Chapter 3

I twisted my mouth into something like a smile and said nothing. The truth was, I was allergic to lavender — even the smell of lavender shortbread turned my stomach. I'd never been the one who liked it. Marilyn was.

Watching the maid chatter on, I said slowly, "Since you like it so much, go ahead and take it."

The maid froze, then dropped to her knees in a panic. "This servant would never presume to eat something so fine!"

I stood, picked up the box of shortbread, and pressed it into her hands. "Food is meant to be eaten. I'm not well, and it doesn't agree with me. If you like it, it won't go to waste."

Overwhelmed, the maid accepted it and bowed her thanks. But before she'd even made it out of the room, a man's voice cut through the air, tone unreadable. "Where did you get that shortbread? A palace maid, stealing something this fine?"

The maid dropped to her knees again, terrified, tears in her eyes. "My lady gave it to me! This servant would never steal!"

At that, Cyrus looked up and into the room. His gaze caught on me, and for a moment, something like admiration flickered in his eyes. I was dressed in a willow-green gown, my hair pinned up in a delicate, careful style, the garden view behind me lending the whole scene an air of quiet elegance. But the instant our eyes met, I turned my head away, as if I couldn't bear the sight of him.

Something in Cyrus's chest twisted. He bent down, picked up the fallen wrapping from the shortbread, brushed off the dust, and walked over. "Genevieve, why won't you eat it? Marilyn said it's the best shortbread in all of Aldenmere. I only spoke a little harshly before — you know I didn't mean it. Are you still sulking over that?"

Every word grated on me. The old ache in my chest spread further, and I twisted my lips before answering slowly. "You keep Marilyn's every preference carved in your memory, yet you can't even remember I'm allergic to lavendar. Is this what you call an apology, Cyrus? Is this what you call sincerity?"

Before he could answer, a slender figure stepped out from behind him. My gaze sharpened, and my fingers curled without my permission.

She was dressed all in white, her dark hair falling to her waist, every line of her radiating fragile softness. "Greetings, My Lady."

The moment he saw her, Cyrus instinctively pulled her closer to his side, his voice level. "Genevieve, this is Marilyn. She was my childhood friend. If her elders hadn't made such a foolish mistake back then, one that saw her stripped of her rank and reduced to a commoner, she would already have joined our household by now. From today, Marilyn will be living with us. As my wife, I expect you to be generous and look after her — don't go getting jealous over nothing."

Every word of it dripped with favoritism, with tenderness that wasn't meant for me. I was the lawful wife, and somehow I still felt like an afterthought — almost a joke.

Marilyn kept her eyes lowered, the picture of meekness at Cyrus's side, though she couldn't quite hide the satisfaction tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I took a slow breath, forcing my feelings back down, my voice cool. "I haven't said a word. Why are you so quick to warn me off? From now on, help whoever you like, do whatever you like. I won't have any opinion on the matter."

My words seemed to catch Cyrus completely off guard. In his mind, I should have been making a scene over Marilyn moving in — should have thrown one of our usual, bloody arguments. But an entire evening passed, and I said nothing at all, simply let it go without a fight.

Faced with a version of me he didn't recognize, Cyrus frowned. That night, for the first time ever, he didn't stay in his study, and he didn't go looking for Marilyn either. Instead, he came to my quarters.