“My oh my, there is no doubt who the parents of the bride are!” Darlin praises as she descends the staircase. 

Howard spent a pretty penny having matching outfits made on such short notice. 

He wears a wine purple suit with a white, lace cravat so thick his chest resembles a chicken’s breasts.

Isabelle is clad in a purple, trumpet style dress with long, off shoulder sleeves, and a short, white, lace cape over her shoulders, pinned between her collarbones by amethyst cased in silver. 

He thought himself and Isabelle look particularly dashing today, yet the one who steals the show is Darlin.

The usually demure daughter of Rayne is a breathtaking embodiment of sweet spring in her sparkling peach dress, and matching lace opera gloves. Her makeup is sparse, yet fine enough to accentuate her best features, her white hair curled into ringlets and held off her face by a gold string tied into a bow.

“D-Darlin?” Howard frowns. Was she always this beautiful…? 

Isabelle, Cara, Marin, and the other servants could barely believe their eyes either.

Their awe is actually a little insulting, but Darlin remains understanding. Collette, could you be some sort of fairy godmother?

If Collette could hear Darlin’s thoughts she’d be wracked with guilt because she really didn’t do much. 

To begin with, Darlin hardly uses makeup or unnecessary cosmetics, and almost all her clothes are plain— some even being repurposed pieces or secondhand. 

While the record will show she’s purchased better clothes, makeup, and cosmetics, Darlin actually only owns a handful and reserves them for special occasions.

Furthermore, all her mind and heart has been consistently poured into her vengeful, step by step plan.

And for today, Darlin won’t scheme. Her only purpose for today is to reach up and grasp the fruit of her labor. She will reap at last.

Her smile is dazzling, red eyes burning like a fuse. “Shall we be on our way?”

“Oh my, they’re really here!”

Wicked mouths wag their tongues as soon as the three Raynes enter the garden after handing their gifts off to the designated help.

“How brave…”

“It is their daughter’s wedding, after all.”

“If my child did such a shameless thing I would be too dead to attend any so-called wedding!”

“Countess Gretchen was right about them having a favorite...”

“That girl is not even born from the legal wife!”

“Does she have no dignity as a mother?”

“The Earl let his mistress’ child smear his judgement…”

“Even though Lady Darlin is without flaw?”

“What a pitiful thing she is.”

“Everything is going awry because of their bastard!”

“Shush, not so loud…!”

“I say, it’s ridiculous! This is not what the Duke and Duchess promised!”

The only one who did not fold under the gossip is Darlin. Rather, she thrives in it. 

While it’d be nice to leave her parents out to dry in the scorn, “Mother, father,” Darlin wanted to get into position for Flora. “how about we take our seats?” 

The table for the bride’s family is at the very front. Darlin promptly takes the chair closest to the aisle and whips her fan open before she faints from the heat rushing to her head. Just a little longer…!

Isabelle is barely able to sit straight under the waterfall of contempt, making her wonder how Darlin can manage such a radiant smile. 

A delicate expression and a straight back, fluttery motions disguised as effortless through the strictest self-control. Dame Jules’… masterpiece… It is… uncomfortable how they are mother and daughter yet Isabelle cannot find a shred of herself in Darlin.

Noticing the gap between them and Darlin, Howard can’t help but jab, “Have some dignity, will you? You’re too excitable at someone else’s event!”

“Am I?” Darlin giggles like a schoolgirl. “Apologies, father.”

When his scolding is brushed off, the Earl tries again with a wicked smile, “At least you’ve matured some. And here I thought you’d still be sore after being thrown away!”

“Honey!” Isabelle whispers harshly while looking around.

Those who heard do not bother to hide the fact they did, leaning close to chatter amongst themselves while watching the Raynes disapprovingly. 

Darlin puts her fan over her lips and clicks her tongue, Gutless. at how quickly Howard and Isabelle become spiritless.

To viewers, Darlin remains as if she does not hear the gossip mill turning— never unawares, just undaunted. Even those who secretly rejoice in her displacement can’t help being impressed.

As time passes and guests fill the chairs, Darlin observes the seating on the other side of the aisle with a smirk. Ha, so they’ll hide until the last second.

