It was a small mercy that I traveled to the capital with my father, while Isabella went with Derrick. Apparently, Isabella was so eager to reach the palace that she managed to drag Derrick away an hour earlier.
Being alone with Father brought its own kind of tension. It had been years since we were in a confined space without a third party to buffer the silence. I told myself I didn't hate him, but I didn't love him either. Or so I claimed.
Long ago, when Isabella would frame me for stealing her trinkets, Father never scolded me. Instead, he would simply buy me ten times more than what was "stolen." At first, it was thrilling, but eventually, it became hollow.
His silence was the reason I became the most hated lady in the kingdom—he let the world believe I was a spoiled monster. I had stopped calling him "Father" years ago; it felt too childish for a woman who lived in the cold.
I wondered, for a fleeting second, how he would react if I used that word now. I pushed the thought away as the carriage pulled up to the palace.
Father stepped out first, extending his hand. As my fingers brushed his palm, I felt a ghost of a memory—of a time he used to take me for walks when the world still felt kind.
I took his arm, and we began the walk toward the grand entrance. My black dress shimmered under the palace lights, dark and defiant. If the First Prince saw me in this "funeral" attire and broke off the engagement in a fit of rage, I would consider it a victory.
"Duke Ellington and Lady Ellington have arrived!" the guard announced.
The doors swung open, and the ballroom fell into a suffocating silence. Every head turned. The whispers began almost instantly, a wave of shock rippling through the nobility. They had expected an elegant debutante; instead, they got a Dark Goddess.
As we walked toward the dais, I saw the King and Queen—both looked as though they had swallowed stones. Beside them stood Ceres and Isabella. Isabella was draped in white silk and gold lace, a "perfect lady" look that made my skin crawl with its sheer desperation.
But then, there was Richt.
That man truly has lost his mind. Instead of being insulted by my black dress, he was smiling as if he had just seen his salvation. He didn't wait for us to reach the dais; he stepped forward and took my hand, pressing his lips to my knuckles.
"You look beautiful as always, my lady," he murmured. His politeness was a sharp, unexpected weapon.
He led me to our place beside Ceres. While the Crown Prince wore his traditional, heavy royal robes, Richt looked like a blinding sun. He wore crisp white trousers and a coat detailed in intricate red and gold thread. He was literally outshining the future King.
The ceremony began. Throughout the entire thing, Richt kept his hand firmly on my waist—a scandalous, possessive gesture that had the dowagers gasping.
Finally, it was time for the ring exchange.
I slid the ring onto his finger. I had chosen a simple band of gold and diamond—nothing flashy like the gaudy rock Isabella had picked for Ceres.
"Did my lady think of me when she bought this?" Richt asked, his voice low enough only for me to hear.
"I didn't. I just took the first thing I saw," I lied, bored with the pageantry.
"And yet, you chose this," he whispered, caressing the metal. "Something simple I can wear every day. Something that can survive a battlefield without being noticed. You thought of my life, Pati."
I would be lying if I said I hadn't considered those things. I had. But I never expected him to see through me so easily. He looked at that ring as if it were more precious than his own life.
Then, it was his turn. He took my hand, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my breath catch. He slid the ring onto my finger.
The moment the metal touched my skin, the world didn't just go quiet—it vanished.
Everything went blank.