The morning after the garden fête, the castle felt different. Nobles whispered in corners, servants moved with hushed urgency, and sunlight poured through the windows, glinting off polished floors. The air was thick with curiosity, excitement—and something sharper, something that smelled faintly of trouble.
I spotted Elizabeth first, gliding across the courtyard in her lavender gown, the sun catching the soft silk just right. She laughed lightly at something one of the ladies said, a sound like chimes in a breeze, and I knew immediately: the rumor mill had started. She didn't need to raise her voice or gesture widely—just being herself, charming and composed, was enough to make people listen.
By mid-morning, the whispers reached me. I was passing through the gallery when I caught fragments:
"…heard Lady Isabella only cares for him because of his wealth…""…she's manipulating him, they say…""…Elizabeth warned me she'd keep an eye out for any impropriety from her sister…"
My chest tightened. Elizabeth had been subtle—so subtle that at first, it almost sounded like casual observation. But the implications were clear.
I excused myself and made my way to the library, hoping to find some privacy. Perhaps I could speak with the prince before the rumor sank in too deep.
He was there, as I suspected, leaning against the edge of a large oak table, brows furrowed, a book unopened in front of him. The sunlight caught the gray of his eyes, making them stormy and unreadable.
"Your Highness," I said softly, bowing my head. "May I ask what troubles you?"
He looked up, and for the first time, I saw hesitation in his gaze. "I… I've heard things about you," he admitted, voice low. "Some… unsettling things."
My stomach sank. I'd expected whispers, but I hadn't expected them to reach him so quickly—or for him to consider them. I forced a calm smile, keeping my voice steady. "Rumors travel fast in court, Your Highness. Not all of them are true."
He shook his head slightly. "I want to trust what I know of you… but the words, the way they spread… it's difficult not to wonder."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice just enough so the conversation could remain private. "You know me, Your Highness. You've seen my intentions firsthand. One courtier's tale—or even a group of them—cannot outweigh that."
He regarded me silently, and I could see the inner conflict flickering in his expression. He wanted to believe me, but doubt had been planted. And I knew that doubt would grow if I didn't act carefully.
"I understand your concern," I continued, "and I don't blame you. Court gossip can be persuasive. But it is not proof. It is not truth."
He sighed, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. I felt the weight of the rumor pressing down on both of us, a shadow between us that Elizabeth had crafted expertly.
Finally, he gave a faint nod. "You're right… as always. I should judge you by what I see and know, not by what I hear."
I smiled lightly. "I am glad, Your Highness. That is all I ask."
Even as we spoke, I knew the damage was not entirely undone. Doubt had taken root, and Elizabeth would watch it grow with keen satisfaction. She would linger in the prince's presence, drop small comments, and make sure the court whispered just enough to keep suspicion alive.
Later, as I walked the corridors, I observed Elizabeth's movements carefully. She spoke to the prince at intervals, her tone light, her expressions full of warmth and charm. Every gesture was calculated, every glance meant to be seen, every laugh timed to perfection. And all the while, the court followed her cues. Her plan was working, and I was still on defense.
But I refused to panic. Panic played right into Elizabeth's hands. I needed strategy, patience, and timing. I would need to gather evidence, understand her manipulations, and act when the moment was right.
That night, I would fall asleep thinking about the day—the whispers, the subtle threats in Elizabeth's eyes, the prince's quiet doubts—and knowing one thing with certainty: the game had begun, and I couldn't afford to lose sight of the truth, no matter how clever Elizabeth's lies were.