I asked for a separate chamber the night we arrived.
Not because i desired peace, but because i didn't trust anyone, not even the man i had just married.
Prince Lucien didn't argue.
In fact, he looked relieved.
He didn't even glance back as the eunuchs led him to the east wing.
I was shown to the west wing, colder, darker, more forgotten. Fitting, perhaps.
This was the Cursed Palace, after all. Where unwanted things were kept out of sight.
But anything was better than going back to the place where i was born.
Back there, it wasn't cold tiles and silver shadows I feared, it was the sound of footsteps, the quiet hiss of a blade being drawn behind closed doors.
At least here, I could breathe. Even if each breath tasted of bitterness and ash.
I hadn't slept.
The moonlight had barely shifted when a sharp whisper crept into the air outside my chamber.
"She probably poisoned her last servant."
I was brushing my hair, silently, methodically, when i heard it.
Another voice replied, low and mocking, "Or slit her throat with those decorative hairpins. Wouldn't put it past her."
I set the brush down.
I didn't tremble.
That girl was long gone.
By the time i opened the door, they had scurried off like mice, except for one.
She stood frozen in place, a water basin in her hands. Wide eyes, tight jaw and stupid enough not to run.
"You find something amusing?" I asked her, tone clipped.
She said nothing.
But her silence reeked of defiance.
So i stepped forward.
And slapped her.
Hard.
The basin crashed to the floor, spilling lukewarm water across the stone.
I didn't say another word.
I didn't need to.
Her cheek was red enough.
Footsteps echoed seconds later.
Two guards turned the corner, stiff, unreadable.
They saw the water. The servant. Me.
But they didn't move.
Crown Princess. That title still held some weight, even in this godforsaken wing.
Then… him.
Lucien.
He was already watching by the time i turned my head.
I didn't know how long he had been standing there.
He said nothing.
And i walked right past him.
I didn't know how long he had been standing there.
The weight of his gaze burned between my shoulder blades, but i didn't falter.
My steps were even, calculated, one after the other like i had walked this cursed palace my entire life.
Like it didn't make my stomach twist.
Like the air didn't reek of judgment and memories i never made but would be blamed for nonetheless.
The heavy doors to my chamber groaned as i pushed them open.
Silence greeted me. No attendants. No warm bath. No soft words of welcome. Just the cold walls of a gilded prison.
I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, closing my eyes.
Breathe.
Survive.
Don't let it show.
I peeled off the outer robe i had worn to face the court.
It was a ceremonial thing, more armor than fabric. Embroidered with phoenixes and blood-colored peonies, it clung to my skin like an accusation.
I dropped it on the floor.
They think i'm cruel?
Then let them.
They never saw the six-year-old girl locked inside a wine cellar because she tripped and spilled soup to her step-mother.
They never saw my step-mother who once pressed a burning hairpin against my arm for speaking out of turn and when i ran to my Father, she wept so convincingly, he made me apologize for lying.
They never heard the bruises whisper under silken sleeves, or the sound of a whip striking stone because my father said wood would be too soft for a disgrace like me.
They think i lived a life of luxury—
That i woke each morning to music, silk sheets, and sunlight.
But they never knew the truth.
My mother died before i could even say her name. I was one.
And before i even learned how to walk, they replaced her.
They dressed me in gowns i never asked for, gave me titles i never understood—
Then handed me to a woman who smiled in public and seethed in private.
A woman who burned my skin for speaking, then cried her way into my father's sympathy.
And he…., he didn't even flinch.
He gave her the home that once belonged to my mother.
He gave her daughter the love that should've been mine.
And me?
I became the guest in my own bloodline.
So Let them fear me.
It's safer than letting them see how close i am to breaking.
A knock.
I turned, spine straightening.
Three short taps. Measured. Controlled.
It wasn't Elise, my personal servant.
She always knocked twice and waited for me to call. She wasn't even here, I realized, sent off earlier to request new ink and paper.
I opened the door.
It was a servant. Young. Trembling. Bowing so low her forehead nearly touched the polished floor.
"Y-Your Highness," she stammered, voice shaking. "Th-the Crown Prince requests your presence in the northern garden."
My stomach clenched.
Lucien.
Another performance, then?
I didn't ask why.
I simply nodded once, cold and clipped. She scurried away like i had struck her.
I hadn't. Not yet, anyway.
I dressed again, this time not in ceremony, but steel.
A dark crimson robe, plain but sharp. A single hairpin to hold my braid, its blade hidden and waiting. My boots made no sound as i moved through the corridor, like the shadow of someone who used to be kind.
The northern garden was not far.
I stepped past koi ponds and falling cherry blossoms, each petal too delicate for a place like this.
He stood there, framed by moonlight.
Lucien.
The Crown Prince of Dain.
My husband.
And the man who hated me most in this world.
He didn't look at me when i arrived.
His arms were behind his back, posture military.
The cold wind teased the edge of his white robes, and for a moment, I remembered the stories told in my homeland, about the pale specter prince who never smiled, whose blade never missed.
"Your Highness," I said, tone neutral.
He didn't move.
"The servant said you summoned me."
Still nothing.
I clenched my jaw. "If this is another one of your tests, I don't have time—"
He turned.
Not slowly, not dramatically.
Just... turned.
His eyes were unreadable, but not empty.
Never empty.
"You slapped a servant."
Ah.
That again.
"She provoked me," I said.
He didn't blink. "She's in the infirmary. Said you broke her jaw."
I said nothing. Because even if i explain myself, he will never believe, no one will.
Still. No emotion.
Just that suffocating silence.
"I see."
The wind rustled between us, sharp with winter's promise.
"I will deal with her," he said finally. "But you cannot keep striking people every time they speak ill of you, not my people!."
My nails dug into my palm. "And if i don't defend myself, who will? You?"
It slipped out.
A knife dressed as a sentence.
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"Your Highness—"
"You will be watched," he said flatly. "From now on. Every action. Every word."
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard i tasted blood.
"You don't trust me."
"I don't know you."
We stood in the garden of ghosts, neither prince nor princess, just two people drowning in everything we weren't allowed to say.
I straightened. "Then don't call me here again unless you plan to."
He raised a brow. "To what?"
"To Kill me."
I turned before he could answer.
And once again, I walked away.
Just like always.