Chapter 116 A Stage Stolen Away
Lysandra rubbed her temples. Her head felt heavy. She sat in the west wing's drawing room, staring at the morning newspaper lying on the marble table. She read the headline on the front page and immediately felt a wave of disappointment. She never imagined she would read such news in her lifetime.
No, the news was not about her engagement party with Prince Didier. Nor was it about any expensive gown or new jewelry she wore.
The front page that day was filled with someone else's face. The headline, printed in bold letters, shattered Lysandra's pride in an instant: SCANDAL OF IMPASSIONED LOVE! VARANNES GIRL FOUGHT OVER BY TWO LIONS OF THE EMPIRE. GENERAL CLAUS AND PRINCE KURT!
Anger. She truly wanted to tear the paper to shreds and burn it to ashes.
Lysandra Fontaine's name was nowhere to be found. In the gossip column on page three, she was merely mentioned as "the pure lady who is the prince's fiancée and happened to attend the event." All her plans were ruined because of Ilse Varannes.
Beside her, Prince Didier sat quietly, slicing a strawberry tart with a small fork. The crown prince was utterly lacking in social awareness. He even smiled sweetly at Lysandra, which only made her stomach turn.
"Why have you been staring at that newspaper all morning, dear?"
Didier asked, his voice soft but unnatural.
He pushed a piece of cake onto Lysandra's plate.
"Come on, just ignore it. It's only cheap gossip from journalists looking for attention. What matters is that our position is safe. You'll always be the queen of my heart, Lysandra."
She could barely hold back her disgust.
Lysandra clenched her teeth, glancing at Didier. Once, she had considered Didier the most powerful man she needed to approach to obtain the imperial crown. Now, to her, Didier was nothing more than a weak, spoiled man, easily manipulated.
"I'm just surprised, Your Highness," Lysandra replied softly, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Why does the media praise the viscount's daughter so highly? She's nothing but a troublemaker."
Didier chuckled, casually chewing his cake. "Ah, let them be. People love that kind of trashy story. Besides, there's no way my brother is truly interested in a woman like her. I'm sure he'll lose interest soon enough."
If only you knew. Lysandra screamed internally. Didier was truly clueless. If this foolish prince had witnessed the events in the ballroom that night—how General Claus took Ilse's hand, wore matching attire, and confronted Kurt—he wouldn't speak so lightly.
The fact that Ilse Varannes had stolen her spotlight made Lysandra's chest tighten. Yet what tormented her even more wasn't just the loss of popularity in the press.
There was a single name that had haunted her thoughts since last night.
Claus.
Grand Duke Claus Valerius Maximilian D'Alecon.
Before Didier ever courted her, even before Lysandra tried to become the perfect lady at court, she had long admired Claus. To her, Claus was the epitome of a true leader: cold, decisive, and powerful. He was nothing like Didier, soft and easily led.
In Lysandra's mind, clouded by ambition, she was convinced that she was the only woman in the empire worthy of standing beside the general.
She pictured herself in a white gown, standing next to Claus. She wanted to be number one at court. She was sure that was meant to be her place.
But what proof did she have now?
Claus had never once glanced her way. Not even once.
What drove Lysandra nearly insane was the fact that Claus had chosen Ilse instead. He had willingly risked his own reputation to dance with Ilse de Varannes.
Why Ilse? Why not her?
Lysandra felt her mind unravel. All her efforts seemed wasted. She had sacrificed so much for status, only to end up sitting beside Didier, while Ilse, from an ordinary family, had won Claus.
"Lysandra? Are you sure you're all right? You look terribly pale." Didier asked again, putting down his fork and reaching out to touch her cheek.
Instinctively, Lysandra turned her face away, pretending to reach for her napkin. Every time Didier's soft hand touched her, it made her skin crawl.
"I'm just tired, Didier," Lysandra said curtly, forcing another fake smile so he wouldn't become suspicious. But under the table, her nails dug into her palm until it hurt. Her teeth clenched, holding back the anger threatening to escape her throat.
She hated Ilse. She hated Claus for rejecting her so completely. And she hated herself for feeling so powerless. But one thing was certain: this game was not over. If she couldn't have Claus, she would make sure Ilse Varannes's life was reduced to ashes.