Felicity and Vincent do exactly that. As soon as they enter the garden, they head to their seats without meeting anyone’s eyes, the orchestra’s tune shifting from a light one meant to accompany conversation to a louder, formal song signaling the official start of the ceremony. Whatever the nobles have to say to the Ducal couple must wait.

The priest rises to the stand, and Darlin’s heart is galloping wildly by the time Heinrich takes position under the arch. 

Her breaths are intermingled with shudders. Almost there… 

Their gazes briefly meet, Darlin inclining her head in a short greeting, while Heinrich’s brows shoot upwards. That’s… Darlin Rayne…? For the first time outside of a dance, Heinrich is captivated by his fiancée… ex-fiancée.

A sprig of regret pricks his heart, and Heinrich rips his eyes off the white haired woman like he were caught looking at something clandestine, grateful for the distraction the priest provides with the opening prayer.

Heinrich tries to remain positive like Narcisse advised, take solace in being rid of Darlin and her frighteningly perfect smile and empty eyes, but all the good he tries to comfort himself with remains smeared with Flora’s words— her lie. 

“Haa…” He breaths. It’s all a mess. He looks up at the sky. How… did I end up here…?

Gods he felt silly in these outdated garbs of black boots and brown leather pants almost totally covered by a white, long sleeved tunic underneath a bright red shirt. On his waist is a braided gold belt hitched with a decorative sword and jeweled ornaments. 

Once the priest concludes the prayer, the trumpeters blow and time screeches to an agonizingly slow pace for the Rayne sisters. 

Flora was already shaking, but at the guests’ visible and audible reactions to her champagne colored dress, she’s forced to take her next step carefully if she doesn’t want to buckle. 

Gretchen had all sorts of punishments for every time Flora cried, and so the blonde attained some level endurance even when her eyes burn with sadness.

Still, the attention, the judgement, is infinitely worse than anything Gretchen ever dealt her.

Flora catches herself when her shoulders begin to hunch. She straightens, telling herself to wait, Almost there… focus on Heinrich. 

He won’t stand for her to be humiliated like this, not like everyone else! 

And as for this wicked, gossipy high society, as Duchess Apparent Flora will never stand for it!

The humiliation, this ugly dress, are no more than hurdles, and so long as she reaches the other end of the aisle, Everything will chang—!

Surprise nails Flora’s feet in place.

The peach color like a young girl’s blush changes nothing because from the day Flora saw this dress, its newspaper cutout has accompanied her when lovesickness ailed her unbearably.

People glance and mutter between one another, wondering what’s come over the bride, but Flora can barely notice through the haze in her head. 

“…My… My d-dress…” She mumbles.

The dream she thought dead is revived by the figure before her, and  save for the color, it is even better than she imagined— the dress, the jewelry, makeup, and hairstyle appeal to Flora as if they were meant for her— chosen by her…

Vincent tries to correct her with a cough. Flora is deaf to all but the hatred roaring in her ears.

“My dress…” She grits her teeth, aiming a jealous glare from underneath her veil. You! You’re wearing my—! “…Darlin…?”

The face that’s gone unnoticed in the midst of her bewilderment is none other than her sister’s, looking more winsome than Flora has ever seen. 

The caring smile that disappeared during her hardships now curves Darlin’s glossy lips, inveigling Flora in a momentary sense of false security. 

Receiving prodding looks from the Ducal couple, Darlin closes the distance between she and Flora and takes her by the shoulders.

“T-That’s…!” From the rose pattern circling the hem of Darlin’s opera gloves, Flora immediately recognizes these gloves were once her dress’ veil!

Her dream is dyed, chopped up, and dangled out of reach, and her response is everything Darlin dreamed and more!

Confusion, anger, desperation, invidiousness— A shiver rips through Darlin. That’s the face I’ve longed to see, Flora! 

Darlin keeps back this vindictive pleasure and wears a mask of a sister trying to soothe the bride through her nervousness. She turns Flora back towards Heinrich, “There is no need to be nervous. Go on, this is your special day.” urging the blonde with a light push. “Your groom is waiting, sister.”

