CHAPTER 112: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWELVE

The late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the garden in shades of burnt orange and deep purple. The air was cooling, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine and damp earth.

Marissa walked along the stone path, her posture straight and elegant. In her hands, she carried the heavy silver tray. The porcelain bowl sat in the center, the lid keeping the vegetable soup warm. She did not let a maid carry it. She did not let a guard touch it. She walked alone, her steps measured and silent.

She reached the white stone pavilion that stood in the center of the garden. Ashlyn was already there. She sat on a cushioned bench, leaning back comfortably. She held a silk fan in one hand, moving it slowly back and forth, though the heat of the day had already passed. She looked like a queen holding court.

Ashlyn looked up as Marissa entered the pavilion. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and mockery.

"My sister is so punctual," Ashlyn said, her voice smooth and sweet. She snapped her fan shut and placed it on the table. "I am sure the soup tastes amazing."

Marissa did not react to the tone. She kept her face calm, a mask of perfect, dutiful sisterhood. She walked to the stone table and gently placed the heavy tray down.

"With my little sister pregnant," Marissa said, her voice steady, "I mustn’t neglect you. The child is important to the family."

Ashlyn smiled. It was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked at the soup, then at Marissa.

"I understand," Ashlyn replied. "Thank you for being so attentive."

Marissa reached out. Her hands were steady as she lifted the porcelain bowl from the tray and placed it directly in front of Ashlyn. She removed the lid. Steam curled up, carrying the savory scent of the broth.

Ashlyn picked up the spoon. She stirred the soup idly, looking up at Marissa through her long lashes.

"Handling everything personally," Ashlyn said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You are afraid, aren’t you? You are afraid I will scheme against you and frame you for poisoning the food."

She let out a soft chuckle.

"You are very careful, sister."

Marissa looked down at Ashlyn. She saw the confidence in her sister’s posture. She saw the way Ashlyn looked at her, as if Marissa were a servant who had finally learned her place.

"You are absolutely right," Marissa said coldly. "I am afraid of your schemes. I know what you are capable of."

Ashlyn laughed again, a light, airy sound. She lifted the spoon to her lips and took a sip of the soup.

As Ashlyn moved, the breeze shifted. It blew across the table, carrying the scent of the soup, the scent of the flowers, and something else.

Marissa froze.

She inhaled slightly through her nose. It was faint, hidden beneath the smell of Ashlyn’s rose perfume, but it was distinct. It was sweet. Acidic. Sharp.

It was a scent Marissa knew well from her time studying medicine with her uncle.

Pineapple.

Marissa’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. She looked at Ashlyn’s mouth. She looked at her hands. There was no fruit on the table. But the smell was clinging to Ashlyn’s breath and her clothes.

She ate pineapple recently, Marissa thought. Fresh pineapple.

Her mind raced, recalling her medical texts. Pineapple was a delicious fruit, but it was known to be dangerous for women in the early stages of pregnancy. It contained substances that could soften the womb and cause a miscarriage. A woman who was truly pregnant, a woman who was as anxious and fragile as Ashlyn claimed to be, would never touch it. She would avoid it like poison.

But Ashlyn smelled like she had just eaten a bowl of it.

Marissa needed to be sure. She needed to get closer.

She took a step back, and then, with a deliberate, clumsy movement, she let her silk handkerchief slip from her fingers. It fluttered to the floor, landing near Ashlyn’s feet.

"Oh," Marissa said softly.

She bent down to pick it up. As she crouched, she leaned in close to Ashlyn’s legs. She took a deep breath.

The scent was stronger here. It was unmistakable. It was fresh pineapple juice on Ashlyn’s skirt, a tiny, dried stain she must have missed.

Marissa’s heart slammed against her ribs. A cold, hard realization washed over her.

She truly ate pineapple. That is a forbidden fruit for pregnancy.

Marissa’s fingers closed around her handkerchief. She stayed crouched for a second longer than necessary, her mind connecting the dots. The sudden announcement. The refusal of the Royal Physician. The specific doctor Ashlyn had paid. And now, the careless consumption of a dangerous fruit.

She isn’t being careless, Marissa realized. She just doesn’t care. Because there is no baby to harm.

Slowly, Marissa stood up. Her face was no longer the mask of a dutiful sister. It was the face of a hunter who had just found the prey’s weakness.

She looked at Ashlyn, who was happily eating the soup, completely oblivious to the mistake she had made.

Marissa reached out. Her hand moved toward Ashlyn’s stomach.

"Let me check the position of the child," Marissa said, her voice sounding concerned. "Grandmother said the baby sits low."

She moved fast. She wanted to feel the stomach. She wanted to feel if there was any tension, any change, or if it was just the soft, flat stomach of a liar.

Ashlyn reacted instantly.

She didn’t freeze. She didn’t gently push the hand away. She jumped.

Ashlyn stood up so quickly she knocked her knee against the stone table. The soup spoon clattered into the bowl. She evaded Marissa’s touch as if Marissa’s hand were a burning coal.

"Don’t touch me!" Ashlyn snapped, her voice sharp and defensive. She clutched her stomach protectively, stepping back. "I am sensitive! The doctor said no one should press on it!"

Marissa’s hand hovered in the empty air. She looked at Ashlyn’s panicked, defensive posture. It wasn’t the reaction of a mother protecting a child. It was the reaction of a criminal protecting evidence.

Marissa slowly lowered her hand. A slow, chilling smile spread across her lips.

"You are not pregnant," she stated.

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Ashlyn went pale. Her eyes darted around the garden, checking for servants. "You are crazy," she hissed. "Of course I am. The doctor confirmed it!"

"The doctor you paid," Marissa said calmly. "And the pineapple you ate."

Ashlyn blinked. "What?"

"You smell of it, Ashlyn," Marissa whispered. "You forgot to be careful. You forgot that lies have a scent."

Marissa took a step back, creating distance. She didn’t need to say anything else. She knew. And now, the game had changed completely.