CHAPTER 146: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX

The orchestra played a low, slow melody, a backdrop to the quiet war being fought at the high table.

Lady Jane sat in Derek’s empty chair. She picked up a delicate porcelain tea cup, inspecting the painted rim as if looking for a crack. She didn’t drink. She set it back down with a soft clink.

She turned her gaze to Marissa. Her eyes swept over Marissa’s figure, lingering on her waist, then moved to the small plate of untouched pastries on the table.

"I tend to gain weight when I lack sleep," Jane sighed, her voice dripping with false intimacy. "So I am worried. The life of the court is exhausting, you see. If I had a naturally stunning figure like yours, Duchess, perhaps I could enjoy this festival without a care. I could eat whatever I wanted."

It was a polite insult. She was calling Marissa gluttonous, implying that Marissa let herself go while Jane had to maintain her beauty to keep her Prince.

Marissa’s face remained calm. She thought to herself, "What is she planning? Is she trying to attack my vanity? I didn’t even gain much weight."

Marissa reached out. She bypassed the pastries completely. She took her glass of water, the condensation cool against her fingertips.

"If you want to follow me," Marissa said, her voice smooth, "you might need to eat a little more. You look frail, Lady Jane. Power requires strength, not starvation."

Jane’s smile tightened at the edges. She looked at the small lemon cake on the tray.

"If I ate a snack like this," Jane said, shaking her head sadly, "my waist wouldn’t fit into this dress by tomorrow. The seamstresses work so hard to make it perfect. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them."

Marissa took a sip of water. She set the glass down.

"Then you will just have to adjust your waistline," Marissa replied simply.

Jane blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It is a dress, Lady Jane," Marissa said, her tone instructing a child. "It is made of fabric and thread. It is tailored to fit you. You are not tailored to fit it. If it no longer fits, you do not starve yourself. You have them tailor it to fit you again."

Marissa leaned back in her chair, opening her black fan.

"A woman should command her clothes," Marissa added, looking Jane in the eye. "Not be commanded by them. It makes one look... desperate."

Jane’s jaw clenched. The implication was clear. Jane was bending herself into knots to please the Prince, to fit the role of the perfect mistress. Marissa was stating that she changed the world to suit herself.

Jane let out a short, sharp laugh.

"You have such interesting views," Jane said. "Perhaps that comes from your... rustic upbringing."

Jane gestured toward the dance floor, where couples were swirling in a waltz.

"Why don’t you go dance with someone?" Jane suggested, her voice sweet again. "One dance should burn off at least three or four cakes. It would be good for you."

Marissa glanced past Jane’s shoulder. She saw Prince Liam standing near the throne. He was watching them. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and a small, amused smirk played on his lips. He was enjoying the show. He was watching his mistress test his cousin’s wife.

Marissa looked back at Jane.

"I prefer to watch," Marissa said. "It is safer than dancing with wolves."

Jane followed Marissa’s gaze to Derek.

Derek was currently on the other side of the room. He was laughing loudly, slapping the back of an elderly General. He spilled a little wine on the floor and pretended to slip, causing a scene. People were whispering, pointing at the "drunk" Grand Duke.

Jane turned back to Marissa with a look of pity.

"Your husband," Jane said softly. "He is quite the... entertainer."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"It must be hard," Jane said. "To see him like that. A grown man, acting like a child. He has no ambition. He has no dignity. He spends his days drinking and his nights... well, we all know about the Golden Swan."

Jane shook her head.

"It is a shame," Jane continued. "You are so capable. You deserve a man who is your equal. Not a skiver who drags the family name through the mud."

It was a direct attack on Derek. It was meant to make Marissa feel ashamed, to make her regret her decision in marrying Derek.

Marissa snapped her fan shut. The sound was loud in the small space between them.

"My husband," Marissa said, her voice cold and hard, "enjoys his life. He lives freely."

She looked at Jane with a gaze that dissected her soul.

"He does not need to plot," Marissa said. "He does not need to scheme. He does not need to wait for someone else to die so he can take their place."

Jane froze. The reference to the Crown Princess Dahlia was subtle, but it hit the mark.

"He is the Grand Duke," Marissa stated proudly. "He was born to it. He does not need to prove anything to anyone. Especially not to people who judge him while standing in the shadows of others."

Marissa smiled.

"I find his freedom quite... attractive," Marissa lied smoothly. "Much more attractive than a man who is always hungry for what isn’t his."

Jane’s face flushed a deep, angry red. She opened her mouth to retort, to lash out, but a loud sound interrupted them.

Gong.

The heavy brass gong at the front of the room sounded. The music stopped. The chatter died down.

King Alistair stood up from his throne. He looked weary. His face was gray, his movements slow. He raised a hand for silence.

"My people," the King rasped. His voice was weak, barely carrying to the back of the room.

"The hour grows late," the King announced. "And my strength is not what it used to be."

He coughed, covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

"Tomorrow," the King continued, "is the second day of the festival. But we shall not celebrate it here."

A murmur went through the crowd.

"We will celebrate in our respective homes," the King decreed. "The Dukes shall return to their duchies. The Commanders and Generals shall return to their barracks. You will feast with your own people. You will remind them of the unity of this kingdom."

He sat back down, exhausted.

"Go now," the King said. "Rest."

The court bowed. The formal part of the evening was over.

Marissa stood up. She smoothed her green velvet dress. She looked for Derek. He was already making his way toward her, weaving through the crowd, his "drunken" stumble a little less pronounced now that the King wasn’t looking.

Jane stood up as well. She looked at Marissa one last time, her eyes promising future conflict.

But before Jane could leave, a shadow fell over their table.

Marissa felt the air turn cold. The hair on her arms stood up.

She turned.

Prince Liam was standing there.

He had left his spot by the throne. He had walked across the floor, ignoring the bowing nobles, ignoring the Generals. He had walked straight to them.

He didn’t look at Jane. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence. To him, his mistress was invisible.

His eyes were locked on Marissa.

Marissa and Jane curtsied immediately.

"Your Highness," they said in unison.

Liam didn’t speak to Jane. He stepped closer to Marissa. He invaded her personal space, his scent of cold mint and steel washing over her.

He reached out. His hand was pale, his fingers long and slender.

He took Marissa’s hand.

His skin was cold. It felt like touching a corpse.

He lifted her hand slowly. He didn’t shake it. He brought it to his lips.

He kissed her knuckles.

It wasn’t a quick, polite peck. His lips lingered on her skin. It was too long. It was too intimate. It was a claim.

Marissa wanted to pull her hand away. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run. But she couldn’t. He was the Crown Prince. To pull away would be an act of treason.

She stood frozen, her eyes wide, staring at the top of his dark head.

Liam lowered her hand, but he didn’t let go. He held her fingers in his, his thumb rubbing lightly over her knuckles.

He looked up. His blue eyes bore into hers.

"Duchess," Liam said. His voice was soft, smooth, and terrifying.

"The King has dismissed the court," Liam said. "But the music has not yet stopped."

He gestured with his free hand to the musicians, who were playing a soft, final melody while the guests began to leave.

"I have watched you tonight," Liam said. "You sit in the shadows, but you shine brighter than anyone in this room."

He smiled. It was the same cold smile he had worn when he shot the arrow at the captain.

"Would you be willing," Liam asked, "to dance with me?"