Flora’s insides twist and burn, and with robotic steps she closes the distance and joins Heinrich before the priest.

They hold hands, Flora choking back her sobs with sheer effort, yet helpless to stop her tears from falling. 

That Flora would cry for joy after forcing this situation aggravates Heinrich till he accidentally squeezes her hands. 

However, it wasn’t so hard that Flora could not mistake it for tacit comfort. Oh, Heinrich…

If Darlin were in Flora’s place— gods forbid— she wouldn’t be able to relax. For better or for worse, ironically, she and Heinrich were husband and wife, and so she knows his heart intimately. Darlin can easily tell when Heinrich is brooding— Or should I say sulking? 

She lifts her head to bask in the spring breeze carrying the scent of flowers. What a day…

“Do you, Heinrich of Fritz, take Flora of Rayne to be your wife?”

It’s been a long, long road.

“…I do…”

There was blood and tears, madness and death.

“Do you, Flora of Rayne, take Heinrich of Fritz as your husband?”

Darlin has been left on a path with no destination, and while knowing whatever she feels will grow bland as she circles this path, just for today…

“I do!”

“Before the eyes of Celestrum, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife!”

Darlin Rayne is the happiest in the whole world.

*****

“What’s going on over there?” Narcisse jerks his chin towards the crowd of youths.

The annoyed curl on his lips is all Heinrich needs to know that group involves Darlin, and he is powerless not to look.

The young nobles have separated from their gloomy elders, forming little groups. Some are with Heinrich and Narcisse, drinking, and most surround Darlin, akin to bees and butterflies vying for the loveliest flower’s attention.

Heinrich’s throat bobs with a thirst the longer he beholds his ex-fiancée. Her smile is bewitchingly playful, and while her words cannot be heard, she is obviously the center of conversation with how those around her hang on every word from her pouty lips. 

A young nobleman offers Darlin another glass of wine. She receives it with some words and a wink that has him flushed.

Grey eyes glower at the young man in disgust. Fucking puppy!

“What a little attention seeker.” Narcisse’s words draw Heinrich’s brows in inquiry. “She’s trying to upstage the bride.” He drawls like Darlin’s intentions are obvious.

Heinrich doubts it. If it were anyone else, maybe. But Darlin Rayne? With a pride too high to ever confront him, a sense of duty too dense to complain more than a handful of times to his parents, a lady so obsessed with her image she bears all provocation with a smile. Heinrich smirks into his drink. “You think she’s got the heart for something like that?” Even now, Darlin is working to tame the atmosphere and have this wedding conclude on a peaceful note.

Narcisse shakes his head. “You, my friend, have no idea the depths of a woman’s heart.”

“I know enough about that particular woman.” 

The music shifts to a song Darlin is fond off. Her victory and the alcohol make for a heady mix with no room for her usual calculations. She sips what remains of her third cup of wine. “Can I interest you all in a dance?”

“Finally, some entertainment!” Narcisse shifts in his chair to properly observe as the young ladies move onto the dance floor. 

Without taking his eyes off the woman in peach, Heinrich asks, “Don’t you prefer how the common women roll their waists?”

Narcisse licks his lips as he scans for his next conquest. “There’s a time for every flavor, Richy.” 

Darlin twirls and spins through the mixer, her smile a vice about Heinrich’s heart. 

Every partner she takes is completely caught up in her, surrendering their poise for her infectious liveliness.

…Looking back, Heinrich’s dance with Darlin might have been the best part of the graduation ceremony. How he despises his empathy for the eager noblemen who aren’t fast enough in asking for her next dance.

How he loathes them for even being in a position to dance with her…!

Still, he can tell Darlin isn't enjoying herself to the fullest right now. She isn’t in her haze, trusting none of her partners to catch her should she take her favored plunge.

Her current partner dips her at the perfect angle for their eyes to meet. Heinrich regrets being caught looking at her but is too entrapped to turn away. Darlin smiles, cruel, knowing, and dread shreds his spine.

*****

Felicity knew she couldn’t avoid the angry nobles forever. As soon as the reception began, they were on her, and when Felicity manages to disperse them, they are only slightly less sour.

She finds Vincent observing the dance floor from a covert position and joins him.

