Only three days remained until Lady Caroline's tea party, and I had yet to decide what to wear. I had never once attended a social gathering before, and though the Duke always bought me dresses, none of them were—according to my maids—appropriate for a tea party. Personally, I thought any dress would do.
I sat on the sofa in my room, sipping tea while my maids rifled through my wardrobe in a frantic storm of fabric and sighs.
"Ugh! Nothing is suitable. What are we to do?" Maria cried as though the kingdom itself were on the verge of collapse.
"Should we go shopping?" Luna suggested timidly.
"You know very well the Duke would never allow Lady Aria to go out!" Maria snapped.
"Perhaps we could summon a tailor to design a gown especially for her," Mary offered thoughtfully. "I heard Miss Jouvilene's work is exceptional—though I'm not certain she could finish a dress in only two days."
"Calm yourselves, all of you. Anything will be fine," I interjected gently. "And there is no need to trouble the Duke over this."
"You do not understand, my lady," Maria insisted, shaking her head dramatically. "Tea-party dresses must be simple yet elegant—and since it is spring, a touch of floral trim with a matching hat would capture every eye. Although," she added dreamily, "anything you wear will look stunning. None can compare to your beauty."
I only want a peaceful afternoon... Noble life is unbearably complicated.
"Maria, you said it yourself. Everything looks good on me. Therefore, any dress will be perfectly fine." I clapped my hands, delighted by my own reasoning.
"But my lady..." Maria attempted to protest.
I cut her off before she could continue. "The blue dress the Duke gave me last year will do."
She exhaled heavily but bowed her head in reluctant agreement.
A knock sounded at the door. I gestured for Maria to answer.
"My lady," she returned a moment later, face pale, "His Highness wishes to see you in his chambers."
My heart dropped. My hands turned cold. "Did he say why?"
"I do not know, my lady. The butler only said the Duke wants you at once."
I rose immediately, dread coiling in my stomach. I knew too well that making him wait would only lead to consequences I had learned never to provoke.
I knocked upon his door, and a maid opened it for me.
"Oh, sweetheart. Come," the Duke said, approaching with a sly smile that tightened every muscle in my body. "I have a surprise for you."
He led me into the adjoining sitting room—sofas, a table, a small library—and there, strewn across the cushions, lay several dresses.
"I bought these for your tea party," he said proudly. "I don't want my little girl humiliated in front of the other ladies. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are."
"Thank you, Father. That is very thoughtful of you," I replied, my voice as hollow and obedient as a doll's.
"There is no need for thanks, sweetheart. I am your father. I would give you anything." His tone was warm, the kind others would envy, never knowing the truth behind it. Only I understood how sick and twisted Christopher Castille truly was.
Respected and feared by all, he remained strikingly handsome even in his mid-forties. Brown hair touched with grey, deep blue eyes, a knight who had fought beside the current king and helped seize the throne. The kingdom's strongest ally... and its most depraved man.
"Why don't you try them now? We'll choose one together," he said with a broad smile.
I reached for a purple dress and attempted to step toward the dressing room—until his hand caught my wrist.
"Where are you going, honey? You can change here. I'm your father. There's no need to be shy." That sweet, poisonous smile of his sent a chill down my spine.
He sat, crossing one leg over the other, his posture relaxed and commanding. "Strip."
Don't cry, Aria. Don't give him the pleasure. You've endured this before. Don't cry.
"Come now, honey," he murmured. "You wouldn't want the guards to help you, would you?"
A memory struck me like ice water.
---
It had been a month after Duchess Alaina's death—and a year after I arrived here. I had prayed that with the Duchess gone, the torment would finally end.
It was my birthday. My Fifteenth.
The Duke had entered my room carrying several dresses. At the time, I believed he was simply trying to be kind. He had always treated me gently, even if he failed to stop the Duchess's cruelty. I often visited his study, borrowing books, discussing them with him—he was always quiet, serious. Predictable. Safe.
"Your Highness," I greeted him politely.
"Oh, Aria... you should start calling me Father," he said with a frown.
I froze. He had never asked that before. I wasn't ready to call anyone father—but I didn't dare upset him.
"Very well... Fa-father," I murmured.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart. These dresses are yours. I chose them myself."
Sweetheart? His tone was different. Warmer. Too warm. And the look in his eyes... unfamiliar and unsettling.
"Thank you, Your High—"
"Uh-ah. We agreed you would call me Father," he chided gently.
"Sorry... Father."
"I'm glad you like the dresses. Now, try them for me. The red one first."
I looked at the dress—its neckline plunging far lower than anything appropriate. Especially for me.
"All right," I said, heading to the dressing room.
"Where are you going, Aria?" He called after me.
I stopped. "You asked me to try it on."
"Yes. So why are you leaving? Try it here. In front of me."
He must be joking... surely... laugh, Aria, laugh.
"Haha... what?" I asked weakly.
"Strip." His voice was firm. Predatory. His eyes held the hunger of a wolf.
"I... I cannot. That is wholly inappropriate—"
"I said strip." His patience was thinning.
"No! I would never!"
"Do you want the guards to assist you?" he threatened softly.
My blood froze.
"I said—strip."
A small, trembling "no" escaped me.
"Guards," he called, "come help my sweet daughter change."
I screamed as they approached. "NO! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!"
But they grabbed me, forcing my dress from my body as I kicked and struggled, begging him to stop. He only sat there, smiling—a madman's gleam in his eyes.
---
The memory faded. I returned to the present—standing before him, powerless.
Slowly, I removed my dress. I wasn't wearing a corset—I rarely did. My waist was slim enough without one, and I preferred comfort. But now, I wished I had worn something—anything—that offered more protection.
His gaze crawled over me, hungry, devouring. My skin burned beneath it.
I stood in nothing but my pink chemise when he rose and approached, eyes darkening.
"You grow more beautiful every day," he murmured, running his fingers along my arm. A shiver of disgust tore through me.
He leaned close to my neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell divine."
His hand trailed from my cheek down the length of my throat... lower to the front of my chemise. His fingers closed around my breast, his thumb teasing my nipple until it tightened under his touch—and then he pinched, hard. A strangled sound escaped me. Tears blurred my vision as he seized the other nipple too, giving it the same painful twist, savoring every flinch, every breath I took. Only when he was satisfied did he step back and instruct the attendant to help me dress.
I returned to my room afterward, skipped dinner, and cried myself to sleep.
I hate him. I hate him so much.