Chapter 8
Lilia
I stood before the full-length mirror in my quarters, staring at the stranger gazing back.
Viossi’s face—sharp cheekbones, dark curls—had been mine for nearly two months, yet each glance in the mirror still sent a jolt of unease through me.
Tonight, though, this borrowed face had to be flawless.
As Perock’s princess, I was to make my first public appearance at a royal banquet, and every detail had to be perfect.
My fingers trembled as I smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles on my gown, a deep sapphire silk that shimmered under the candlelight.
The memory of last night warmed my heart like a spring breeze—Perock accepting the honey cake I’d baked, his rare smile, the quiet intimacy of our moments together.
Those memories were a fragile anchor, but they couldn’t quell the anxiety churning within me.
Tonight, I’d face the court’s scrutiny, and the weight of my false identity pressed heavier than ever.
“Are you ready, Your Highness?” Susie asked softly, securing a final jeweled hairpin in my hair.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Having lived in this castle for so long, this was the first time I would appear before everyone as Perock’s wife.
Although I had basically mastered the etiquette of noble interactions during the three-day intensive training to “become Viossi Thornfield,” I wasn’t sure if I could handle myself with ease in front of everyone.
But for Perock, I had to try my best.
Susie gave me an encouraging smile. “His Highness is waiting outside.”
I stepped out of the room, my heart racing, and found Perock standing in the corridor.
He was a vision in a deep blue doublet, its silver embroidery catching the torchlight, a cloak draped over his broad shoulders lending him an air of regal authority.
His amber eyes softened as they met mine, a rare warmth breaking through his usual reserve.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere.
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I lowered my gaze. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
We walked down the long corridor, my arm resting lightly on his, the steady rhythm of his steps and the warmth of his presence grounding me.
Yet, beneath my calm exterior, fear surged like a tide.
What if I stumbled over a noble’s title?
What if I embarrassed him before the court?
The thought of letting him down twisted my stomach into knots.
“You’re trembling,” Perock said suddenly, stopping and turning to face me, his brow furrowed with concern.
I swallowed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”
His expression softened, and he took my hand, his grip firm yet gentle. “There’s no need to be nervous,” he said. “You’re my wife. No one would dare disrespect you.” His thumb brushed lightly across the back of my hand, a small gesture that sent my pulse racing. “I’ll be by your side.”
His words wrapped around me like a warm cloak, easing the tension in my shoulders.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between us—a connection I couldn’t name but felt deep in my bones.
My wolf stirred, humming with quiet joy.
Then, he looked away, resuming our walk, and the moment slipped into silence.
At the banquet hall’s entrance, the guards’ voices boomed: “His Royal Highness, Prince Perock, and Her Highness, the Princess!”
Every eye in the room turned to us, their gazes sharp and appraising. My legs felt like water, but Perock’s hand tightened briefly on mine, steadying me. “Chin up, shoulders back,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re radiant. Don’t be afraid.”
His words were a lifeline, pulling me from the edge of panic. I straightened, lifting my chin, and stepped into the glittering hall on his arm, my heart pounding but my resolve firm.
The banquet hall was a spectacle of opulence—crystal chandeliers casting golden light, tapestries depicting wolves and moons, tables laden with silver and fine china.
King sat at the far end on a raised dais, his face stern and unyielding, his crown glinting coldly.
As we bowed, I sensed his gaze swept over me, clinical and detached, as if I were an object to be evaluated.
A shiver ran down my spine, but I held my composure, refusing to flinch.
Then, my eyes met Lord Thornfield’s across the room. Seated among the guests, his cold, warning stare pierced through me, a silent reminder of my stolen identity.
My confidence crumbled, replaced by a suffocating sense of fraudulence. I was no princess, just a servant girl playing a part, and his glare made me feel like a thief caught in the act.
Suddenly, a warm pressure on my hand pulled me back. Perock’s fingers rested over mine, his touch grounding me. He didn’t look at me, but the gesture spoke volumes: I’m here.