He looks her over, then hands Felicity his half empty glass, deciding she needs the drink more than him. “I take it they’re upset.”

Felicity empties the glass in a gulp. “Like a bunch of fucking children.”

“This wasn’t the plan.” Infuriating as it is to admit, the nobles of their faction have every reason to be upset.

“I know.”  The Duchess grits out. 

It’s no easy task to overthrow a bloodline blessed by a god of war and victory. It’s taken generations of the best of Fritzs to create the faction that Felicity now commands. 

Her family’s long awaited dream, sharpened and entrusted to her, …Ruined… She throws the filthy word away and spots Darlin moving like a fairy from dance partner to dance partner. “This is nothing but a temporary setback.” Felicity won’t let it be anymore than that!

Felicity is a woman of action, and unlike her ancestors she cannot be satisfied passing her ambition off to another. The wait ends with her. 

Before her life is up, Felicity will overturn the hand of a god. 

In the first place, the Taivarias started this fight when they cast out her ancestor, Princess Löslein. The throne, the castle, this nation should have all been mine! Felicity could never forgive them!

The Taivarias’ ancestor thought she had the last laugh when she had Princess Löslein wed a mere Margrave in her service.

But Princess Löslein overcame the Margrave’s loyalty to Taivaria. Under her guidance, a Margrave rose to a Duke, and so the might of Fritz was established.

Felicity wagers the Taivarias are laughing right now, just like their foolish ancestor must have. They’ll drink to this cheap triumph, not knowing it will be their last one over her.

Feeling a stare, Felicity turns to find Vincent’s blue eyes on her. He looks away when their eyes clash, his attention now on Heinrich.

Their heir sits amongst his friends, emptying glass after glass without care. He grabs for the bottle but is cautioned by Narcisse.

The County’s son says something to Heinrich, who peeks in his parents’ direction, then corrects his posture with an annoyed expression.

Vincent spits under his breath, “Idiot…” then takes another cup from a passing server.

“You’re blaming me… aren’t you?” Felicity said.

“…Do I have reason to?”

“You’re blaming me.” She asserts, firm, yet vulnerable.

“Let me rephrase that— Am I allowed to blame you?”

“That’s not fair…” The Duchess’ voice hitches. “Why are you suddenly upset about that again?”

Vincent swirls his drink. “What makes you think I ever stopped being upset?” He abandons the glass on a table and turns on his heel.

“Where are you going?” 

“Darlin can only do so much for this ugsome mood. I’ll take as many as I can to the parlor and reassure them.”

“Vin—!”

“Prince Lionel hasn’t been replying to your letters, right?” The Duke stops in his tracks but never once looks back at his wife. “You should round up the nobles and pressure him. The next part of our plan is even more crucial thanks to that boy of ours.”

Felicity wanted to keep Vincent by her side, but was too afraid to hear whatever he might say. She nods, then heads towards the sourest of the nobles. 

“Marquis Wescott, thank you for coming. How is Lady Tabitha?”

“Sadly she could not attend. First she was rejected for the Lady of a lesser house, now she’s to bow her head to the lesser house’s bastard. There’s only so much one can take.”

“…I imagine.” The “one” Riley Wescott speaks off isn’t Tabitha, but himself.

The Duchess forces a smile. Just some years ago you were pandering to marry your daughter to Heinrich, and now you look at me with such arrogance? “I see how the situation upsets you. However, I would like to believe we are still of the same mind, Marquis. Are we not?”

Riley states the cost of his loyalty with a fatherly look, “I only want what’s best for my only daughter.”

“That being…” There’s a twitch in Felicity’s eye. 

Riley aims a purposeful glance at Heinrich. “Years ago, Duchess, I believe I said the Raynes are not a good match for Fritz.”

“…That you did.” The kindred spirit Felicity always senses in Riley is exactly why she doesn’t want him as an in-law. 

Perceiving her guard rising, Riley pushes, “If all she is is a Consort, my daughter would still be satisfied…”

His words make Felicity gulp. The only ones who have Consorts are the royal family. You still want Fritz to achieve its ambitions, but not without Wescott getting a slice of the pie, eh?

