Chapter 10
Lilia
I lay in bed, my eyes red and swollen from crying all night.
The scene from last night still lingered in my mind—Perock’s furious gaze, the icy words “Get out,” and the broken crescent moon bracelet.
Every time I thought about it, it felt as though an invisible hand was gripping my chest tightly, making it hard to breathe.
I forced myself to get up, barely managing to comb through my hair.
As my fingers ran through the strands, I noticed they had grown quite a bit longer, the black tips curling slightly.
This is Viossi’s hair color, yet it’s close to the length of my original hair.
This small detail suddenly made me feel a wave of disorientation—who was I, really?
Lilia, or Viossi? Or just a shadow caught between two identities?
When Susie came in, she informed me that Lady Sophia would be visiting in the morning.
“She will meet with His Highness in the small parlor,” Susie said as she adjusted the hem of my dress.
Hearing this news, my fingers unconsciously tightened around the bedsheet. Sophia, the woman who had captivated Perock, the destined partner he could never forget. I had never truly seen her, only catching a fleeting glimpse from the shadows of the corridor.
An uncontrollable mix of curiosity and bitterness intertwined in my heart, like two coiled venomous snakes gnawing at my sanity. I wanted to see her with my own eyes, to see what kind of woman had completely captured Perock’s heart.
I didn’t tell anyone as I changed into a simple gray-blue long dress and quietly made my way to the vicinity of the small parlor.
This was overstepping, a behavior I shouldn’t have indulged in, but I couldn’t control myself.
Hiding behind a marble pillar outside the door, I peered through the half-open crack and caught a glimpse of the scene inside.
Perock stood by the window, sunlight outlining his tall, commanding frame, his dark doublet lending him a regal air.
Yet his usual stoicism was frayed—he glanced repeatedly at the door, fidgeting with his collar, his fingers tapping the windowsill in an uncharacteristic rhythm.
I’d never seen him so restless, so… eager.
The sight was a knife to my heart, proof of how deeply he anticipated her.
Footsteps approached, and a woman entered, her pale lavender gown flowing like mist. Her beauty stopped my breath—ebony hair swept elegantly atop her head, skin flawless as porcelain, eyes deep and radiant, a confident smile gracing her lips.
Every gesture exuded nobility, as if she were born to this castle, to Perock’s side.
“Dear Perock,” her voice was a clear, lilting stream, “it’s been far too long.”
As soon as Perock heard her voice, I noticed his entire body posture change. His shoulders eased, his face softened, and his amber eyes lit with a complex glow—pain, nostalgia, and joy intertwined in a way I’d never inspired.
My wolf whined within, sensing the depth of his devotion, a bond I could never rival.
“Sophia,” he murmured, his voice warm with a tenderness I’d never heard. “I’m glad you’re here.”
In that instant, Lord Thornfield’s words rang true.
Perock’s affection for Sophia was an abyss I couldn’t bridge.
No one had ever softened his edges, lowered his guard, or stripped him of his icy mantle—until her.
What emerged was not the cold prince the world knew, but a man laid bare.
I have nothing to compare. My hopes, fragile as they were, crumbled deeper.
Their conversation flowed effortlessly, intimate and warm, punctuated by soft chuckles, as if they’d never been apart.
Sophia’s hand grazed Perock’s arm, a casual touch he didn’t reject, his gaze flickering with a quiet yearning.
Each smile, each shared look, was a blade slicing into my heart.
Jealousy and agony surged, drowning my breath, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I meant to leave, to spare myself more torment, but my foot caught a vase, its clink echoing like a betrayal. Their voices ceased, and Sophia’s gaze snapped to the door, her eyes sharp and knowing, a predator spotting her mark.
“It seems that we have a visitor,” she said, her smile carrying a confident edge, as if she’d anticipated my presence.
My heart froze, heat flooding my cheeks as shame and fear coiled within. Eavesdropping was a scandal, unbecoming of a princess. But retreat was impossible. I stepped into the parlor, legs heavy as stone, forcing a facade of composure despite my trembling hands.
Perock’s brow creased, his expression a mix of irritation, confusion, and—most wounding—embarrassment, as if my intrusion tainted his precious reunion. His gaze made me feel like an outsider, an error in his world. My throat tightened, the air thick with my own irrelevance.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” I whispered, my voice faint, humiliation searing through me. “I was just passing by and heard voices…”
“It’s okay, dear,” Sophia said, her tone kind, her smile impeccable. “Since you’re here, could you pour me some tea? It was a long journey to get here. I'm kind of thirsty.”
I stiffened, disbelief anchoring me. She’d seen me at the banquet, knew I was Perock’s wife, yet she treated me like a servant, her request a calculated insult.
Her eyes gleamed with challenge, silently declaring one thing: I was allowed to do this, and he won’t stop me.
I looked to Perock, my eyes pleading for him to correct her, to acknowledge me, even if only as Viossi.
But he stood silent, his gaze drifting to the window, lips pressed tight, fingers twitching at his cuff—a nervous tic that betrayed his unease.