I knew that I should have felt sweetness, but deep inside, a discordant voice emerged.
All of this is built on a lie. He’s not interacting with the real me, but with Viossi. If he knew the truth, would he still hold my hand?
As the banquet began, I relaxed slightly, distracted by the hall’s splendor—the lilting music, the clink of glasses, the laughter of nobles in their finery.
This world of luxury was alien to the girl I’d been at Thornfield, scrubbing floors and hiding from cruel words.
I had to suppress my awe, reminding myself I was Viossi, a noblewoman who’d grown up in such grandeur.
With a bitter smile, I sipped my champagne, hoping the bubbles would drown my unease.
A shadow fell across the table, and I looked up to find a young man standing before me, his smile sharp and arrogant. His eyes roamed over me with unsettling boldness.
“So, this is the new princess,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “The Thornfield’s pearl. I must say, Lady Viossi, your beauty lives up to the rumors.”
Suddenly, I felt that Perock’s body tensed beside me, his voice cold as winter. “Jackson, watch your mouth.”
The man called Jackson ignored him, his smirk widening. “I’m just curious,” he continued, leaning closer to me. “What made you marry a man rumored to devour his four wives? Family pressure? Ambition? Or are you just brave enough to risk being the fifth to ‘disappear’?”
Each word was a dagger aimed at Perock, meant to provoke. I felt his anger radiating, but also his restraint, a careful shield protecting both me and himself. His control sparked a surge of courage within me, my wolf growling softly in solidarity.
“His Highness has been nothing but kind to me, Lord Jackson,” I said, my voice calm and measured, surprising even myself. “As for rumors, I believe everyone deserves to be judged by truth, not gossip.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, clearly caught off guard by my response. Perock turned to me, a flicker of approval in his gaze, a look I’d never seen before. My heart swelled, though I kept my expression composed.
“I’m sure you have other guests to entertain, Jackson,” Perock said, his voice low and laced with menace. “If not, I suggest you focus on your wine instead of my wife.”
Jackson gave a mocking laugh but retreated, his departure easing the tension at our table. Perock’s gaze lingered on me, curious and searching.
“Why defend me?” he asked quietly, his tone more inquisitive than accusatory.
“Because…” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “Because those words were unfair. You’re not the monster they claim.”
“How do you know I’m not?” His voice was soft, almost challenging, but his eyes held a vulnerability that made my breath catch.
“I just know,” I said, meeting his gaze with quiet conviction.
His expression softened, and his fingers brushed my hand, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through me. My wolf hummed, sensing a shift in him, however small.
The music swelled, and couples began moving to the dance floor, their gowns and doublets swirling in a kaleidoscope of color. To my surprise, Perock stood, extending his hand.
“Would you dance with me?” he asked, his amber eyes deep and intense in the candlelight.
My heart raced, my words stumbling. “I…”
I felt Lord Thornfield’s gaze burned into me from across the room, his feigned conversation with another noble a thin disguise.
Fear tightened my chest, but before I could protest, Perock’s hand closed gently around mine, pulling me to my feet.
I stumbled, my body pressing briefly against his chest.
Thump, thump, thump.
I could clearly hear his heartbeat echoing in my ears. My wolf let out an excited yip, thrilled by our closeness.
“Come, my princess,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth curling through me.
I placed my hand in his broad palm, letting him lead me to the dance floor.
His arm encircled my waist, the contact sending a jolt like lightning through my veins.
We were so close I could smell the faint pine-and-leather scent of him, feel the rhythm of his heart beneath his doublet.
At first, my steps were stiff, my nerves threatening to trip me, but Perock’s guidance was sure, his gaze so focused it felt like the world had narrowed to just us.
Slowly, I found the rhythm, my body relaxing into the dance, the music weaving us together.
The tension in my chest melted away. Our eyes locked, his amber gaze flickering with something like fire, and as he spun me, he drew me closer, his breath grazing my forehead. My heart stuttered when he spoke, his voice low and unexpected.