Riley’s aspirations will no doubt grow bigger as time passes, but for now Felicity craves stability. “Who could ever resist that lovely child of yours? At any rate, what of that fiancé of hers?”

“Haha! I’ve always thought Tallarico’s son wasn’t a good match for Tabitha. I’m certain things will end between them soon enough.”

The grand doors at the top of the stairs open before Felicity can inquire into what Riley has planned.

The slight lift in her mood takes a nosedive at the sight of her new daughter-in-law.

“Gods above…” Heinrich groans. 

Narcisse claps his friend on the back. “Oh stop your whining and get over there!” 

He watches Heinrich leave, wishing it was him Flora awaits, him she will share a dance with. 

Who cares if Flora told a little lie? Isn’t that proof of how desperately she wants to be with him? 

Narcisse raises a glass and leads a cheer. “To the groom!”

“To the groom!” The crowd echoes.

Heinrich passes his mother on his way to receive Flora. Felicity’s scowl deepens before she rips her gaze from him. 

At the end of the day, Flora wound up with makeup on her face to hide the redness around her eyes. The overskirt’s been removed from the dress, and still she feels like a clown, her dance with her groom a circus act they anticipate the end of.

The next few dances— the groom’s parents’, then the bride’s— pass in a blur.

Flora has never seen such a dreary wedding, therefore it’s too obvious how the mood becomes more breathable as Darlin enters into another dance. 

Darlin sways across the same space Flora had, and the difference between sisters— the reception of them, It’s too cruel…!

Flora turns to report to Heinrich in time to see him slipping away. She grabs onto his sleeve, “Heinrich, where are you going?”

He doesn’t look back at her as he responds gruffly, “I need a drink…”

“I think not.”

His face is red as is, the smell of alcohol already overpowering his cologne. 

“Heinrich, please listen,” She whimpers and looks down in a way that always has Heinrich rushing to hold her. 

He drags a hand through his hair cheery red hair. “Go on,”

Flora hears the frustration in his voice and takes it for his ferventness to defend her against any wronging.

“The dress Darlin is wearing… doesn’t it look a little familiar…?”

Heinrich purses his lips, annoyed by the mere mention of Darlin which will become an avenue to look at her more than he already has. “Is it supposed to?” 

Flora looks up at him, her pink eyes wide. “It’s mine. Heinrich, that… that’s my…” Did he not always tell her how enchanting she would look in it? He said he would make it hers whenever she so pleases! How could you forget?

It takes some thought before clarification lights up his face. 

Flora expects to share her outrage with him, yet Heinrich asks, almost boarded, “What of it?”

“W-What of…” The bride can only keep herself from sobbing by clutching her dress. “Darlin is wearing a wedding dress— my wedding dress— to my wedding! She’s heartless!”

Heinrich feels the frustration curling on his muscles. Why is everyone set on getting him wound up over nothing? “Is Darlin that sort of person?”

“…W-What are y-you… Heinrich, I’m telling you Darlin is being mean to me for no reason…!”

“Do you honestly think there’s no reason?”

Heinrich doesn’t care to reach for Flora when she pulls away like she’s been burnt.

The time when they could say they are unfortunate lovers separated by a brutal fate is far behind them. Hiding any longer behind that mask will be to their detriment, and Heinrich can’t afford to disappoint his parents, nor his family’s ambition any more than he has.

He affords Flora some patience, forcing his words into a softer tone. “Flora listen, this is not the place for this conversation,” He also has a great many things to tell her. “so just endure a little.”

…Endure?! “Heinrich—!”

“Stop it!” He cuts her whine off with a voice so cold she flinches. “It’s dyed, isn’t it? What does it matter if she wears it?”

Flora shakes her head, trembling. “…It’s mine…” She insists quietly. “It matters because it’s mine…”

Was Flora always this insufferable? Heinrich turns to leave and nonchalantly allows, “You can confront her later. For now, don’t cause a scene.”

Flora watches his figure be devoured into the crowd the farther he gets. And until she can no longer see Heinrich does she realize he really isn’t going to hold her or defend her. 

Shaking, she stares blankly in the direction he went. “H-Huh…? This is… weird… Why— Why…?”

