The sound of soft laughter and clinking teacups filled the air of the Marchioness's drawing room. The room was tastefully furnished, with large windows allowing soft rays of afternoon sunlight to filter in and highlight the fine China. The tables were spread with delicate pastries, cakes, and sandwiches, all carefully arranged to encourage conversation and socializing. Yet, as Sophia entered the room, she could sense the subtle shift in energy that always followed her, soft whispers from the women in the room, some muffled laughter, and a few sideways glances.
Sophia wasn't surprised. She had grown used to being the subject of idle gossip since her arrival at the palace. It was no longer the petty remarks that bothered her. It was the empathy, the pity that leaked through every glance from the women who thought they understood her struggle.
Sophia had long since learned to ignore their gazes, the subtle curve of their lips that suggested an unspoken sympathy. Their pity meant nothing to her. She had a job to do, and their quiet whispers were simply a part of the background noise.
Her entrance had already drawn a few quiet murmurs. There was a shared understanding among the women here that Sophia's position was precarious. She was the consort to a prince whose body had betrayed him, and yet her beauty had made her an undeniable figure in the palace. To many of these women, it seemed almost tragic that she had to play the part of a devoted wife while navigating the shadow of her husband's weakness.
Sophia moved through the room with her head held high, her smile polite but distant. As she approached the table, the Marchioness, a woman known for her taste in fine things and her penchant for playing the part of a gracious hostess, greeted her with a polite, almost overly sweet expression.
"Consort Sophia," the Marchioness said, her voice dripping with false warmth, "It's a delight to see you here today."
Sophia replied with a smile. "Thank you for inviting me, Marchioness. It's always a pleasure to join you all."
The women surrounding the table, a mix of duchesses, baronesses, and ladies-in-waiting, exchanged polite pleasantries, but Sophia could tell the conversation was laced with judgment. Their eyes flicked from her to each other, gauging her reaction as if waiting for her to crack.
One lady, wearing a silken green gown, offered Sophia a look of feigned sympathy. "It must be difficult, being married to a prince who cannot even stand on his own." The words were meant to be soft, but they were calculated.
Sophia's fingers tightened around her teacup, and her mind screamed to let the comment pass. She smiled, setting the cup down and lifting her chin slightly.
"Difficult, perhaps, but I am his consort," she replied, her voice smooth as velvet. "And that is all that matters."
The woman's smile faltered, as though taken aback by Sophia's calm, yet firm response. The other women shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but none of them spoke up.
The tea party continued with the same superficial conversation, the women commenting on the weather, the latest fashions, and the upcoming royal ball. But despite the social niceties, Sophia could sense their judgment and felt the weight of their gazes more than she cared to admit.
It was only when the party began to draw to a close that things took an unexpected turn. As Sophia moved toward the door, she was stopped by a familiar voice.
"Consort Sophia, it seems we are both heading in the same direction."
She turned, only to find none other than Crown Prince Gabriel standing just outside the door, a faint, knowing smile on his lips.
Sophia's body stiffened instinctively. His presence was a source of tension. She hadn't expected him here, especially not at the Marchioness's house, nor so close to the East Wing, but it seemed Gabriel's patience knew no bounds.
Without waiting for her to respond, he stepped forward, brushing past her and into the entryway. "I was just about to pay my brother a visit," he said, his tone casual, as if they were simply acquaintances. "Perhaps you don't mind me tagging along? I wouldn't want to disturb you for too long, of course."
Sophia fought to mask her unease. There was something about the way he spoke, the way his words seemed to trail off in a suggestive manner, that set her on edge. "Of course," she replied curtly, forcing a polite smile. "I'm sure it won't be a problem."
The conversation had ended, but Gabriel didn't seem to take the hint. He leaned against the wall just outside the door, waiting patiently for Sophia to make her exit.
When she did, he followed without hesitation, the air around him charged with an energy she couldn't ignore. They made their way to the carriage, with Gabriel shamelessly climbing in beside her.
Once inside, the moment the carriage doors closed, Sophia could feel the subtle shift in the air. Gabriel's gaze was intense, his eyes tracing her every movement with a heat that was impossible to ignore. The carriage was dimly lit, the flickering light from the candles dancing on the velvet upholstery, and the space between them felt smaller than it should have.
As the horses began to pull the carriage along, Sophia could hear it, the subtle thoughts, the ones that didn't belong to her. Gabriel's mind, too, was inescapable, louder than it had been before.
She's so different from the others. So confident. So intriguing. The way her figure moves, so poised, so elegant. It's hard not to notice—her curves, the grace with which she carries herself. She's a woman who knows her worth. And she knows the effect she has on men. She has to feel the eyes on her. Every man in the court watches her with the same fascination I do.I could break her. I could make her forget the crippled prince she's tied to. She thinks she's strong, untouchable, but I know her better than she thinks. What she really needs is a man who can give her what she desires, someone who can satisfy her in ways Alexander never will.Why does she look so cold? So distant? Maybe I can change that. Maybe I can make her want something more from me. Something Alexander can never give her...She doesn't have to settle for his pitiful existence. He can't give her what she deserves... but I could. A woman like her, with all that beauty and fire—it would be a crime to let her stay with someone so weak, so powerless. I will show her what she's missing, what she's entitled to. She will be mine.
Sophia stiffened, her hand tightening around the fabric of her skirt. His thoughts were clear, unsettling. And more than that, his thoughts were disturbing, laced with a dangerous desire. He was watching her with such intensity that it felt suffocating.
She turned her face toward the window, pretending to look out at the passing scenery, but she couldn't shake the unease creeping up her spine. His thoughts were growing bolder now, clearer in her mind as they drew closer to the East Wing. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her profile, the quiet way he was drinking in the sight of her.
Suddenly, without warning, Gabriel's voice cut through the quiet. "Consort Sophia, I must admit, I've always been curious about you. You seem so different from the other women."
Sophia's heart skipped a beat, but she masked her surprise. "And what is it that makes me different, Your Highness?"
Gabriel leaned closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost intimate whisper. "You don't fear me, do you? I've seen you ignore the stares, the whispers. Most women would crumble under that pressure. But not you. It's intriguing."
His words made her pulse race, but not in a way she could explain. There was something sinister in his tone, something that unsettled her in a way his political games never had.
Before she could respond, he spoke again, his words sharper, more deliberate.
"You should be careful, Consort," he murmured, a smirk curling on his lips. "Things are changing in the palace. People will be watching, and when the time comes… you may find yourself in a very different position. A position where I could help you."
Sophia's breath caught. His intentions were all too clear, and her mind raced to grasp what he was hinting at. She needed to shut him down before he said more.
But just as the carriage rolled past the gates of the East Wing, Gabriel added one final remark.
"I'll be seeing you soon, Consort," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, dangerous promise. "Don't think I'm finished with you yet."
The words lingered in the air as the carriage came to a halt. Sophia's pulse was racing. She had to get away from him, away from the dangerous allure of his thoughts before she lost her composure.