“Didn’t your mother hire tutors to teach you to dance?”
“No, I’m just… nervous,” I said, forcing a smile to cover my slip. “Your Highness.”
He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Perock,” he corrected. “Call me Perock when we're alone.”
The permission felt like a precious gift, warming my heart. “Perock,” I whispered, savoring the weight of his name on my tongue.
His grip on my waist tightened slightly. Our bodies were almost pressed together, and with every turn, every touch, I felt an unprecedented connection. As the music swelled and dipped, we spun across the dance floor, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of us.
“You make me want things I shouldn’t want,” he whispered suddenly, his voice barely audible.
“What things?” I asked, holding my breath.
He paused, his eyes searching mine. “Nothing,” he said finally, but the words felt heavy, unspoken truths lingering beneath.
The song ended, and he released me, stepping back. “You danced beautifully,” he said, his voice soft with a tenderness I hadn’t heard before.
I ducked my head, hiding my flushed cheeks. “Thank you… Perock.”
Around us, nobles whispered, their glances darting our way. A young woman sighed, “Look at them—so perfect together.”
Another voice added, “Maybe the rumors are wrong.”
The banquet continued, but I caught Lord Thornfield’s pointed glance before he slipped from the hall. A knot formed in my stomach.
“You look unwell,” Perock said, his brow creasing with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a little dizzy,” I lied, forcing a smile. “I might need some air.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“No, thank you,” I said quickly, too quickly. His eyes narrowed, searching mine, and I feared he’d sense my unease. But he nodded, relenting.
“Take a guard,” he said firmly.
Outside the noisy hall, I gulped the cool night air, my heart still racing. I turned to the guard trailing me. “Please wait over there,” I said. “I need a moment alone.”
He nodded and retreated. When he was out of sight, I hurried deeper into the gardens, my slippered feet silent on the stone path, until a voice stopped me cold.
“You’ve settled into your role quite well, Lilia.”
I spun around. “Lord Thornfield.”
He emerged from the shadows, one eyebrow arched mockingly. “Should I bow to our princess?”
His sarcasm stung, but I held my ground. “No need,” I said, my voice steady. “You’re my father.”
The words slipped out, bold and defiant, shocking even me. His eyes widened, surprise flickering before his face hardened.
“Getting comfortable as a princess, aren't you?” he said, his tone icy.
My breath hitched, the weight of his disdain pressing against my chest, but I refused to look away.
“Your dance with His Highness was… striking,” he continued, stepping closer. “You play the noblewoman well, Lilia. But don’t forget who you are—a stand-in, a tool.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even.
“Really?” He advanced, his presence looming. “Don’t get any ideas, girl. Perock only ever loved one woman—Sophia.”
My heart lurched. “Sophia?”
“His first love,” Thornfield said, his voice cutting. “They grew up together, betrothed since childhood. When she left him for a lesser noble, Perock nearly died of grief—five days without food or water, wasting away. He’s never opened his heart ever since.”
Five days? The depth of his love for her shook me, a chasm I couldn’t hope to cross. My wolf whimpered, sensing my pain.
“Even after her betrayal,” Thornfield went on, relentless, “he still cares for her. Do you understand? You think you can compare to her? A fraud? A substitute?”
His words were a vise around my heart, squeezing until I could barely breathe. “Don’t let a few kind glances fool you, Lilia,” he sneered. “You’re nothing to him.”
“Remember your duty,” he warned, his voice final. “Play your role, nothing more. Reach for more, and you’ll only humiliate yourself.”
Then he released my arm and quickly disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing there, feeling dizzy and nauseous.
Was Perock’s tenderness toward me merely because I happened to please him? When he looked at me, was he actually thinking of Sophia?
I walked back toward the banquet hall, each step heavy, the world around me blurred and unsteady. At a corridor’s turn, I froze. Perock stood with a beautiful woman, her face streaked with tears, her golden hair catching the torchlight. His expression—raw, unguarded, pained—told me everything.
She was Sophia.
In that moment, my world stood still.