That’s a look Gretchen was yet to see on Flora’s face. While curious, she has a mission of her own.

She finds Narcisse drinking on a couch with some friends. They notice her much sooner than her son and make themselves scarce before the glaring woman can embroil them in any scolding.

Narcisse looks about in confusion, cursing, “Oh dammit…!” when he meets his mother’s glower. He sits up straight. “M-Mother,” he slurs. “I…” He sighs and gives up on making an excuse for the mess of cups and bottles on the side tables. “Pardon me a little, will you?”

Gretchen moves closer and covers the bitter, downward turn of her lips with her hand fan. “Not when you’re trying to drink the bastard out of your head!”

Here we go again... “She’s not like other women, mother. You’ve spent time with her, surely you see Flora is—!”

Gretchen ends her son’s drunken whines with a pinch to his side. “That’s Lady Flora to you. No more of your nonsense, understood?” Gretchen only lets go when Narcisse bobs his head furiously. “Now, go dance with Lady Darlin.”

“M-Me and… that woman?! Mother, she’s—“

Gretchen smacks her fan close. “I don’t care if she’s “shallow as a puddle”, “more boring than a wall”, or “makes your hairs rise”. Go dance with her and. Be. Nice! …That is if you still have use for your allowance…”

“That’s not fair!”

“You’re still here?”

Narcisse basically stomps into the dance floor, adjusting his clothes along the way.

He interrupts the nobleman about to ask for Darlin’s next dance by grabbing onto the lady’s wrist. “You, dance with me.”

Darlin, unexpectedly, rips her hand from him. “How rude,” She sniffs, then curls her nose. “I suppose you are not in the mind to see I was about to accept this gentleman’s hand.”

Too drunk, angry, and now embarrassed, Narcisse glares and the other nobleman is gone with a stammered excuse. 

The County’s son turns to find Darlin already making her way through the throng. 

This woman…! “Hey!” He catches up and intercepts her with a few large strides. “Didn’t I say—“

“Ask nicely.” 

Darlin realizes she’s put up with quite a bit for Narcisse to wear such a befuddled look all because she asked for basic decency. 

While he’s still turning her two words over in his empty head, she sidesteps him and tries to leave once more.

He snatches her upper arm, “How dare—!”

Darlin smacks his sweaty hand off with her fan. He isn’t the only one drunk and angry. “You chase off my dance partner, and then manhandle me. How dare you, Narcisse Dalton!”

They hadn’t made enough noise to cause a scene, but Narcisse could feel eyes on them… especially his mother’s. This arrogant bitch…! She provoked him deliberately to play the victim!

Narcisse has never wanted so badly to strike a woman. Holding back his fury is like swallowing a metal ball wrapped in sandpaper. 

He bows, one hand over his heart, the other behind his back. “My apologies, Lady Darlin. It was my eagerness that drove my brash actions.” Brow scrunched in guilt, his amber eyes appear earnest as he holds out the hand he’d kept on his chest. “If you have some forgiveness in your heart, I would like to receive your next dance… please.”

…As expected of a slut like you. Narcisse knows what face to make, the words to pander to a woman. 

Still, he successfully put Darlin in such a position that she has to retreat. “Luckily for you, I am in a forgiving mood.”

“So,” Narcisse starts halfway into the waltz, “are you enjoying acting like someone decent?”

Darlin finally spares her unwilling partner a glance. She raises a brow and Narcisse snorts. “Don’t play dumb. This,” He looks Darlin over, “you wore it to take attention off your own sister, didn’t you?” He laughs in disbelief. “Even now you’re desperate for Richy’s attention when he’s totally thrown you away!”

Narcisse expects Darlin to give her perfunctory smile and unemotional replies.

She does smile, a deep, cunning glee as she leans into him. Their cheeks are almost brushing, her breath on his ear. “You stupid, nearsighted, egotistical son of a bitch.”

Darlin pulls back, and Narcisse wonders if he heard right. There… There’s now way… That stuck up noblewoman tainting her eloquent speech with swears? 

