Chapter 2
Lilia
My head pounded, and my body felt foreign, heavy, like it belonged to someone else. I slowly open my eyes, the room was thick with the scent of melted candle wax and polished oak, and pale moonlight slipped through heavy velvet curtains, casting ghostly shadows across the unfamiliar space.
I lay on a luxurious bed, its soft silks and intricate embroidery far too fine for a slave like me, feeling more like a costume than a comfort.
My chest tightened, the sorceress’s curse humming faintly within, a constant reminder of the invisible chain now binding me.
Hesitantly, I touched my face, and my breath caught—my fingers brushed against unfamiliar contours.
My hair, once long and golden, was now shorter, darker, with soft curls at the ends, just like Viossi’s.
The transformation was complete. I was no longer Lilia. I was “Viossi”—a living deception.
In the next three days, I was forced to accept relentless training under Lady Thornfield’s iron grip.
Her voice was sharp as a whip as she molded me into a perfect replica of her daughter.
She drilled me on every detail of aristocratic life—how to hold a fork with delicate precision, how to glide across a room with effortless grace, how to speak with the haughty cadence of a noblewoman.
Every mistake earned a stinging rebuke or a sharp rap from her slender wooden ruler.
My back ached from hours of forced posture, my fingers cramped from practicing intricate gestures, and my mind reeled from the constant pressure to become someone else.
“Chin up, eyes proud—never look down!” Lady Thornfield’s commands echoed in my ears, even now, in the quiet of my room. “You’re a Thornfield now, not some lowly slave.”
Finally, the night before the wedding arrived.
Thornfield Manor was shrouded in an eerie stillness, as if the world itself held its breath. The grand estate, with its towering stone walls and sprawling gardens, felt more like a prison than ever.
Moonlight filtered through the heavy drapes, casting long, ghostly shadows across the room where I stood, staring into a mirror that reflected Viossi’s face.
The irony was bitter. Despite the spell that had sculpted my features into Viossi’s—her raven curls, her flawless porcelain skin, her sharp cheekbones—I had never felt more acutely aware of my true self.
Beneath the glamour, I was still Lilia, the orphaned werewolf who couldn’t shift, the slave who had no voice, no choice, no future.
This transformation was a cruel masquerade, and I was nothing more than a pawn in their game.
I pressed a hand to my chest, where the curse Greta had woven pulsed faintly, a cold reminder of my leash.
If I tried to flee or reveal the truth, my heart would shatter.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and my wolf stirred faintly within me, a restless presence trapped behind an invisible barrier.
She whined softly, sensing my fear, but she was as powerless as I was.
A sharp knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Before I could respond, Viossi swept into the room without so much as a pause, her silk gown rustling like a serpent’s hiss. She didn’t bother with courtesies—she never had. To her, I was no more than a tool, unworthy of even basic respect.
“Well, well, the little mutt,” she drawled, her voice dripping with venom as she circled me like a predator sizing up its prey. “How does it feel to wear my face? To be me?”
I stayed silent, sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed, my hands folded in my lap.
Even with her appearance, I felt small under her gaze, as if her piercing eyes could strip away the spell and expose the slave beneath.
Her presence filled the room with a suffocating weight, and I fought the urge to shrink away.
“Tomorrow, at this hour,” she continued, pacing with a restless energy, “you’ll be at the mercy of that monster, while I’m tucked away safely in a cabin in the hills, far from his claws.” She let out a sharp, mirthless laugh. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? The ultimate escape plan.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. The rumors about Prince Perock had haunted me for days, each one more horrifying than the last. A beastly man with scars crisscrossing his body, eyes that glowed like a demon’s, a temper so volatile even his servants cowered.
His four previous wives, all vanished under mysterious circumstances—some said he tore them apart, others whispered he devoured their hearts.
The thought made my stomach churn, and I couldn’t stop the question from slipping out.
“Is he really as terrible as they say?” My voice was barely above a whisper, but it trembled with the weight of my fear.
Viossi spun to face me, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
“Oh, worse,” she said, leaning closer, her voice low and conspiratorial.
