Chapter 14
Lilia
I stood alone by the window of my chambers, gazing out at the darkening sky. My tears had long since dried, replaced by a numbing calm, like the eerie stillness that follows a storm.
"How could you ever compare to Sophia?"
Perock’s words echoed in my mind, each syllable a poisoned dagger plunging into my heart. I thought I’d grown accustomed to being dismissed, reduced to a mere tool, but hearing those words from him hurt more than all the humiliations I’d endured combined.
The past few days played on a relentless loop in my head.
I saw Perock and Sophia laughing together, their voices carrying across the courtyard as they rode side by side, their horses’ hooves kicking up dust in the golden afternoon light.
Sophia’s smug glance toward the balcony where I stood, too far to hear but close enough to feel the sting of her triumph, as if she were staking her claim.
His exaggerated smile as they reminisced about old times, his voice deliberately loud, as if to ensure I heard every word, every shared memory that excluded me.
Each moment cut like a blade, slicing deeper with every glance, every laugh. But I forced myself to maintain a blank expression, to hold onto my dignity, to stand tall despite the pain.
Because I knew that’s what he wanted—to see me break, to watch me crumble with jealousy, to have me beg for his attention. Like a master toying with a dog, offering scraps of warmth to foster dependence, then withdrawing to watch it grovel.
I refused to give him that satisfaction.
So, I smiled when others could see me. I stayed silent when words would betray my hurt.
I acted as if I didn’t care, as if his actions couldn’t touch me.
But every night, alone in my chambers, the tears came unbidden, spilling over until I was empty.
Today, when I saw him kiss Sophia in the courtyard, my heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
Yet I managed a calm apology, my voice steady as I turned and walked away, my composure a fragile shield against the storm inside.
Then he came after me—not to explain the kiss, not to offer regret, but to accuse me of being too friendly with Orin.
His hypocrisy was so blatant it sparked a fire in me, and I fought back, hoping he’d see his own faults, feel some shred of remorse for the pain he’d caused.
Instead, he delivered the final blow, the words that crushed the last flicker of hope I’d clung to.
"How could you ever compare to Sophia?"
Maybe he was right. Sophia was a noblewoman, born to privilege, her lineage impeccable, her place in the world assured.
I was an orphan, a slave forced into a marriage to serve a purpose, a “defective” werewolf who couldn’t shift, a failure in the eyes of those who valued power.
At Thornfield House, I was a lowly servant, scrubbing floors and enduring scorn.
In the palace, I was a vessel to break Perock’s curse, a means to an end.
No one had ever truly cared about who I was or what I felt.
Except Martha.
The thought of her brought a fleeting warmth to my chest, a soft glow in the darkness of my thoughts.
Since arriving at the palace, I hadn’t had the chance to contact her, but I could picture her in the Thornfield kitchen, her hands kneading dough, her smile a beacon in that cold, oppressive place.
She’d been my only solace, the one person who saw me as human, who treated me with kindness when the world offered none.
Maybe I should find her, I thought. I could tell her how much I missed her, how grateful I was for the love she’d shown me, the way she’d made me feel like I mattered.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. “Your Highness,” Susie said from the doorway, her face etched with concern, her eyes searching mine as if she could sense my turmoil.
I quickly composed myself, wiping away any trace of vulnerability and offering a faint smile. “Yes, Susie? Is something wrong?”
“There’s a woman wearing a veil asking to see you. She claims to be your cousin.”
Cousin? I had no family, no kin to claim me. The word sent a shiver of unease through me, but curiosity outweighed my caution.
Wary but intrigued, I nodded. “Let her in.”
When Susie brought the visitor to me, the woman tilted her chin, and beneath her veil, I caught the hint of a familiar, sharp smile—one I could never forget, one that had haunted my nightmares.
“Susie, we’d like to speak alone,” I said, emphasizing the word, my hands clenching involuntarily at my sides, betraying the calm I tried to project.
Susie nodded, curtsied, and left with the guard stationed at the door. Once the door closed and their footsteps faded down the corridor, the woman removed her veil and cloak, revealing eyes narrowed with arrogance, her lips curled in a smirk that was both familiar and chilling.
