Amélie Swinston could only be described as living a tragic existence. A beautiful girl raised by her mother as a commoner, on the cusp of her sixteenth birthday she discovered her late father had actually been a nobleman! His house took her in, dressed her up and ran her through lesson after lesson on etiquette, and before she knew it she’d turned seventeen. Though a year late, she made her social début, the air of innocence around her charming, and herself a breath of fresh air to the stale high society that consisted of the same families.

It was inevitable that she drew the eyes of men, the ire of women.

To finish her transformation, her father’s house then pushed her into a remarkable school for the gifted and talented leaders of tomorrow. In other words, the powerful sons who would take up important government positions and similar, and the women who would wed them.

While she may have had the skills to enter, it was humiliating in many more ways than one. Hour after hour, day after day, she was subject to the intense etiquette required to deal with people high above her station. She went from being the top of her classes to a middling-at-best student, yet the men would surround her, thoroughly indulging in the rare beauty of a woman flustered. So the women cast nasty eyes at her, whispered cruel things where she could hear them, ignored her very existence.

Except for one.

Amélie thought she must have severely offended Irene Dreslen in several past lives. Though, she also knew that it was because of Frederick Halland. He was the prince, in line to the throne after his father, Lady Dreslen’s fiancé, and often found around Amélie.

It frustrated Amélie to no end. She could barely be permitted to raise her head before royalty, yet he would tell her to call him “Fred” and offer her sweets from foreign lands and ask her to accompany him on walks around the school’s gardens. “No” wasn’t an answer given when royalty made a request of the daughter of a lowly house that had little prestige beyond a barony to its name.

So, in a way, Amélie understood why Lady Dreslen looked at her with such cold eyes. Rare was the day when she wouldn’t bully Amélie in some way. Often, it was little more than interrupting the circle of men and telling Amélie to go fetch her something. Other times, she simply glanced at the notes Amélie had taken, or at a graded test left out, and smirked, a smugness that simply asked, “Is that really the best you can do?”

But when Amélie was with the prince, and especially if alone with him, that was when Lady Dreslen acted rashly. Many had heard her loudly ask Amélie some variant of, “Are you but a common harlot?” Unable to touch the prince or otherwise tell him what to do, Lady Dreslen also resorted to grabbing Amélie by the arm and simply dragging her away. It was a common sight to see Amélie with light bruises from this, at times even marks from where nails had dug in, pinpricks of blood.

Thus Amélie thought it was rather reasonable to think that Lady Dreslen hated her. She even thought it was rather reasonable for Lady Deslen to hate her. Between herself and the prince, she was obviously the lesser. That was how it was. Right and wrong, that was merely another way of saying him and her. He couldn’t be at fault. She knew that, and she knew Lady Dreslen knew that. It couldn’t be his fault.

Because of that, Amélie even pitied Lady Dreslen. For Lady Deslen to act this way, Amélie thought, she must really love the prince. Amélie couldn’t imagine how painful it must be to see her beloved look at another so sweetly. For Lady Dreslen, the epitome of femininity and grace, to act in this way, love must be a force far more powerful than Amélie could ever imagine.

However, those thoughts weren’t a showing of how gracious and caring Amélie was. In a way, it was the last refuge of a mouse in a cat’s mouth: Surely I am only being eaten because the other is hungry. By thinking this way, Amélie clearly understood she had to be bullied. If she had to be bullied, then she simply had to accept it.

In other words, she blamed herself. She took those crass words Lady Dreslen spoke as true. She was a temptress, a harlot—a slut. Even without doing anything, men surrounded her. Without trying, the prince favoured her.

“I’m filthy, dirty,” she said, looking in a mirror at her own reflection, spitting out those words as harshly as Lady Dreslen did.

But it wasn’t the same.

A day like any other, the prince took her to the gardens again. The flowers hadn’t changed since they last visited a week ago. What he spoke of, it still sounded boring and had nothing to do with her, yet she smiled and laughed when he did.

Then footsteps, loud and sharp, drummed behind them at such a pace for someone walking.

“Miss Swinston,” Lady Dreslen said, reaching out to grab Amélie’s wrist.

“Ah, come now, Irene, we are simply having a pleasant break from the humdrum of the classroom. Surely you cannot begrudge us that?”

He wasn’t here simply due to his title either. While not as exceptional as some, he could hold his own. That meant he never crossed the line. Amélie knew that, felt that. He was the sort of man that knew where the line was precisely so he could walk along it.

And she detested that.

Lady Dreslen’s nails bit into her skin and Amélie hissed at the pain. However, she would rather this than have to walk another step with him.

“We have… plans,” Lady Dreslen said.

