Lahat ng Kabanata ng Tempting the Wrong Prince: Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

Richard’s POVThe court was loud before I even entered it.Not the ceremonial kind of loud, the sort that came with trumpets and rehearsed announcements and polite applause. This was uglier. Bitter. Ragged at the edges. The noise of men who’d built their lives on order and influence and were now watching the ground shift beneath their feet.The famine rumours had started as whispers. Then the drought had stretched longer than anyone wanted to admit. Now the riots had given everything a face, angry crowds in the streets, broken windows, shouting in front of ministerial homes, food prices climbing like they had no ceiling. You could smell fear on people now, even in gold-trimmed halls.And they were blaming Belmont.Belmont, the quiet giant with long pockets and longer grudges.Belmont, whose “wedding gift” was expected to feed our people and keep the palace from collapsing under its own arrogance.Belmont, whose aid we would not receive, because Arden had refused the union.That was th

Cassandra’s POVThe garden used to feel like the only part of the palace that didn’t demand something from me.No titles. No curtsies. No forced smiles. No cameras waiting for me to slip and become tomorrow’s headline. Just the scent of damp earth and trimmed roses, the whisper of leaves shifting in the breeze, and the rare illusion that I could exist as a woman rather than a symbol.That illusion was the only reason I’d agreed to come outside at all.Diana walked beside me, hands clasped in front of her, her expression tense but determined to look calm. The palace had been restless since morning, guards moving faster than usual, servants whispering behind doors, the air thick with news of riots and scarcity and court sessions that never seemed to end. Even the birds sounded cautious, as if the sky itself didn’t want to be too loud.I breathed in slowly, forcing my shoulders down.“I feel like a prisoner,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.Diana didn’t pretend she didn’t underst

Cassandra’s POVThe anchor’s voice continued, clinical and sharp.“…sources confirm the Longman heiress stayed in Prince Arden’s wing overnight following the announcement…”“…Belmont has stated aid will be tied to the stability of the union…”“…public outrage grows as Eldenwald’s drought crisis worsens…”And then,They said my name.Not kindly.Not neutrally.They said it like an accusation.“…and many believe Lady Cassandra Montclaire is the reason Prince Arden refuses to formally accept the engagement…”“…her alleged involvement has caused the Belmont alliance to falter…”“…citizens are demanding answers…”My throat went dry.The screen cut to street footage, people shouting, holding signs, faces twisted with hunger and fury.A reporter’s voice rose above the noise:“Protestors blame the palace’s scandals for the delayed aid, some have begun chanting against Lady Cassandra Montclaire by name…”A close-up of an angry man filled the screen.“She ruined the princes! She ruined our futur

Cassandra’s POVI turned fully now, confusion flickering through me so fast I almost forgot to hide it.Richard was defending Arden?Richard, the man who had dragged me back from Arden’s villa, who had stormed rooms and shattered phones and accused me of ruining everything?He was telling me Arden hadn’t slept with Nala.Why?Why would he offer me that comfort when he could have used the rumour to finally sever whatever bond remained between Arden and me?I didn’t speak.I couldn’t trust my voice.Richard finally turned to face me.His eyes were red-rimmed, not from drink tonight, something quieter. The kind of soreness that came from sleeplessness and a grief you couldn’t swallow.“I know I’ve hurt you deeply,” he said, voice low. “And maybe you’ll never forgive me.”The words landed softly, but they landed.He paused, then continued, and the next line hit me so hard I felt it in my ribs.“But I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”I stared at him.His expression tightened, like speaking

Richard’s P O VI rose quietly and moved toward the wardrobe, pulling on a fresh shirt, then my trousers, then the uniform that made me look like a prince instead of a man unraveling.Buttons clicked under my fingers.A belt tightened.I adjusted my cuffs.All mechanical.All rehearsed.I felt like I was dressing a corpse.The palace wanted the Crown Prince polished today.It didn’t care that his heart was splitting in two.As I fastened the last button, the sound shifted behind me.A small rustle.Then another.Sandra turning.I froze for a second, hand still near my collar.Then her voice, soft and hoarse with sleep, reached me.“How are you?”The question landed like a hand on an open wound.She had not been this gentle since I forcibly brought her back.Since I dragged her into my orbit again with authority instead of love.For days, she had spoken to me like she was forced to share air with a stranger.But this morning, she sounded almost… kind.Not warm.Not forgiving.But gentle