking of him.
Even now, I was still playing my cards. I was piling on his guilt, etching myself deeper into his memory.
"No need. I was born unable to have children. You won't get pregnant," Archer said, turning away and leaving me alone in the cold, empty palace. I sat there, brooding over my fate and the marriage alliance, waiting for dawn.
When dawn came, I was moved out of my shabby old quarters and into a lavish palace, assuming the identity of Myrtle Elledge. Just like that, I became the nominal bride sent for the alliance marriage.
Aside from a maid who drilled me in court etiquette and the lady official who taught me the nomadic tongue, I was surrounded by a small army of maids who looked after my every need.
Sometimes, catching my reflection in the bronze mirror—my face growing more refined and smooth with all the careful pampering—I'd almost believe I was some spoiled rich girl raised in luxury.
As the alliance bride, Archer pulled out all the stops to make the act convincing. He sweet-talked and schemed Myrtle into the palace, swapping her into my old spot as a consort. He assured her it was just a stopgap, promising she'd get a promotion soon enough.
But Myrtle wasn't satisfied in the slightest. First, she kicked up a fuss about her place being way too plain, demanding Archer redo the whole place.
Then, whenever she was supposed to greet the top-ranking consorts, she'd conveniently skip out, claiming she was "too tired to get up."
When Archer called her to spend the night, she made a scene about all the palace rules, flat-out refused to play the part of a real concubine, wouldn't let him lay a finger on her, and even tossed out threats about leaving the palace one day.
Even when the Queen Mother laid into her, Myrtle shot right back with no fear, driving Archer up the wall—yet he still kept bending over backwards to keep her happy.
Listening to all this, I realized that when someone was loved, they could get away with anything. Myrtle could throw all these tantrums because Archer was crazy about her, and her powerful family had her back.
But me? I had nothing. I could only survive by walking on eggshells, scared that one misstep would ruin me for good.
Honestly, Myrtle was smart. If she wanted Archer's affection to last, she couldn't let him have her too easily. She kept herself always just out of reach, making sure he stayed obsessed with her.
*****
But I wasn't about to just sit back and wait for my fate. On the day I was to be sent off for the alliance marriage, I got up before dawn and let the maids dress me in regal splendor. With my hair adorned in jewels and pearls, I made my way to Archer.
"You're the bride?" Archer nearly didn't recognize me. It had only been a month since we last met, but the woman standing before him now was a world apart from the one who had shared his bed that night.
"Your Majesty, I'm here to bid you farewell," I said, bowing gracefully before him. I was so enchanting and elegant that even Archer, who'd seen his share of beauties, was taken aback.
"Myrtle, take care on your journey," Archer said, his gaze lingering on my gentle, obedient appearance. A wave of reluctance washed over him.
If he'd known I could look this breathtaking when dressed up—rivaling Myrtle's own beauty—he never would have sent me away for the alliance marriage. But now, with everything set in motion, all he could do was watch me leave.
"Your Majesty, the spring sun is perfect. Why don't you take me out for a stroll? I'm about to go stir-crazy in this palace," Myrtle said, her eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction and a hint of malice as she watched the alliance marriage carriage disappear into the distance.
She reached out and tugged at Archer's sleeve, putting on her most charming act.
"No, I have some official business to take care of," Archer replied. Thanks to Myrtle's antics yesterday, his desk was already piled high with urgent paperwork.
"Official business, official business, always official business! Why don't you just marry your paperwork?" Myrtle pouted, huffing as she turned and stormed off. She was sure that with her throwing such a fit, Archer would come running after her to apologize, but he didn't.
"To the study," Archer said to his attendant, his patience fraying as he watched Myrtle's spoiled look. Suddenly, he couldn't help but think of my quiet, patient ways. Same blood, same beauty, but worlds apart in temperament. His patience for Myrtle was wearing dangerously thin.
All day, no matter what he was doing, he couldn't stop picturing the way I looked when I left. The more he thought about it, the more regret gnawed at him. A woman like me should've been living a good life by his side, not shipped off to some godforsaken place to suffer.
The next day, he went to the palace where I used to live. My things were still there, untouched.
On the walls hung several of my old paintings, all Christmas Roses standing proud in the snow. Most of them were solitary, blooming alone in some remote corner, their petals unfurling with an unyielding spirit, thriving in the harshest cold.
"These are all Myrtle's paintings?" he murmured, reaching out to gently touch the artwork on the wall.
The brushwork was uncannily similar to the rose painting Myrtle had once gifted him.
He'd always believed that the beautiful painting he admired was Myrtle's work. But now, thinking about the spirit of blooming alone against the winter chill, he realized—how could someone like Myrtle, pampered all her life, ever truly grasp that feeling?