Chapter 2

The wedding fell on the Feast of Blossoms. Bells rang across the city as Prince Adrian came to claim his bride.

Eighteen carriages rolled through the streets with drums and horns following. I wore an ivory gown heavy with gold embroidery and passed through the palace gates beneath banners that unfurled for miles.

Isabelle rode beside me. Her veil stirred in the breeze. Mine bore the crest of a phoenix. Hers was stitched with pomegranates.

She leaned out just enough for me to see half her face. Her eyes were soft, almost gentle, and she smiled.

Her smile, sweet as honey on the surface, but sharp as a dagger beneath it. It seemed to whisper, "Call yourself the lawful wife if you wish. I will stand beside you first—and lie beside you in the end."

Prince Adrian wore a pale gold robe, heavy with embroidered clouds that caught the light with every movement. When he lifted the carriage curtain, his fingers were ice against my wrist. He leaned close, voice low, almost a whisper, "Lady Charlotte, I fear this marriage may cost you more than you know."

I lifted one corner of my veil and met his gaze steadily. "Your Highness need not fear for me. I am not so easily wronged." If I were ever to suffer, I would make sure someone else suffered first.

During the vows, Adrian reached to steady me, but his hand slid past my sleeve and closed around another woman's fingers instead.

The herald cried for the couple to bow. Adrian bent first toward Isabelle, then, as if only remembering himself, turned back to rest his forehead briefly against mine.

In that instant, I caught the scent on his collar—bitter myrrh and amber. It was Isabelle's favorite perfume. It pressed against me like a rival's claim, as if the world itself had already marked her beside him. How fitting.

The prince's household had been arranged with strict, unforgiving order. My courtyard glimmered with hundreds of flickering lanterns, casting every corner in golden light, leaving no shadow untouched. Isabelle's chambers shone just as brightly, tall candles burning so high they almost threatened the ceiling.

By custom, the lawful wife entered the bridal chamber first, while the kept consort waited in the outer hall. Yet before my veil was lifted, the matrons rushed in, pale and flustered. "The Lady Belle has taken ill," one cried. "Her heart has failed her. His Highness has gone to her chamber."

The chamber was silent, every maid standing stiffly. I sat alone until midnight, listening to the slow toll of the hall bells. Finally, I rose and lifted my veil myself.

I removed my ceremonial circlet and took one gilded hairpin, holding it over the flickering candle until it glowed red, then pressed it sharply into my arm with a hiss.

The scent of seared flesh mixed with the lingering perfume of the chamber. I looked up. "Go. Send Prince Adrian back to the main hall."

The pin sank deep. Blood dripped down my gown onto the snow-white sheets, each drop like a frozen bloom.

My maid, Annie, cried so hard she could barely speak. "Lady Charlotte, I'll go at once."

Adrian arrived in a rush, wearing only his tunic beneath his fox-fur cloak, the collar still stained from some medicine. He saw the burn on my arm, and his eyes finally flickered. "Charlotte, are you out of your mind?"

I lowered my gaze, my voice soft. "Your Highness, if you leave this room tonight, tomorrow the council will accuse you of favoring a mistress over your lawful wife. The king has been waiting for a reason to strip you of command."

He was silent for a long moment, then laughed—cold and cutting. "So this is the daughter of House Grant... playing the self-inflicted trick."

I met his eyes evenly. "Your Highness, I am not playing a trick. I am removing the fuel from the fire."

That night, he stayed in the main hall but slept fully clothed on the floor below my chamber. I heard him awake the entire night, rubbing the edge of an old amulet at his belt.