“If there is nothing in that echo chamber you call a head, let me put this in:” Darlin trails her hand up the back of his neck and digs her nails into his skin. Her smile is innocent, but her words are harsh, scalding. “It was your idiot friend who was discarded, and I long everyday, Sir Narcisse, for the time I beat you all into the filth you belong in.”

Narcisse feels his pant leg catch on something. Before he can process what came out of those lovely lips, or that Darlin just tripped him, he’s fallen on his arse.

*****

“…What do you… What do you mean Heinrich isn’t coming?!”

The maids say something about the Young Master being too drunk, but Flora won’t understand these words.

They excuse themselves from Flora’s presence with a wish of good rest, and when the door shuts Flora falls to her knees.

She looks all around the room, and, sure enough, she’s utterly alone. 

Her wedding has been a massive disappointment thus far, and now it can be crowned with a final humiliation.

Her breaths are stolen with each harsh pant, her hands balling into fists. “Wha…” She gasps, “What’s happening…?”

It wasn’t too long ago Heinrich kissed the back of her hand with reverence, staring into her eyes with a heat that made her squirm.

There was a time he would spy her hurt and rush away from Darlin to drag Flora into a secluded space. His arms would be around Flora as he kissed her breathless, professing his undying love in-between. 

Not too long ago… Not too long ago… they wound up doing something obscene on a balcony, seen by every eye in the academy. 

Flora was mortified, postered a topic of mockery by those who did not have the full context.

She weathered the storm the Duke and Duchess posed, suffered through Gretchen, as well as Isabelle and Howard’s meekness.

Flora gathered up the determination to face Darlin’s challenge, braving her sister’s low blow. 

All this Flora did… and Heinrich abandons her like this…?

She crumples on the carpet, knees pulled to her chest as she finally lets loose the wails she’s been holding in.

It’s almost midnight when the carnage in the study dies out. 

Every other servant has been retired for the day, leaving Kynlee taking a dutiful stance outside the study. 

She waits another thirty minutes before entering. Her eyes scan the room, which looks like it contained a hurricane, before landing on Heinrich.

Her Young Master has his back into a corner, face down between his palms. His sobs are so low Kynlee can barely hear them through the beating of her own heart.

“Young Master…” She places the lantern on the floor and goes to kneel near him. “Young Master Heinrich, all will be well.”

“They kicked me out.” Heinrich hisses. 

The Head Maid presses her lips together and looks away. Even she never saw this coming. 

When the side-house was prepared, Kynlee thought it was to accommodate the bastard that’s swindled her way into the home. A “out of sight out of mind” tactic… until Vincent ordered the relocation of all of Heinrich’s personal belongings as soon as the wedding was over. 

Oh but she’d begged the Duke and Duchess to reconsider. Clearly, her pleas were ineffective. 

“I know my wrong and am genuinely reflecting, Aunty Lee… How could they do this to me— their son!”

Obviously, it’s because his parents currently view Heinrich as much of a hindrance as Flora, but with Heinrich hiccuping like a child Kynlee cannot tear him anymore with this brutal truth.

She places her hand over the back of his head. “This is only a temporary arrangement. Your parents will forget their anger as they see your efforts.” Heinrich lifts his head with a pitiful look asking if Kynlee speaks the truth. The old woman smiles confidently. “You are more than their son… you are their heir.”

Done eavesdropping, Ingrid departs with soundless steps. She’d snuck away to the side-house to wait out Felicity and Vincent’s foul atmosphere, only to find Heinrich as much of a mess as his parents.

Reaching the foyer, she casts a curious look at the stairs. Ingrid knows as much about Flora as Flora knows about her— to Flora, Ingrid is the unclear image of her lover’s cousin, and to Ingrid, Flora is the uninteresting picture of her cousin’s lover. 

She exits the side-house and breaths in the night air. Not an inch of Fritz’s estate has looked as beautiful to Ingrid as it does today.

Felicity and Vincent are facing a major setback, scrambling to get their faction back in order. 

Prince Lionel’s wave of gifts have come to a screeching halt.

The woman Heinrich cherished like the last gem in his possession sits alone on her wedding night. 

Heinrich has been reduced to a child in his drunkenness.

The world they knew is spinning on its head, and Ingrid has never been so excited by the unknown.