Chapter 1

My name is Charlotte Sinclair, the eldest daughter of Professor Sinclair, the Chancellor. These days, I'm a widow chopping firewood and raising a kid.

The queen suddenly summoned me. "Help me straighten out that useless Prince Edward. Teach him responsibility, and I'll pardon your whole family."

I looked at that spoiled rich boy who didn't even know the price of wheat and smiled.

Teach him? I can't even get my own son to listen.

But who would've thought that while I was teaching him, the way he looked at me started changing... Prince Edward, back off. I'm a widow.

*****

I, Charlotte Sinclair, eldest daughter of the Chancellor's household, was squatting at the mouth of an alley chopping firewood. Not for the experience. I was just genuinely broke.

"Mommy, Tommy next door said his dad sells meat, so he gets big bones to chew on every day." My four-year-old son, Benjamin Sinclair, squatted beside me with his chin in his hands. "Tommy asked what my dad does."

I brought the cleaver down, and a log split clean in two. "Tell him your dad is an angel sent down from heaven. He's gone back up there for work."

Ben blinked. "But Tommy said he's seen angels before. They all wear golden clothes. When my dad left, he was wearing a gray shirt with three patches on it."

I took a deep breath and swung even harder at the wood.

Benjamin Sinclair, you're only four. Did you really have to hit that hard?

My name is Charlotte Sinclair, and I'm twenty-two. Among the noble ladies of the Capital City, girls my age were busy comparing pearl hairpins and talking about whose husband had just gotten promoted.

Meanwhile, I was competing with myself to see who could split firewood more evenly.

Three years ago, my father, Professor Sinclair, offended the Lord Regent, and our whole family was exiled south. Married daughters were exempt, so because I was already wed, I was lucky enough to stay in the capital.

But my dowry, farmland, and shops were all sold off to grease palms, and in the end, none of it changed my family's fate.

My husband, William Hart, the only son of the man who had once saved my father's life and the man I'd grown up beside, fell sick from worry during the whole disaster and never got back up. He passed away.

That left me alone with my barely one-year-old son, scraping by with a struggling clothing shop.

Calling it a clothing shop was generous. Really, I just took on mending jobs and sometimes made a couple of new outfits to sell to Mrs. Warren at the end of the alley. What I earned was just enough for rice and firewood.

Oh, right. The firewood I had to chop myself.

"Mommy, your hand is bleeding again." Ben sighed like a little grown-up and pulled out a neatly folded scrap of rough cloth from his robe.

I looked down. Sure enough, the skin between my thumb and forefinger had split open again, and beads of blood were seeping out.

These were the hands of the former Miss Sinclair, the girl who had never even held an embroidery needle. Now these hands chopped wood, washed clothes, cooked meals, and cut fabric. They did it all.

I took the cloth strip, wrapped it around twice without much care, and kept chopping.

Just then, a burst of hoofbeats came from the alley entrance. Not ordinary horses either. One listen and you knew this was the kind of horse that cost a fortune.

Then came a mess of frantic footsteps and screams.

"Move! Move! Prince Edward's horse has bolted!" Someone shouted.

Before I could react, a figure in bright yellow came tearing in from the alley entrance. The horse was charging straight at me like it had gone insane.

And Ben was still beside me.

I grabbed my son and threw us both to the side. My back slammed into the wall so hard I bared my teeth in pain.

The horse brushed past me, and the gust from it blew my hair completely loose.

The person on horseback clearly couldn't ride either. He was sprawled over the horse's neck, screaming louder than I was. "Help! Somebody help me! I'll reward you handsomely! A fortune in gold!"

A fortune in gold?

My eyes lit up, then dimmed again. I was a widow who could barely manage daily life. How was I supposed to stop a mad horse?

But in the next second, the horse suddenly veered and charged straight toward the bolts of cloth drying outside my shop.

I'd just dyed those fabrics. Ten whole bolts. They were for orders I'd spent three months working on. If they got ruined, I'd really be done for.

In that split second, I made a choice my ancestors probably would've disowned me for.

I grabbed the axe I'd been using for the firewood and swung it straight at the rope by the horse's legs.

That rope was tied to the wooden rack holding the cloth. The rack collapsed, and the fabric spilled all over the ground right in front of the horse. It stepped onto the slick cloth, lost its footing, and went crashing down with the rider.

Dust flew everywhere.

I covered Ben's eyes, afraid he'd see something bloody.

When the dust settled, I looked closer. The horse was sprawled on the ground, panting, but the rider had rolled away in time. He was lying face-down in a pile of cloth, his crown crooked and his face smeared with dust and sweat.

But the moment he looked up, I still froze.

The guy was ridiculously good-looking.

Even covered in dust like this, he looked like he'd stepped out of a painting. Sharp brows, bright eyes, a high nose, and those charming eyes blinking in confusion like a drenched golden retriever someone had just fished out of the water.

"How dare you!" His guards finally caught up and drew their blades. "Who dared disturb Prince Edward's carriage?"

Prince Edward.

My mind started racing. The current eighth prince, Edward Lyons, the queen's youngest son, was nineteen this year, three years younger than me. Everybody in the Capital City knew him as the most infamous spoiled playboy around. He spent his days fooling around and avoiding responsibility.

More importantly, he was the queen's darling and the kind of man noble daughters all wanted to avoid, because marrying him basically meant marrying an oversized child.

And I had just used an axe and a pile of fabric to knock that oversized child off a horse.

Great. My life was over.

"It's fine, it's fine!" Edward climbed out of the cloth pile, dusted himself off, and stared straight at me with those bright eyes. "You were the one who saved me?"

I was lost for words. "More or less."

"Nice move." His eyes lit up as he strode over. "What do you do? I happen to be short on talent like you around me."

I looked down at myself. Gray clothes smeared with dye at the cuffs, half my hair falling loose, a rough bloodstained cloth wrapped around my hand, and a grubby little kid crouching by my feet.

No matter how anyone looked at it, I didn't exactly seem like palace staff material.

"I run a clothing shop," I answered honestly.

"A clothing shop?" Edward's gaze swept over me before landing on the axe in my hand. "Since when do clothing shop owners handle axes that well?"

"Because I'm poor." I said.

Edward froze for a second, then burst out laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. Even his guards were trading baffled looks.

"Interesting. Really interesting." Once he finally stopped laughing, he pulled out a gold ingot from his sleeve and shoved it into my hand. "This is your reward. I'll remember you. I'll come play with you again some other day."

With that, he hopped onto a fresh horse his guard had brought over and rode off in style.

I stood there holding the heavy gold in my hand. It was enough to feed Ben and me rice for three months.

Ben tugged at my sleeve. "Mommy, is that guy sick in the head?"

"More than that." I crouched down, tucked the gold into my clothes, and looked seriously into my son's eyes. "He has rich-people disease. Ben, remember this. The more patients like that, the better."