At times, Amélie found herself amused at how poor Lady Dreslen’s acting was. Those words couldn’t have convinced a child. But she knew that Lady Dreslen struggled to control herself at these times. In a way, this much restraint was admirable. Amélie wasn’t sure if she could muster up a lie in such situations.

“Is that so?” he asked Amélie.

Desperate to leave, Amélie readily nodded and gave a smile—one more natural than the one she wore for him.

“Then, until next time, Lady Swinston,” he said, bowing down.

It was as if he did it purely to put her into debt, offering her a courtesy she couldn’t repay. She could only curtsey in reply, one-handed, no greater way for her to show respect.

Lady Dreslen waited no longer, painfully pulling Amélie along at a brisk pace back towards the school building. Amélie only breathed easy when they entered. That didn’t last, Lady Dreslen leading them upstairs without slowing.

Amélie felt her heart tighten, not from the exercise, but from what she knew would come next. Her legs quivered with every step, wide eyes looking up at the tall Lady Dreslen.

“Really, if you cannot keep away from him, you should leave.”

It was almost enough to make Amélie wince. Lady Dreslen surely knew what leaving this school would mean for Amélie. Never mind upsetting her house, she would be thrown out, stripped back down to a commoner with nothing to her name—worse off than if she’d never found out the truth of her father.

“Lady Dreslen, please, you must believe me—”

“Why? What reason do I have to take what you say as truth? You are little more than a sow put in a dress and taught to speak. Whether it be your status or your talent, by any measure you do not belong here. Just you being here is a nuisance.”

Amélie trembled, unshed tears glittering. A flush burned hot across her cheeks, the shame she felt too much to hide, again so humiliated.

And still, she preferred this to the prince’s company.

“Please, leave. My heart cannot take another moment of seeing the two of you together like that….”

The tone, it resonated strongly with Amélie—soft, almost defeated. It sounded so honest. Because of that, it hurt all the more. Here was Lady Dreslen, who could have anything done at her whim, yet she so sincerely made this request of such a lowly woman.

To be so sincerely hated, Amélie couldn’t bear it, turning away.

“Wait!”

She couldn’t. She… couldn’t. Not any more. Her head lowered, she ran back the way they came, heading to the stairs—to the way out. To have nothing was to be richer than this awful debt put on her. Even if she was forced to work as a maid until her death for the very house that took her in, it would be a far more pleasant life than this.

At least, if she went back to being no one, she wouldn’t be so hated.

However, the path wasn’t without obstacles. Her head down, she didn’t see those feet until too late, heavily bumping into someone. She didn’t want to see, but they did and grabbed her arm.

“Miss Swinston, surely you aren’t thinking of not so much as apologising?”

It was another woman from her class, Lady Finnel, along with two others. Amélie bit back the emotions swirling across her tongue. “I am most sorry, my lady. Please forgive me.”

The grip on her arm loosened, yet did not let go. By no means was it a strong grip to begin with, especially not compared to Lady Dreslen’s, but Amélie knew better than to pull herself free. Despite her current intention, causing a disturbance could well land her in prison and that was but a death sentence. Though not this life, she did want to live.

“Pray tell, what should I forgive?” Lady Finnel asked.

That tone, Amélie felt the hairs on the back of her head rise.

“So close to the stairs,” Lady Finnel said, her gaze drifting to the side. “Why, I may well have fallen.”

Amélie couldn’t breathe.

“Or are you apologising for that disgusting display you put on day after day, thinking that the prince is looking at you fondly rather than merely mocking you? It’s rather sickening, seeing someone so full of herself while everyone else is laughing—have you no shame?”

For whatever reason, hearing these words, Amélie couldn’t help but think that at least Lady Dreslen had never been so cruel. It might have only been the difference between asking someone if they are an idiot and telling them that they are an idiot, and yet what a difference that was.

“Well? I am awaiting an answer.”

“I am most sorry for everything, my lady. It shan’t happen again.”

If Amélie had been looking up, she would have seen Lady Finnel smirk. “You are correct: it won’t.”

Just like that, Lady Finnel pulled Amélie by that grip on her wrist, a sharp tug that completely upset her balance. Her heart leapt out her chest, mind blank. There was air behind her. She reached out, but found nothing. Lady Finnel had let go and moved back. Falling.

So this was it.

Her eyes fluttered closed, ready to breathe her final breath.

Then a hand grabbed her by the wrist, painfully tight, pulling her up. By the time she opened her eyes, there was nothing to see. Held close in an intimate embrace, one arm was wrapped around her back, and a hand cradled the back of her head. Through the clothes they both wore, she felt another heartbeat, pounding, racing, so violent it shook her.

And then a voice so cold it could freeze an ocean and so sharp it could cut through diamond said, “No one but I can bully my Amélie.”