The royal gardens were a vision of perfection—carefully pruned hedges, white marble fountains, and flowering vines that climbed up golden trellises. Servants in crisp uniforms moved like clockwork, offering trays of fine porcelain teacups to the gathered noblewomen.
Meliny sat at the edge of the long table, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, hear the soft clink of teacups, and smell the delicate fragrance of roses drifting through the air. She couldn't see their faces, but she didn't need to—the tension was heavy enough to press on her shoulders.
"Such a… unique choice of guest today," one lady murmured to another, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
"A pity about her condition," another replied in a voice just loud enough to carry. "Though I suppose it makes sense. The Duke must send someone in his family to maintain appearances."
The laughter that followed was light, polite, and edged with cruelty.
From the head of the table, the Queen's voice rang out, smooth as silk and twice as cold. "Lady Melanie, I trust the tea is to your liking?"
Meliny smiled politely, inclining her head. "Yes, Your Majesty. It's… lovely."
The Queen's lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile. "I'm glad. It's a rare blend. Quite… intoxicating."
The murmurs around the table continued, veiled behind fans and teacups. Meliny's heartbeat quickened, her palms growing damp inside her gloves. She took another sip, trying to focus on the warmth of the sun, the soft breeze—anything but the prickling sensation crawling over her skin.
Then the world tilted.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The edges of sound blurred, voices fading into a low hum. Her fingers loosened around the delicate teacup, porcelain clinking softly against the saucer.
"Are you unwell, my dear?" The Queen's voice reached her through a haze.
"I… I don't…" Meliny's words slurred, her body swaying.
The last thing she felt was the gentle yet firm grip of hands guiding her away from the table, the scent of unfamiliar cologne brushing against her senses.
—
Somewhere deeper within the palace, a door closed with a soft click.
"She'll wake soon," the Crown Prince's voice was calm, almost casual, as he stood near the bed where Meliny now lay, her breathing slow and even.
The Queen glanced toward him, her expression unreadable. "You're certain this will work?"
"Of course," the Prince replied, a smirk touching his lips. "Once she's found here, alone with me, the Duke will have no choice. He'll marry her to me to avoid scandal. And with that marriage… his support will be mine."
In the far corner of the room, Alex—once a mercenary, now the Crown Prince's trusted aide—leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His sharp eyes took in every detail, though his face betrayed nothing.
"You've planned this well," the Queen said softly. "The girl's blindness works in your favor. She won't even see it coming."
The Prince chuckled. "Exactly. All she has to do is wake up… and everyone else will do the rest."
From his place in the shadows, Alex didn't speak. But his gaze lingered on the unconscious young woman, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
—
Outside the room, the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor. Nobles, drawn by the whispers and rumors, began to gather. Fans snapped open and shut, jewels glittered in the sunlight streaming through the high windows.
"The Duke's sister?" one murmured.
"With the Crown Prince?" another gasped.
Scandal was thick in the air, a predator ready to pounce.
Inside, the Prince straightened unbuttoned his shirt, arranging his expression into one of carefully crafted concern.
A hand reached for the ornate brass handle of the door.
The plan was seconds from completion.