Chapter 37

Ivy.

He didn’t even look at me.

The grand hall was alive with light and laughter, the scent of roses and roasted pheasant thick in the air. But none of it reached me. All I could see was him, King Jeffery standing so close to her. Lucy. His hand brushed her elbow as he leaned in to whisper something, and she laughed, her face lighting up like the damn sun.

And me? I might as well have been one of the tapestries.

I tightened my grip on the goblet in my hand, the silver pressing cold and sharp against my palm. Every smile he gave her carved deeper into my chest. Every laugh, every glance—it was all a dagger twisting slowly in my gut.

“She’s nothing special,” I muttered under my breath, barely aware of the words leaving me. “Not more than me. Not better.”

But the truth slapped me harder than I wanted to admit. Lucy had something I didn’t. Something that made the king’s gaze linger on her like she was the only thing keeping his world upright.

I couldn’t watch anymore. The warmth of the banquet turned to acid in my throat, and I excused myself, ignoring the curious glances that followed me out. My heels clicked angrily against the marble floor as I stormed out of the palace, the air outside cool and biting against my flushed skin.

I needed to clear my head. I needed to feel like someone again.

The drive to my father’s estate was short but felt like hours. The silence inside the car was unbearable, only broken by the occasional sigh I couldn’t hold back. My fingers trembled on the steering wheel.

I should have stayed away. I knew it the second I pulled into the long, gravel driveway.

But something in me needed to be reminded of why I was doing this. Why I was bending myself backward, forcing smiles, swallowing pride, pretending to be someone softer, sweeter—for a crown.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the familiar, cold interior of the house I grew up in. Nothing had changed. The smell of sandalwood and old books. The sharp angles of the furniture. 

My father was in the sitting room, glass in hand, eyes already narrowed before I even spoke.

“You’ve come back,” he said, not looking up from the papers he was pretending to read.

“I had some time,” I replied, forcing calm into my voice.

“Hmph.”

I stood awkwardly for a moment, hoping for... what? Approval? A kind word?

“You’ve been busy,” he said finally, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Or so I hear. But not busy enough, apparently.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“The king,” he snapped, slamming his glass down on the table. “That girl—Lucy—he can’t take his eyes off her. Do you think I haven’t noticed? Do you think the rest of the council hasn’t?”

My throat dried up. “I’m doing everything I can—”

“Everything?” he cut in, rising to his feet. “You can’t even do the one thing that was asked of you. Seduce him. Make him fall. Secure our place. And now we’re being laughed at.”

“I’m trying!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “You think it’s easy? Do you know what it’s like being constantly compared to someone like her?”

He stepped forward, his face inches from mine. His voice dropped to a hiss. “I didn’t raise you to be weak, Ivy. You’re not there to play fair. You’re there to win.”

My eyes burned. “You act like I’m failing on purpose.”

“If you can’t do this,” he said, stepping back and turning away, “don’t bother coming back. Do you understand me?”

The words hung in the air like poison. I froze, my breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.

“You’re serious,” I whispered.

He didn’t turn around. “Try harder. Or consider yourself disowned.”

I stumbled out of the house like I was drunk, the words echoing in my skull, over and over. The wind stung at my face, and I swiped at the tears before they could fall. He wasn’t worth it. None of them were. Not my father. Not the stupid king. Not Lucy.

Just as I reached for the car door, it creaked open behind me.

“Ivy,” my mother called softly.

I turned, my heart aching at the sight of her. She looked tired—tired in a way that went beyond age or sleepless nights.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “He’s under pressure. We all are.”

I shook my head, but she stepped closer and pressed something small and wrapped in a cloth into my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked, confused.

“Just… something to help,” she said. “Put it in his drink. Or his food. Just a pinch. He won’t know.”

I stared at the bundle, my stomach twisting.

“What is it?”

“You don’t need to know that,” she said quickly. “You want him to want you, don’t you?”

I hesitated. The fabric in my hand was warm from her touch. Soft. Innocent-looking.

“This won’t hurt him?”

“Not if you use it right,” she whispered. “It’ll… guide his heart. Nudge him. That’s all.”

My fingers tightened around it.

“Ivy, you don’t have many chances left,” she added quietly. “Don’t waste this one.”

And with that, she turned and walked back into the house, leaving me standing alone in the wind with something dangerous in my palm—and desperation beating like a war drum in my chest.

That night, I sat alone in my apartment, the lights off, the city glowing faintly through the windows. The cloth-wrapped bundle sat on the coffee table like it was watching me. Waiting.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept replaying every moment I’d been overlooked, every time Lucy had smiled and turned heads like she owned the room. Every time the king’s eyes had passed over me like I was nothing more than wallpaper.

This wasn’t fair.

I had the training. The poise. The pedigree. I’d been bred for this life. She was nothing but an orphan girl plucked from obscurity.

So why did it feel like she was winning?

I reached out and unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a small pouch of something faintly purple, powdered and sweet-smelling, like dried flowers and spice.

I stared at it for a long time.

Could I really do it?

I had nothing left to lose.

The next time I saw him I would be ready.

I would be unforgettable.

I would make him see me.