Chapter 1

For years, I ruled the inner court with an iron fist, earning the moniker "The Royal Abortionist."

Any child I did not want simply disappeared.

Any court lady who displeased me was ruined.

Any wine not to my taste was laced with belladonna and sent to the King himself.

I was not mad. It all stemmed from that single, fateful afternoon.

I drifted through the palace gardens in a gown of blush silk, swept past a flustered young consort, and offered a teasing smile to Edward Sterling.

But Edward's face went still. His eyes caught on the faint lines beginning to etch the corners of mine, and he sighed.

"My Queen, such a delicate hue belongs to youth. What number of years do you now claim?" he said.

Before public humiliation could even kindle into rage, a cold wave of disbelief washed over me.

For it was he who told me, at sixteen, that I looked most divine in pink silk.

Only now did I finally grasp the meaning behind all of Edward Sterling's so-called casual gestures.

The way he'd idly tuck aside a stray, thinning strand of my hair.

How his hand would rest absently on my waist, as if measuring the changes there.

And those passing glances, sharp, assessing, that made me painfully aware I was no longer young, no longer fair. He was picking me apart with his eyes, taunting me with time.

And yet, because of that young and foolish love, I'd always believed I was different from the other women of the court, those who traded beauty like currency to please the King.

But Edward was the first to notice my fading bloom. He never reminisced about our shared years, never seemed troubled that our days together might be numbered.

He merely stared at the lines around my eyes, cold, almost dismissive.

He made sure I knew, gently and without mercy, that I was no longer young. That I was no longer beautiful enough. That I should not wear pink.

I couldn't understand it. If even Edward's promises, once solid as gold, turned out to be empty, then what vow in this world could ever be trusted?

Slowly, I drew the royal pardon from my case, a keepsake he'd given me long ago. I turned it over in my palm, my eyes burning, then clenched it until my knuckles turned white.

After all this time, was this truly all that remained of his love?

How quickly love faded away.

A sob tore from my throat, and then another. I broke completely, weeping without restraint.

That night, the windows stood open. Petals of wallflowers swept through the courtyard, chased by a restless wind.

A torn pink gown lay across the writing desk, its shreds trembling in the candlelight.

A maid hurried in, knelt, and whispered, "My lady, you should rest. His Majesty is with Lady Grace tonight. I fear... he will not come."

I sank into the silk ruins, turning toward the glowing wallflowers beyond the door.

And suddenly I remembered that day I sat in the wallflowers, my dress and hairpin the same bright hue, laughing as the breeze caught us both.

Edward had paused when he passed, spellbound. His book fell straight from his hand.

"Hey," I called. "You dropped your book."

But he only stared, transfixed.

Flustered, I scooped a handful of blossoms and tossed them straight into his face.

A whirl of petals hid me then, and by the time he brushed them away, I had vanished.

He was sure I was a wallflower spirit. Day after day, he returned to the garden, waiting. But I never went back.

Not until my coming-of-age, when my mother arranged the Wallflower party, a gathering of every eligible son from every noble house.

The young men passed like a procession of shadows. None moved me.

Then Edward entered, in dark blue, straight as a spear, a prince in bearing and in truth.

The hall dropped into bows. Even behind the screen, I knelt. "Your Highness."

He had come, he said, for the wallflowers.

Passing our gate, he'd heard of the party, and all the city knew the Crown Prince loved wallflowers.

Of course, he couldn't resist coming to see for himself how splendid the wallflowers were in full bloom.

"Did no one tell you," I ventured, "this party isn't really about the flowers?"

I didn't think much of him then. But once his eyes found mine, it was as if he were enchanted. He came forward, caught my sleeve, and would not let go.

My mother flushed with alarm.

"Wallflower spirit," Edward said, a smile in his voice. "Where will you run this time?"

Even after my mother explained that I was Charlotte Hayes, the heiress of the Hayes family, he did not release me.

And so I was swept into his palace.

Wallflowers bloomed in every corner there. My vanity spilled with jewels. Gold, pearls, and silk became as common as daylight.

My mother never wanted me in the palace. She feared my beauty would become a curse, that I hadn't the cunning to survive its intrigues.

We wept together, and I confessed every fear to Edward.

But he only kissed my brow, his voice soft as a vow. "Promises are just words. Let me show you instead."