His silence cut deeper than any words, confirming I wasn’t worth defending.
Just like last night, when he’d protected Sophia without a thought for me.
Humiliation burned through me, a scorching wave from head to toe. My cheeks flamed, my hands shook, but a defiant pride straightened my spine. “Of course, Lady Sophia,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos within.
I’m used to this, aren’t I?
I approached the tea table, each step a trek across shards of glass, my heart bleeding with every motion.
Perock’s gaze lingered on my back, not with care but with discomfort, as if I were a problem he couldn’t solve.
I lifted the teapot, the silver spoon clinking in my trembling hands, a mocking chime of my fragility.
As I handed Sophia the tea, her smile deepened—a victor’s triumph, laced with superiority and faint pity. Her eyes shone with the assurance of a woman who knew she was cherished. “Thank you,” she said, barely glancing at me before turning to Perock. “Your… servant is very polite.”
Perock remained silent, his lips tight, his eyes avoiding mine.
Don’t let a few kind glances fool you, Lilia.
Lord Thornfield’s voice echoed, the final crack in my resolve. My throat constricted, tears burned my eyes, and my heart felt pulverized, each beat a jagged pain. The truth was clear - Perock’s tenderness to me was a fleeting charity, not love.
I had to escape before I broke entirely. “Excuse me,” I murmured, my voice trembling with suppressed sobs, barely coherent.
Without waiting for a reply, I fled the parlor, tears spilling the moment I crossed the threshold, soaking my cheeks and collar.
I hurried through the corridors, my gown trailing, footsteps echoing in the vast halls.
I ran blindly, desperate to outrun the agony, but it pursued me, a relentless specter. In my haze, I collided with someone.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I gasped, wiping my tears, looking up to see Orin.
“Your Highness?” His eyes widened, concern furrowing his brow. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” I lied, my voice breaking, fingers twisting my skirt. “I’m… fine.”
Orin didn’t press, instead offering a clean handkerchief from his pocket. “Here, Your Highness.”
The gesture undid me, my lips quivering as tears fell anew. I took the handkerchief, nodding gratefully, unable to speak.
“You seem...very upset,” he said softly, keeping a respectful distance, his voice warm with compassion. “Is there anything I can do?”
I shook my head, clutching the handkerchief. “Thank you, but… it’s nothing serious.”
Orin’s smile was gentle, empathetic. “Sometimes, pain needs to be shared. You don’t have to bear it alone. Your Highness.”
His words pierced my defenses, another tear escaping. As I dabbed my cheek, Orin reached out, his fingers softly brushing a tear from the other side. The touch startled me, his gaze holding a fervor I’d never seen in Perock’s eyes—an intense, almost obsessive care.
His eyes lingered, tracing my face from brow to nose, resting on my lips longer than decorum permitted. “Your eyes shouldn’t be dimmed by tears,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate. “You’re too beautiful, Your Highness, too radiant for sorrow.”
His breath brushed my ear, and I realized we’d drifted too close, beyond propriety’s bounds. My heart raced, caught between shock and discomfort. “Orin, I…” I began, stepping back, unsure how to respond.
“What’s going on here, Orin?”
Perock’s cold voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. He stood at the corridor’s end, his presence sudden and overwhelming.
When had he arrived?
His eyes locked on Orin’s hand, still hovering near my face, his expression dark as a storm cloud, fury blazing in his amber gaze. His fists clenched, knuckles whitening, his body leaning forward as if ready to lunge at Orin, a predator staking his claim.
Orin stepped back swiftly, bowing his head in deference. “Your Highness,” he said, his tone calm and respectful, “I merely happened upon Her Highness while she was unwell.”
His voice was steady, but he raised his head, meeting Perock’s eyes with a quiet defiance, as if he believed he’d done nothing wrong. The air crackled with tension, the corridor’s torchlight flickering, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse with Perock’s barely contained rage.
Perock advanced, his presence suffocating, the heat of his anger almost tangible.
His eyes burned into Orin, promising retribution.
The irony was bitter, searing through me like acid.
Just moments ago, in the parlor, he’d stood silent as Sophia humiliated me, refusing to utter a single word in my defense.
Yet now, faced with Orin’s concern, he acted like a possessive husband, guarding what he’d so easily discarded.
My tears had dried, replaced by a cold, simmering resentment.
His double standards were unbearable—ignoring me when it suited him, only to claim me when another dared show kindness. I wouldn’t stand for it, not after last night’s betrayal, not after Sophia’s triumph.
Before Perock could speak, I turned, my skirts swirling, and strode down the corridor.
I refused to face his accusations, his cold eyes, or the hollow promises of care I’d once craved. My wolf stirred, a faint growl echoing my resolve, urging me to reclaim my dignity, to stop begging for scraps of his affection.
“Viossi, stop!” His voice rang out behind me, sharp with command, but laced with something else—desperation, perhaps, or guilt.
But it didn’t matter.
I wouldn’t let it sway me anymore.