The knock startled me awake from my nap.
I was alone. Lilliana had gone to fetch bread from her brother's bakery—his sweets always managed to coax a smile out of me. The other maids had vanished, as they often did whenever I slept. It was routine now.
The door creaked open, and William stepped inside—stoic as ever. In his hand was a letter. He bowed.
The gesture caught me off guard.
I winced. We were never that close. But we had almost been.
I turned away, curling on my side to face the wall.
"Leave it on the table," I muttered.
Silence followed. No closing door. No retreating footsteps.
He wouldn't have left it open.
I sat up slowly and turned—only to be met by eyes dark with rage.
"Why do you have a letter from the Church?" he growled.
My stomach twisted. "It's none of your business," I said evenly.
"You got your memories back?" He walked over to the lit fireplace, and for a brief moment, I was swept up in déjà vu.
I bolted out of bed, grabbing his arm and snatching the letter from his hand.
"Were you going to burn my letter?" My voice cracked. "Why would you open it? It's mine!"
"You didn't answer my question," he said coolly.
"I didn't get them back—I sought answers from people willing to give them," I snapped, scanning the letter.
"I thought you were content not knowing," he said, his voice low, heavy.
"Would you be content, William?" My anger surged. "Would you be okay with everyone knowing things about you that you don't? That you can't?"
His silence infuriated me.
"I always thought you'd be there for me," I continued, voice trembling. "There was this strange comfort... a familiarity. But the more I uncover, the more I realize how much you've all kept from me, and I—" My chest ached.
"Penny..." He reached out, but I flinched and pulled back. I was tired—tired of being lied to.
"The carriage accident—when I was returning from the palace. Were you ever going to tell me about that?" I demanded.
His expression darkened, pain flickering behind his calm.
"I was protecting you," he began.
"Of course," I scoffed, stepping away. "Is that what you're all going to keep saying to justify betrayal?"
I folded the letter with trembling hands and threw it at him, my voice rising.
"You all knew! And you did nothing!" My eyes burned.
He bowed his head—shame or guilt, I couldn't tell. Maybe both.
And suddenly, I saw him differently. Not as the boy I once hoped he was—but as the man he always had been. Cold. Loyal not to me, but to the system. He would follow his orders. Even if it meant sacrificing me.
"Why did you even agree to be my knight?" I asked bitterly. "What did you gain from being close to me?"
I reached for the vase on the table, my hand trembling with fury.
"You disgust me."
In the draft of my book, he had been among those who voted to have Iris poisoned. I used to wonder if that was too cruel a twist. But standing here now—it didn't feel like fiction anymore. It felt like prophecy.
"I was going to tell you," he said quietly, finally meeting my eyes.
I shook my head.
"But you didn't," I replied, voice sharp with betrayal.
He looked at me with eyes that pleaded for something—understanding, forgiveness, maybe even hope.
But I needed truth.
I was burning from the inside out. I was owed at least this.
"Did I love you?" I asked.
His breath caught. He took a step toward me, but I retreated instinctively.
His hand raked through his hair, his jaw tightened, and his gaze locked with mine—intense, unwavering.
"Yes," he said. "You did."
The world tilted. My stomach twisted. My knees threatened to give way.
I couldn't breathe.
But I would not let him see me crumble.
I held myself still, even as the truth dug deep into my chest like a hot blade.
Now I understood.
Who I was. Why I was here.
I wasn't Iris.
I was a stand-in. A shadow. A substitute in someone else's story. A pawn in their game of power.
And he had known. All along.