Chapter 5

Lilac was exhausted. It’s only been a day, but she felt the years pressing down, breaking her bones. She looked in the tall mirror, the bite mark swelling on her neck. Mina had applied ointment earlier, but she mentioned it would only do a little.

The reflection in the mirror was a stranger to Lilac. The woman staring back had hollows under her amber eyes that hadn’t been there before. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, making the angry purple and red bruise blooming on her neck look like a violent flower.

She reached up, her fingers gently tracing the edges of the bruise. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the crushing weight in her chest.

Every lesson she had ever learned, every skill she had honed, was useless here. Her training was in pleasure, in subtlety, in navigating the intricate dance of courtly desire. Derek didn’t want a dance. He wanted a possession. The years of her life, the sacrifices she had made to become the perfect courtesan, felt like a cruel joke. She had been polished and prepared for a world of silk and whispers, only to be thrown against stone and violence.

Even if she didn’t want to, she was breaking, piece by piece, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

Mina and her team brought in Lilac’s attire for the day: a low-necked dress with no coverage for the bite mark. “You are summoned to attend the royal breakfast,” Mina announced.

Lilac almost snapped her neck to look at Mina. “With, with this?” She touched the bite mark.

Mina’s expression was a careful mask of neutrality, but Lilac saw the flicker of pity in her eyes before it was extinguished. “The king was most specific about the gown, mistress,” she said softly, her hands smoothing a wrinkle in the deep blue silk. “He wishes for you to be comfortable.”

Lilac scoffed at the word “comfortable”. A horrendous lie, and they both knew it. This was another one of his games, another act of public humiliation.

Her hands trembled as she reached up to touch the bruised skin again. She looked at her reflection, at the beautiful dress and the ugly brand on her neck, and felt a wave of nausea. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

“I see,” she said when her eyes opened again, her voice hollow. “Then I must not keep the King waiting.” She turned away from the mirror, her back straight, her chin held high.

She held out her arms and let the handmaidens do their work.

The low rumble of conversation died the moment she stepped through the doorway. It was an abrupt, jarring silence, as if a candle had been snuffed out by the cold wind. Every head turned. Every pair of eyes, hard and calculating, fixed on her. But they didn’t look at her face. They didn’t admire the expensive blue silk of her gown. They stared at the discolored flesh on her neck.

The mark was a vulgar announcement that their soon-to-be queen was already claimed, tamed, and used. The humiliation sent a hot flush that crept up her chest and burned in her cheeks. She forced herself to walk forward, her steps measured and even, her gaze fixed on where Derek sat at the head of the table.