“Long time no see, Lilia,” Viossi said, her voice dripping with condescension, each word laced with the same cruelty I’d known at Thornfield House.
“What do you want?” I asked, my tone guarded, my body tensing as if preparing for a blow.
“No need to be so tense,” Viossi replied with a mocking smile, her eyes glinting with malice. “I’m just here to give you something.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. One glance, and my breath caught in my throat—it was Martha’s, her personal keepsake, embroidered with the tiny flowers she loved. My heart pounded, a mix of fear and fury rising within me.
“How do you have this? What did you do to Martha?” I demanded, my voice trembling with barely restrained panic.
“Shh,” Viossi hushed me, shaking her head with feigned exasperation, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “No need to shout. I’m here to offer you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” I asked, my heart racing, my hands trembling at my sides.
“Martha’s safety and your freedom,” she said, her smile widening, revealing a predatory glint in her eyes, “in exchange for your place as a princess.”
I stared at her, stunned into silence. Suddenly, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
“What, you’re not willing?” Seeing that I didn’t respond right away, Violet’s bright smile vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a cold, cutting sneer. She rolled her eyes mockingly. “Martha’s been so good to you, and that still can’t outweigh your vanity?”
I shot her a disgusted look. “Don’t assume everyone thinks like you. I just find it ridiculous. Back then, you’d rather die than get married, and now look at you, singing a completely different tune.”
“You know nothing!” Viossi snapped, her voice low but seething with anger as she stepped closer, her presence invasive. “Locked in a shack in the backwoods, forbidden to leave, to see anyone, like a prisoner! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
Her eyes burned with resentment, a malice I knew all too well from our days at Thornfield House. “I risked everything to come here because I can’t stand that life anymore,” she continued, pacing the room, her gaze greedily taking in the opulent decor.
“Trapped, forgotten, stripped of freedom. And you, a filthy slave, live in a palace, draped in silk, adorned with jewels, playing princess!”
Her words sparked a bitter laugh from me, sharp and humorless. “Princess? You think this is some fairy tale? That this title means anything?”
“It’s better than being caged in the wilderness,” she shot back, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at you—fine dresses, a palace, servants at your beck and call. While I hide in a rotting shed, jumping at every shadow, terrified of being found.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice heavy with bitterness as I turned to the window, staring out at the gathering storm clouds. “This place is more of a prison than that shed ever was. At least there, I knew my place. Here, I’m a pawn in a game I never chose.”
“Oh, spare me the self-pity,” Viossi scoffed, waving a dismissive hand, her manicured nails catching the candlelight. “Father told me you and the prince are getting along splendidly. He’s pleased with you. You’re living the dream, Lilia.”
I spun to face her, my eyes narrowing, a spark of anger igniting within me. “Your father? Lord Thornfield’s been to the palace recently?”
“Of course,” Viossi said smugly, her lips curling in satisfaction. “He’s Lord Thornfield; he has every right to come. Every time he returns, he tells me how cozy you and Perock are, how you’ve settled into your role as his devoted wife.”
Lord Thornfield’s lies fueled the anger simmering in my chest. He saw only the polished surface—the banquets, the gowns, the title—blind to the pain beneath, the way Perock’s indifference cut deeper than any whip.
He fed Viossi tales of my “happy” marriage to keep her compliant, to protect their secret and ensure she stayed hidden.
But maybe this was my chance. To get out of here.
“You’re right,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, forcing my voice to remain steady.
“Life here is better than being a slave at Thornfield House. Prince Perock is a considerate husband, and the palace is far more comfortable than that estate ever was. The gardens, the feasts, the respect—it’s more than I ever had. ”
Viossi’s eyes flashed with envy and resentment, her jaw tightening as she absorbed my words. “Enough games, Lilia. Choose—Martha or your precious title.”
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “What did you do to Martha?”
“Nothing much, just locked her away,” Viossi said coldly, her voice devoid of remorse.
“She knew too much—about your substitute identity, the curse, everything. Father wanted to dispose of her, like he did the witch, Greta, and the others who knew. But I saw how much she meant to you, so I kept her alive as leverage.”
Locked away?
The thought of Martha imprisoned, alone and frightened, crushed my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. She was too old to endure any kind of punishment.