Chapter 3

The next morning, by tradition, the kept consort had to come to offer her respect.

I sat in the main hall as Isabelle approached, holding Adrian's hand lightly, delicate as a sapling in the wind. She wore soft pink, her perfumed hair brushing the air, and tears glimmered in her eyes.

"Lady Charlotte, please do not judge Prince Adrian too harshly," she said, her voice trembling. "Last night, His Highness only worried I might falter from my old ailment."

I lifted my chin and smiled, calm and measured. "If that is your excuse, Belle, you should remember who stands in this hall."

Adrian finally lifted his eyes, his voice cold. "Charlotte, don't push too far."

I set my cup down. The edge of my gauntlet scraped against the metal rim with a harsh clang. "My lord," I said evenly, "you left me alone in my chamber until dawn. If I don't go hard on her now, how would I deserve to be the lady of this household?"

His gaze darkened, like a night with no stars.

Isabelle's wrist chose that moment to tremble. The cup in her hand nearly slipped.

Adrian reached out to steady it. Looking at her pale face, he frowned. "You missed your medicine again?" he murmured, low and gentle, as if afraid a louder voice might frighten her.

I watched coldly and suddenly remembered the night before I left my father's house. Caleb had said, "If Adrian ever treats you poorly, I will make him regret being born."

I had answered him then, "Don't worry, Caleb. I'll never let him get away with hurting me."

Now the insult had arrived right on time, and I accepted it in full.

"Annie," I said calmly, "bring a fresh cup. The Lady Belle will begin again."

My gaze rested on Belle, steady and unblinking. "Let this be done properly. I would hate for small lapses to become remembered ones."

Adrian snapped his head up. For the first time, real surprise crossed his face. He likely hadn't expected that I came not only prepared to count losses but also to draw blood.

Three days after the wedding, I went back to my family's house alone.

Outside the prince's estate, there was only a modest carriage waiting at the gates, its canopy plain, without ribbon or display.

I stepped down by myself, my skirts brushing the dust.

Caleb stood at the entrance. He smiled when he saw me, though his voice was rough. "Charlotte, welcome home."

My eyes burned. "Caleb," I said, "I'll make the whole realm see that Prince Adrian may abandon anyone else—but he will never be allowed to abandon Charlotte of House Grant."

He froze for a heartbeat, then burst out laughing. The sound startled the crows from the eaves.

He understood me. I did not want to flee. I wanted to win. To grind every insult into dust and make the one who dealt it swallow every grain.

*****

In April, the royal estate hosted a spring banquet.

Isabelle asked me to join her on the water, saying she wanted to teach me how to enjoy the spring, as if the view itself had been made for me.

I scoffed, but I still stepped aboard.

She wore a pale silver gown, a single blossom pinned at her temple. Swaying as if the breeze itself might break her, she raised her cup to me. "Your Grace," she said softly, "I was ill and kept His Highness from visiting your family. I offer this wine as my apology."

Before the cup ever reached her lips, she slipped and lurched straight toward me. She hooked her finger at me and smiled slyly. "Forgive me, Your Grace." Then she seized my sleeve and threw herself backward. With a splash, we fell in together.

The water was bitterly cold, sharp as blades. She screamed. I stayed silent, not wasting my strength.

Isabelle clung to me, her nails digging into the back of my neck. Her voice was barely audible. "Your Grace, who do you think Adrian will save first?" In the next instant, she let go and sank deeper on her own.

Chaos erupted on the shore. When Adrian dove in, the first thing he saw was Isabelle's ghostly pale face. Only after that did he notice me—clinging to the boat's edge with one hand, while with the other I was pushing the sputtering Isabelle up onto the deck.

He didn't even spare me a glance, just swept her into his arms like I wasn't even there.

I hauled myself onto the deck, soaked through, her nail marks still visible at my cuff.

Isabelle curled up in Adrian's embrace, her lips as pale as snow, looking so delicate she might shatter at any moment. "Your Grace, why did you push me?" With that single line, she neatly nailed me to the name of villainess.

Adrian's fury flared, water still dripping from his hair. "Charlotte, you pushed her."

I lowered my gaze and wrung out my sleeve, a faint smile threading through my voice. "Your Highness, if I truly meant her dead, would I have dragged myself down with her? You give me far too much credit for self‑sacrifice."

Then with a sharp crack, I slapped her right across the face. "This," I said calmly, "is to remind you—if you choose to gamble with your own life, see it through. Don't lose your nerve halfway." I shook the water from my fingers.