Chapter two

Lythera’s POV

The Queen’s hand rests warmly over mine, and she looks at me with the same gentle affection she has shown me since I was a little girl.

“Come along, dear,” the Queen murmurs, gently guiding me away from the centre of the platform. “You look as though you might faint.”

“I am quite all right, Your Majesty.”

The lie slips out automatically. I have become so accustomed to pretending that nothing hurts me that sometimes I wonder whether I would recognize the truth if I finally spoke it aloud.

The Queen gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “There is no need to be nervous. I know this evening has been full of surprises, but you mustn’t allow the court to overwhelm you. You have done nothing to be ashamed of.”

I lower my eyes, trying to swallow the strange knot in my throat. If only I could believe her.

Behind us, the ballroom erupts into whispers. I hear my name, then Edward’s, followed by a succession of startled exclamations. Somewhere to my right, a woman laughs softly behind her fan. I do not need to turn to know what she is thinking. Lady Lythera Amberton, the girl who has spent half her life following the Crown Prince around like a lovesick puppy, has somehow managed to secure the one thing everyone believed would never be hers.

Edward Vane.

My childhood friend. My first love. The man for whom I have willingly endured more pain than I care to remember.

And, judging by the look he is giving me, the man who would rather throw himself from the palace balcony than marry me.

The Queen stops beside a cluster of noblewomen and turns to address them, introducing me with a gracious smile.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” I whisper when the Queen turns to greet another guest. “I think I should get some water.”

“Of course, dear. But don’t wander too far. I would like to speak with you again before the evening ends.”

I nod gratefully and slip away before she can notice how badly my hands are trembling.

The refreshments have been arranged along the far side of the ballroom, beneath a row of tall windows overlooking the palace gardens. I make my way towards them, keeping my head lowered as I pass the guests.

I reach for a glass of water.

“Enjoying your little victory, Lythera?”

My hand freezes around the glass.

I do not need to turn to recognize Edward’s voice. I have known it for so long that I could pick it out of a crowded room with my eyes closed. Once, the sound of it was enough to brighten an entire day. Now, it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I face him.

He stands a few feet away, his shoulders rigid beneath his black formal coat. Amelia is beside him, along with several young nobles.

“Edward,” I begin, glancing uneasily at the people watching us. “I didn’t know you wanted to speak with me.”

“Don’t pretend to be innocent.”

His voice is quiet, but not quiet enough. The conversations around us begin to fade as people turn their attention towards our little gathering.

I stare at him, struggling to understand what I have done to deserve the contempt in his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” His mouth twists. “Tell me, Lythera, what exactly did you do to win my mother’s affection to such an extent? Did you beg her to arrange this marriage? Did you convince her that you were the only suitable woman in the kingdom? Or have you finally decided that following me around wasn’t enough, so you needed to force your way into my life permanently?”

The words strike harder than I expect. I tighten my fingers around the glass, afraid that if I release it, my hands will begin to shake where everyone can see.

“I did nothing,” I tell him. “I swear to you, I had no idea Her Majesty intended to announce anything tonight. I was as surprised as you were.”

“Then perhaps you should explain to me why she has suddenly decided that you are the woman I must marry.”

“I can’t explain something I don’t understand myself.”

“Edward, please.” I take a small step towards him, lowering my voice in the desperate hope that he might remember we have known each other since childhood. “You know me. I would never deliberately do anything to make you unhappy.”

He laughs without humour.

“That is precisely the problem. You have spent years convincing yourself that because you know me, you have some claim over me. You watch everything I do, remember every little thing I say, and appear whenever you think I might need something. Did you honestly believe that if you kept doing it long enough, I would eventually fall in love with you?”

My chest tightens.

Around us, the silence has become almost unbearable. I can feel the eyes of the watching guests on my face, waiting to see what I will say.

“I only ever wanted you to be happy,” I whisper.

“And I have told you repeatedly that I don’t want you.”

The glass trembles in my hand.

Edward takes a step closer, his expression hardening. “Listen carefully, Lythera. Whatever you think my mother’s announcement means, it changes nothing between us. I will never love you. I will never look at you the way I look at Amelia, and I will never abandon her to marry someone as conniving as you.”

Amelia draws a startled breath beside him.

“Edward, please,” she murmurs, touching his arm. “You shouldn’t say such things. Lythera is still your—”

“My what?” he snaps, turning towards her. His expression softens almost immediately. “You don’t have to defend her, Amelia. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

Amelia’s lashes flutter. “But she’s my sister.”

