Chapter 1
During the Midwinter Feast, the king turned and asked, "Adrian, if I grant you Charlotte, will you take her as your wife?"
Adrian lifted his eyes. They were pale, almost gentle, though his voice sounded worn down. "I thank Your Majesty for the honor," he said.
Ten days later, a royal decree sealed our fates.
Isabelle and I were married to Adrian on the same day—one as his lawful wife, the other as his kept consort. It tore him apart, yet bound his hands completely.
On our wedding night, he spent the evening in the consort's chambers and left me alone to face an empty bed.
Much later, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my hair, the warmth of wine lingering on his breath. "Let's give Eddie a little sister," he murmured. "Shall we?"
*****
My name was Charlotte Grant. My grandfather had once served three reigns as the king's chief tutor. My father was the current Lord Chancellor. My elder brother, Caleb Grant, had been granted a dukedom at 23. Ours was a house where power sat at every seat.
On the night of the Midwinter Feast, the capital was ablaze with light. Torches and crystal lamps turned the city walls into daylight. From the palace balcony, the king leaned against the railing, idly turning a gilded carousel lamp between his fingers. Painted on its panels was the image of Prince Adrian, riding alone into battle years ago to save the crown.
"Adrian." The king suddenly turned his head. His gaze passed over the sea of lights and settled on me. "If I grant you Charlotte, will you take her as your wife?"
At that moment, I was still holding a carved glass stag lantern I had just won. The wax inside had not yet fully set. My brother had etched my name along its base with the tip of his dagger, tying it with a crimson ribbon and laughing as he wished me a life of happiness.
The wind rose. The lights swayed.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears, as if an army were trampling straight through my chest.
Prince Adrian stood three steps away, wrapped in a pale fur cloak that did nothing to soften his imposing build. The faint red mark between his brows only deepened the severity of his expression, the kind that bent rooms to silence without a word.
After the king spoke, Adrian lifted his eyes. His gaze was calm, nearly gentle, yet his voice was weary. "I thank Your Majesty for the honor," he said.
His words nailed me to the spot.
All at once, fireworks exploded across the sky. It felt as though my remaining years had been blown apart, torn open, and bleeding before I had taken a single step.
The king's word was law. Ten days later, the royal decree arrived at the Grant estate: [Charlotte Grant, third daughter of House Grant, gentle in temper and unmatched in virtue, is hereby bestowed upon Prince Adrian as his lawful wife. On the same day, Isabelle of House Rowan shall enter the prince's household as his kept consort. One lawful, one favored. Both to be wed on the same day.]
The capital was thrown into an uproar.
Isabelle of House Rowan had been Prince Adrian's childhood companion. Rumor said he had petitioned for her hand three times before, only to be refused each time on the grounds that her family stood too low.
Now the king pressed two nails into Adrian's palm at once. One of power. One of love. He left him bleeding, and more importantly, left him with no room to resist.
In my chamber, my wet nurse held me and wept. "Charlotte," she sobbed, "the crown has given you the honor of a lawful wife, but inside a prince's household, without protection, every step is like walking on knives."
I traced my fingers over the words "gentle in temper" on the royal decree and smiled. "Nanny," I said softly, "no one could touch me. And no one would dare."
Ten days after the betrothal was announced, the Grant estate never slept. Torches burned through the night, as if the whole house were holding its breath.
Caleb stood beneath the gallery, polishing his sword until it shone like new steel. He looked less like a nobleman and more like a soldier ready to kill. "Charlotte," he said flatly, "say the word if you refuse this marriage. I'll ride you out of the capital."
I shook my head and smiled at him. My fingers moved steadily as I finished balancing the last line in my father's military ledger. "Caleb," I said, closing the book, "I'll marry him."
The moment the word left my mouth, I pressed my seal into the cooling wax. It cracked softly as it set, sharp and final.