“They say he’s more beast than man, covered in scars, with eyes that burn red in the dark.
His castle echoes with the screams of his wives, and his servants hear bones crunching in the night. ”
I shuddered, my hands clenching the fabric of my dress. The images her words conjured were vivid, grotesque, and they sank into my mind like poison. Viossi’s lips curved into a cruel smile, clearly relishing my reaction.
“And the best part?” she went on, her voice almost gleeful. “His last four wives? All gone. Poof. Vanished. Everyone knows he killed them. Ate them, maybe. Who’s to say he won’t do the same to you?”
“Why would the royal family keep arranging these marriages?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the panic clawing at my chest. “If he’s so dangerous, why risk more lives?”
Viossi shrugged, tossing her hair with a careless flick.
“Politics. Stupid, boring politics. His father, the king, needs him to have an heir to secure the bloodline, and our family needs the royal family’s favor.
It’s a trade. They get a bride, we get protection.
” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
“And you, dear peasant, are the perfect sacrifice.”
Her words hit like a slap, and I fought to keep my expression neutral. A sacrifice. That’s all I was to them—a disposable piece in their political chess game. My life, my fear, my pain meant nothing.
Viossi circled me again, her gaze raking over me with disdain. “I wonder how long it’ll take him to realize you’re a fake,” she mused. “Maybe he’ll figure it out before he rips your throat out. Or maybe you’ll crack under the pressure and spill the truth yourself.”
“I won’t,” I said quietly, meeting her eyes for the first time. “If I tell him the truth, the curse will kill me. Lord Thornfield made sure of that.”
She paused, her eyes narrowing as if reassessing me. “True,” she admitted, her tone grudging. “Which is exactly why you’re perfect for this. A pathetic, powerless little orphan who can’t fight back. The ideal substitute.”
She leaned in, her face inches from mine, her breath hot against my cheek. “Listen carefully, peasant. No matter how much you look like me, you’re still nothing. You’re still Lilia, the useless, shiftless nobody destined to be discarded.”
Her words stung, slicing into the deepest wounds of my heart—the years of being called worthless, unwanted, a burden.
But something had shifted in me over these three days of fear and humiliation.
A spark of defiance flickered to life, fueled by the knowledge that, in some twisted way, we were bound together in this deception.
I stood slowly, my movements deliberate, and met her gaze head-on. “At least I’m not a coward, Viossi,” I said, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “I’m not the one hiding behind an innocent person’s life to escape my own responsibilities.”
Viossi’s face paled, then flushed with rage. “How dare you speak to me like that?” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “Have you forgotten your place?”
“My place?” I echoed, my voice calm but firm. “Look at me, Viossi. I am you now. Tomorrow, when everyone calls me Lady Viossi, I’ll be you in every way that matters. Isn’t that what you and your parents wanted?”
Her eyes widened, shock rendering her speechless for a moment. I pressed on, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “If Prince Perock is as monstrous as you say, you should be thanking me for taking your place. And if he’s not—if the rumors are lies—then who’s really being deceived here?”
Viossi’s expression twisted with fury, and she raised her hand as if to strike me. But I caught her wrist, my grip firm—a boldness I hadn’t known I possessed. The act startled us both, and for a moment, we stood frozen, the air between us crackling with tension.
“You can’t hurt me anymore,” I said, my voice low but unwavering. “Not without ruining your father’s plan. What would he say if you damaged his precious scheme?”
Viossi yanked her hand free, her chest heaving with barely contained rage. “Enjoy your little moment of defiance, peasant,” she spat. “Tomorrow, when you’re standing before that monster, you’ll regret every word you’ve said to me tonight.”
She stormed toward the door, but paused just before leaving, throwing a final barb over her shoulder. “And don’t fool yourself into thinking anyone will care what happens to you. You’re the one person in this world no one will miss.”
The door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the empty room like a gunshot.
I sank back onto the bed, my heart racing, my hands trembling.
She was right about one thing—no one would notice if the real Lilia disappeared.
Not the other servants, not the Thornfields, not even the world beyond these walls.
The only person who might care was Martha, but I had no idea how they’d explain my absence to her.