“And you have sacrificed enough for her already.”

The words leave me strangely breathless.

Sacrificed.

For one foolish second, I want to laugh. Not because anything is funny, but because I cannot comprehend how the world has become so thoroughly twisted that Edward can stand before me and praise Amelia for sacrifices she has never made.

I remember the nights I spent sitting beside him when the pain in his chest became unbearable. I remember absorbing his agony until my own body shook with it, hiding the marks beneath my sleeves, then returning to my room to recover alone because I was too afraid that anyone would discover what I had done.

I remember every single time.

And he remembers Amelia.

“Edward,” I say, my voice breaking despite my efforts to steady it. “You don’t understand. Amelia hasn’t—”

“Don’t.” Amelia’s voice trembles.

I turn towards her, startled by the sudden tears gathering in her eyes.

She presses a hand to her chest, looking between Edward and me. “I know the Queen doesn’t favour me as much as she favours you, Lythera, and I have accepted that. But did you really have to do this? You know how much Edward means to me. You know everything we have been through together.”

“That isn’t what happened,” I protest. “I didn’t ask the Queen to choose me.”

“But why would she choose you if you hadn’t done something?” one of the young ladies behind Amelia whispers.

“Perhaps she has been planning this for years,” another replies. “She has always been rather determined to catch the Prince’s attention.”

“I wasn’t trying to catch anyone’s attention!” I turn towards them, my voice rising before I can stop it. “I didn’t even know the Queen was going to make an announcement. Why won’t any of you listen to me?”

“Lythera, please,” Amelia says softly, stepping between me and the gathering crowd. “You don’t have to make this worse.”

She looks so gentle, so concerned, that for a moment I almost forget the tears in her eyes have appeared far too conveniently.

“Everyone, please don’t blame my sister,” she continues, turning towards the onlookers. “She may not realize how her actions affect other people. I know she can be impulsive sometimes, but she doesn’t mean any harm.”

A fresh wave of murmurs rises around us.

I stare at her in disbelief. “Amelia, stop.”

She reaches for my hand as though she intends to comfort me. When she draws close enough that her perfumed hair brushes my cheek, her smile remains fixed for the benefit of the watching guests.

Then her lips move beside my ear.

“You have no idea how much I hate you,” she whispers, so softly that only I can hear. “Enjoy your little moment, sister. I will make certain you lose every last bit of the standing you think you’ve gained tonight.”

My stomach twists.

Before I can pull away, Amelia steps back, and her hand catches the glass I am holding .The next instant, the water splashes across the front of her pale gown.

She gasps.

“Oh!”

The sound draws everyone’s attention. Amelia stumbles backwards, pressing both hands against her stained dress. Her eyes fill with tears so quickly that I barely have time to comprehend what has happened.

“Lythera!” she cries. “Why would you do that?”

I stare at her, the glass still in my hand.

“I didn’t—”

“My dress!” She looks down at the spreading stain, her voice trembling. “You ruined it!”

“Amelia, you knocked the glass—”

“Stop lying!” Edward’s voice cuts through the crowd.

He strides towards us, his face flushed with anger. I instinctively step backwards, but he has already reached me.

“Have you not done enough?” he demands. “First, you manipulate my mother into arranging this ridiculous marriage, and now you are attacking Amelia because you cannot bear to see her happy?”

“I did not attack her!”

Edward shoves me.

The movement is so sudden that I do not even have time to protect myself. My heel catches against the edge of the carpet, and I stumble backwards, my arms flailing as I try to regain my balance. My hip strikes the refreshment table. A tray crashes to the floor, sending plates and glasses scattering across the polished marble, and the edge of something hard catches the side of my forehead.

Pain bursts through my skull.

For a moment, the entire ballroom tilts. I reach for the table, but my fingers find nothing steady enough to hold me upright. I fall among the scattered refreshments, the front of my gown soaking up spilled drinks while broken glass glitters around my hands.

Someone gasps.

I barely hear it.

My head throbs, and a warm trickle slips down my temple. When I lift my fingers to touch it, they come away red.

Blood.

I stare at my hand, unable to understand what I am seeing. The ballroom has gone strangely quiet, and through the haze of pain, I see Edward standing over me.

His anger has faltered.

