"Who is it?!" Derrick roared, peeling himself away from me with a snarl.
"It is I, my lord," a voice replied from behind the wood.
It is I? Who did this person think they were? Did they not have a name?
Derrick wrenched the door open. A figure stepped in, clad entirely in black—a spy, no doubt.
"I have a report, my lord," the man whispered. "The Lady's engagement to the First Prince has been finalized for three weeks from today."
Derrick's face turned a violent shade of crimson. The rage radiating from him was palpable; I knew he was seconds away from doing something no brother should ever do to his sister. Seizing the moment of his
distraction, I bolted past them and ran.
I didn't stop until I reached the safety of my own chambers, locking the door behind me.
My heart hammered against my ribs. So, he truly had spies watching the palace just to track my movements. He was more than obsessed; he was a hunter.
I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind was a chaotic mess of the Prince, Isabella, the engagement, and the looming threat of the kidnapping. Why was I taken? What was the motive? It was a good thing I had spoken to Richt, but I couldn't rely on him alone.
I needed distance from Derrick.
The next day, I did something I rarely do: I requested an audience with my father. I asked for a personal guard. He looked shocked at first—I never ask him for anything—but he ended up assigning ten men to my wing. I blindly picked two of them and stationed them at my door with one strict command: Do not let Derrick Ellington enter.
Derrick made a pathetic fuss for the first two days, shouting outside my door, but he eventually stopped. Meanwhile, Richt sent letters regarding the kidnapping investigation, but they had found nothing. The trail was cold.
With only two weeks left until the engagement and nothing to wear, I had no choice but to head into the city.
I traveled to the most expensive boutique in the kingdom with Maria. I leaned my head on her shoulder as the carriage jolted along; I was exhausted, and Maria was the only person I allowed myself to be vulnerable with, even if only in small ways.
When we arrived, the tailors practically tripped over themselves to greet me. I was their most regular—and most wealthy—customer.
"It is for my engagement," I said coldly. "Show me the best you have."
They dashed away excitedly. While I waited, sipping the tea they offered, I scanned the racks. None of the bright, frilly gowns caught my eye. Finally, I pointed to a dress of
midnight black with a sharp, daring neckline. It was elegant, dangerous, and entirely inappropriate for a "joyful" engagement.
The thought of wearing black to my union with the Psycho Prince brought a flicker of genuine amusement to my heart.
As I was preparing to leave, voices from behind a changing curtain caught my attention.
"Did you hear? Lady Ellington is actually marrying the First Prince," a young noblewoman whispered.
"I heard," another replied. "I don't know who to pity more. The Lady, who everyone says is heartless, or the Prince, who isn't even human? They deserve each other, I suppose."
"At least Lady Isabella is marrying the Crown Prince! She is so kind and beautiful... a true Queen."
They spoke as if I weren't even there. Heartless. Kindless. Let them talk. I have lived my life in the cold; I didn't need their warmth to survive this fight.
And just like that, the day of the ceremony arrived.