CHAPTER 148: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY EIGHT

The heavy, ornate doors of the Crown Prince’s private chambers clicked shut, cutting off the distant, fading sounds of the orchestra and the murmur of the departing court. The room was vast and cold, illuminated only by the pale, silver moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Lady Jane stood near the center of the room, her hands clasping and unclasping in front of her crimson dress. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The evening had been a disaster. She had watched the man she loved—the man she had sacrificed her dignity for—ignore her completely to pursue another woman. And worse, he had been rejected.

Prince Liam stood by the window, his back to her. He was staring out at the palace gardens, his posture rigid. He said nothing. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, until Jane couldn’t bear it anymore. She had to fix this. She had to smooth his wounded pride before it turned into rage directed at her.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," Jane began, her voice trembling slightly in the quiet room.

She took a small step forward, the silk of her dress rustling softly.

"If I hadn’t provoked the Duchess this evening," she said, choosing her words with desperate care, "if I hadn’t spoken to her at the table... she wouldn’t have been so defensive. She wouldn’t have rejected your invitation and insulted..."

Jane paused. The word "you" died on her lips. She noticed that Liam wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even acknowledging her apology. He was just staring at the moonlit grounds, his reflection ghostly in the glass.

Slowly, Liam raised his hands to his collar. He undid the top button of his dark blue tunic. Then the next.

"It truly did make things awkward for me," Liam said.

His voice was surprisingly calm. There was no shouting, no throwing of objects. It was a flat, reflective tone that was somehow more unsettling than anger.

He shrugged the heavy tunic off his shoulders. It slid down his arms and fell into his hands.

A valet, a man who moved as silently as a shadow, stepped out from the corner of the room. He took the shed clothes from the Prince’s hands, bowed once, and vanished into the dressing room without making a sound.

Liam stood there, stripped to the waist. His broad chest and back were pale, the muscles defined and hard. The moonlight caught the sweat on his skin, making him glisten like a marble statue. He looked powerful. He looked like a god of war taking a breath between battles.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect style.

"I shouldn’t have done that," Liam continued, speaking more to the window than to Jane. "I pushed too hard, too fast. I showed my hand."

He turned his head slightly to the side, looking at his own reflection in the glass.

"If I had been more favorable towards her," he mused, "if I had been more subtle... perhaps the outcome would have been different. I’m sure you must have been uncomfortable."

Jane felt a spike of jealousy so sharp it hurt, but she swallowed it down. She forced a smile onto her face. She waved her hands dismissively.

"No, no, Your Highness," she said quickly. "You were perfect. Regal. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. In fact, I am grateful."

She walked closer to him, stopping just a few feet away. She wanted to touch his back, but she didn’t dare.

"I am grateful you haven’t forgotten about me," she whispered. "I am grateful you still want me by your side, even when..."

She didn’t finish the sentence ’even when you are chasing another woman.’

"But the Duchess," Jane said, her voice hardening slightly as she spoke of Marissa.

"She has a haughty temperament. She is proud. She is arrogant. So, it would be difficult for her to openly accept your kindness..."

Liam chuckled.

It was a low, dark sound. He didn’t turn around. His back was still to her, a wall of muscle and indifference.

"My kindness?" he repeated.

He turned his head slightly, just enough so she could see his profile in the moonlight. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a nice smile.

"Do you mean," Liam asked, his voice dripping with amusement, "how hard I tried to mark her head with my name when she doesn’t even like me?"

Jane went silent. Her mouth opened, then closed. She didn’t know which response to give. If she agreed, she insulted him. If she disagreed, she looked like a fool.

Liam turned fully away from the window to face the room, though he didn’t walk toward her yet. He leaned back against the glass, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She saw right through me," Liam said. There was a note of admiration in his voice that made Jane feel sick. "She knew exactly what the wreath meant. She knew exactly what the dance meant."

He looked at Jane, his eyes critical.

"Everything Marissa said was perfectly logical," Liam continued. "She protected her husband. She protected her reputation. And she rejected me without technically breaking a single rule of etiquette."

He chuckled again, the smile on his face growing wider, colder.

"And thus," Liam said, gesturing to himself, "I am a fool who overplayed his hand."

He pointed a finger at Jane.

"While you," he said, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper, "are my spineless mistress."

The insult landed like a physical blow.

Spineless.

It stripped away all her dignity. It reduced her to nothing more than a decoration, a woman with no will of her own.

But Jane didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. She had built her entire life around this man. She had accepted the role of the villain, the other woman, the usurper, all for him. She couldn’t have a spine. A spine would mean standing up to him, and standing up to him meant losing him.

She lowered her head. She curtsied, a movement of total submission.

"Being spineless doesn’t matter to me," Jane replied, her voice shaking but clear. "As long as I can be your woman. As long as I can serve you."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with desperate devotion.

"Shame and embarrassment are nothing compared to the love I have for you, Your Highness," she declared. "I would let the whole court laugh at me if it pleased you."

She took a step closer, her hands reaching out beseechingly.

"My only regret," she said, "is not being able to help you this evening. I failed to distract her. I failed to make her acknowledge you. Please... please forgive my inadequacy."

She waited for his anger. She waited for him to dismiss her, to send her away as he had done so many times before when he was displeased.

Liam pushed himself off the window sill.

"There is nothing to forgive, Jane," he said.

His voice was soft. Almost gentle.

Jane’s heart leaped. He forgives me. He still needs me.

Liam strode toward her. The moonlight bounced off his broad chest, highlighting the scars of his archery practice and the smooth skin of royalty. He moved with the grace of a predator closing in on a wounded animal.

He stopped right in front of her. He was so close she could smell the wine on his breath and the cold scent of the night air on his skin. He towered over her, blocking out the light.

He reached out a hand. He touched her cheek. His fingers were cold.

Jane leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, savoring the contact. She thought he was going to kiss her. She thought he was going to comfort her.

"I have always known," Liam whispered, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.

Jane opened her eyes, looking up at him with love.

"That you are lacking," Liam finished, his voice devoid of any emotion. "On everywhere."

Jane froze. The warmth drained from her body.