For one brief, terrible moment, he looks horrified. His gaze moves from my bloodied fingers to the broken glass around me, then to my face. His hand lifts slightly, as though he intends to help me up.

I look at him.

I don’t know what I expect. An apology, perhaps. A flicker of the boy who once brought me wildflowers because he knew I liked them, or the young man who used to smile whenever I appeared at his door with something I had made for him. I know I should not expect anything from him, not after everything he has said, but I cannot seem to stop myself from hoping.

His fingers move towards me.

Then Amelia whimpers behind him.

“Edward,” she murmurs, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m so cold.”

He turns.

The change in his expression is immediate. His anger returns, and whatever hesitation had softened his face disappears beneath it.

“Someone get a cloak for Lady Amelia,” he orders, reaching for her hands. “You mustn’t stand here in that dress. Come, I’ll take you somewhere warm.”

I remain on the floor, staring at him.

He doesn’t look at me again until Amelia is safely beside him. Even then, his gaze holds nothing but irritation.

“Get up, Lythera.”

I try. My palms press against the marble, but pain shoots through my forehead, and my arms tremble beneath me. A few guests move as though they might offer assistance, only to hesitate when Edward’s expression darkens.

“Your behaviour tonight has been disgraceful,” he says. “You have embarrassed yourself, humiliated Amelia, and turned my mother’s announcement into a spectacle. I will not have you ruining the rest of the evening.”

My throat closes.

“Edward, I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough.” He looks away from me. “Find your own way home. Clean yourself up before you leave, if you can manage it. You are making a mess of the ballroom.”

The words fall over me like ice.

Behind him, Amelia lowers her face against his shoulder. I catch a glimpse of her expression before she hides it, and the tiny, satisfied curve of her mouth makes something inside me turn cold.

She has won again.

I do not know how long I remain on the floor before my father pushes through the gathering crowd, my mother close behind him. Their faces are drawn with alarm, but it is Amelia they look at first.

“What happened?” Mother demands, hurrying towards her. “Amelia, darling, are you hurt?”

“I’m all right, Mother,” Amelia whispers. “Please don’t be angry with Lythera. She didn’t mean to ruin my dress.”

Father’s gaze shifts to me. His eyes travel over my stained gown, the broken glass, and the blood running down the side of my face. For a moment, I think he might finally ask whether I am hurt.

Instead, his expression tightens.

“Lythera,” he says, his voice low and disapproving. “What have you done now?”

I cannot answer.

I look at my mother, hoping that perhaps she will see the blood on my face and understand that something is wrong. She glances at me, then back at Amelia, who has begun to shiver dramatically beneath Edward’s protective arm.

“Your sister is already upset,” Mother says. “Must you always create difficulties at the worst possible time?”

Something inside me gives way.

I have spent years trying to be the daughter they could be proud of. I have swallowed disappointment, hidden my pain, and watched Amelia receive the affection I desperately wanted, telling myself that perhaps one day they would understand. I have made excuses for Edward because loving him seemed easier than admitting he might never love me in return.

But tonight, standing in a ruined gown with blood on my hands, I finally understand how little any of it has mattered.

I see the Queen pushing through the crowd, her face pale with concern, but I cannot bear to wait for her to reach me.

“Lythera!” she calls. “My dear, wait!”

I rise too quickly. The room spins, forcing me to catch the edge of the table, but I steady myself and take one stumbling step away from the wreckage.

“Lythera, let me see your head,” the Queen insists, reaching for me.

I shake my head. If she touches me, I might fall apart completely, and I cannot bear to let this room see any more of me.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” I whisper, though I do not know what I am apologizing for. “I need to go.”

“Please, child—”

I turn and run.

I hear the Queen calling after me, my mother’s sharp voice demanding that I stop making a scene, and the distant murmur of the ballroom swallowing everything behind me. My shoes strike the palace floors as I hurry through the corridors, one hand pressed against my forehead, my tears blurring the chandeliers into streaks of golden light.

By the time I reach the entrance, my lungs burn and my legs threaten to give way. The footman barely has time to open the carriage door before I climb inside, dragging my ruined gown after me.

“Miss Amberton?” he asks in alarm. “Are you injured?”

“Please,” I choke out. “Just take me home.”

He hesitates, looking at the blood on my face, but I turn towards the window before he can ask another question.

The carriage begins to move.

I press my trembling hands against my mouth, desperately trying to silence the sobs that escape me.