The sound of Elizabeth's laughter tinkled like glass as the three of us walked through the garden. Birds fluttered from the hedges, and the breeze carried the scent of roses and citrus blossoms. It should've felt peaceful, but every step felt like I was walking through a landmine.
Elizabeth's hand brushed the prince's arm—lightly, casually—but I noticed it. Every move of hers was deliberate, just like in the book. She had mastered the art of charming without seeming to try.
In My Sweet Revenge, this walk cemented her as the frontrunner. She made the prince laugh, flattered him subtly, and then feigned modesty so she looked innocent. Isabella barely existed in this scene—she followed behind, silent, jealous, and forgettable.
But this wasn't the book anymore.
"So tell me, Your Highness," I said before Elizabeth could start her next line, "is it true you keep a journal of every rose you plant?"
The prince blinked. "You know about that?"
"Of course," I said smoothly, even though I'd only read it in the novel's footnotes—something readers learned halfway through the book when Elizabeth used the journal to manipulate him. "You care about the meaning behind things. You don't just grow flowers; you grow symbols."
His expression softened. "That's… accurate."
Elizabeth smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "My, my. You've been studying him, haven't you, sister?"
I turned to her, feigning innocence. "Shouldn't I? After all, I intend to win."
That did it. The prince's eyes widened slightly, and Elizabeth's hand froze mid-gesture.
It wasn't ladylike. It wasn't demure. It was bold—and Isabella had never been bold.
"I didn't realize this was a competition," the prince said with a teasing smile, though his gaze had turned sharp with interest.
"Everything is," I said. "You just have to decide which prize is worth fighting for."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You speak like someone who's already chosen."
"Maybe I have," I said, smiling back.
Elizabeth's fan snapped open with a flick, breaking the tension. "Well, sister," she said, her voice honeyed but tight, "you do love to surprise people. How… refreshing."
She looped her arm through the prince's before I could respond. "But surely His Highness would prefer lighter conversation. Politics and philosophy at this hour—how dull!"
The prince glanced between us, clearly amused. "Not dull to me. I rather enjoy being challenged."
Elizabeth faltered. Just slightly. But I saw it.
Victory hummed under my skin. Small, but real.
Still, something in his expression made me pause. He was looking at me differently now—like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Like he could feel I didn't belong.
That was dangerous.
Before I could dwell on it, a servant hurried up the path, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, the Duke requests your presence. It's urgent."
The prince nodded. "Duty calls, I'm afraid." He turned to us both, his tone polite but deliberate. "Lady Elizabeth. Lady Isabella. This has been… enlightening." His gaze lingered on me for a second longer than it should have. "Until next time."
And then he was gone, the sound of his boots fading into the maze.
Elizabeth stood silently, her fan trembling just slightly. Then she turned to me, her perfect smile back in place.
"Careful, sister," she murmured. "You're playing with things you don't understand."
"Maybe," I said lightly. "But you know what's funny about stories, Elizabeth? The moment someone does something unexpected… the whole plot changes."
Her eyes darkened. "You won't last long."
"Guess we'll see."
She swept away, leaving me alone in the sunlight.