d my silence, offering no reply.
My betrothal to Sir Roland’s house was sealed; this life would hold no further ties to Edmund. Let him think what he would, so long as he ceased to plague me.
Yet Prince Edmund, mistaking my quiet for shame at Eleanor’s child and my supposed deceit, curled his lip in a faint
smirk.
“So be it,” he said. “Depart this day, and let me see your face no more.”
“Not so,” the queen interjected, stirring from her shock and joy. She chided him gently. “Margaret is to wed Sir Roland three days hence, on the very day of your own wedding.”
“What?” Edmund’s face paled, his eyes turning to me in disbelief. “You would wed Sir Roland?”
He faltered, then realization struck. “The betrothal you spoke of-it’s for her and Roland, not me?”
“Of course,” the queen replied, puzzled. “You swore your heart to Eleanor alone. Did you think I would bind you to another?”
I kept my head bowed, awaiting a chance to take my leave. The matter was settled; I had no wish to parley further with Edmund.
Yet his hand seized my wrist, the grip bruising. I looked up, meeting his reddened eyes, clouded with confusion, anger, and unease.
“How can this be?” he demanded. “How could you marry him? Who gave their consent? Was it not your heart’s desire to be with me?”
1 laughed softly, a bitter edge to my voice. “Your Highness, has your recovery clouded your judgment? I have sworn time and again I seek no marriage with you, nor ever shall.”
I smiled coldly. “What does it matter to you whom I marry Did you not say we should part, each to our rightful place, as strangers?”
Edmund’s face grew ashen, his lips pressed tight. His gaze, unreadable, lingered on me. At length, he released my wrist. I rubbed the purpled mark, bowing to the queen to take my leave.
I dared not return to the outlying wing, instead beseeching Sir Roland’s mother to find me lodging at an inn.
Yet she would not hear of it, insisting I reside in Sir Roland’s manor within Crownhold.
“You are to be his bride,” she said, her voice warm with kindness. “How could you not stay in your future home?”
I yielded, settling into the manor.
The air carried a rich, masculine scent, and my cheeks flushed, my heart quickening despite myself.
When a knock sounded at the door, I thought it Lady Roland returning and hastened to open it. But my face fell as I saw Chapter 4
༡༡༩༩༩.
Prince Edmund standing there.
“What brings Your Highness?” I asked, wary.
His throat tightened, his brow furrowed. “Are you so desperate for wealth and status that you would marry into a noble
family?”
I stared, caught off guard by his accusation.
“Sir Roland lies ill from wounds taken for king and country, stricken by fever,” I said, frowning. “His family, the crown, and all Crownhold pray for his recovery. What do you mean you by such words?”
Edmund drew a deep breath, his purpose clear at last. “If you’ve deceived Lady Roland with tales of blessed fertility, and
your union with Sir Roland bears no child nor saves him, the realm’s wrath will fall upon you. You and your kin will face
ruin.”
I laughed, sharp and mocking. “Not all men are as you, slaying a bride who fulfills her purpose and butchering her kin.”
Edmund faltered, his anger checked by some restraint.
He exhaled slowly, his voice softening. “If you crave a noble match, I could take you as my mistress.”
“What?” I stared, incredulous.
He mistook my shock for joy, a knowing smile touching his lips, his eyes softening with memory.
“In our past life, Eleanor wed a base lord because of your meddling and met a cruel end. I blamed you, resented you.”
He paused. “But in this life, you’ve kept your distance from us. I’m pleased by your wisdom, and I find… I do not despise
you as I thought.”
My eyes widened further.
He looked away, uneasy under my gaze. “If you swear not to rival Eleanor or harm her, I could grant you a child after she
bears mine-perhaps twins, as in our past life, to ease your former sorrow.”
Revulsion churned within me.
He turned to leave, adding, “Three days hence, I’ll send a litter to fetch you. Board it, and I’ll settle your betrothal to
Roland.”
He strode away, leaving me doubled over, retching from the fury and loathing rising within.
I thought I could face his past wrongs with calm, but as he laid bare our former life, the hatred I’d buried surged forth,
uncontainable.
Leaning against the wall, I watched his retreating figure.
“Farewell, Edmund,” I whispered. “Your days are numbered.”
Three days later, the prince and Sir Roland were to wed on the same day.
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Yet only the prince’s manor rang with trumpets and song, lands and treasures stretching from Crownhold’s south gate to
his doors.
Sir Roland’s manor stood silent, bearing no sign of a wedding.
Edmund’s retainers brought word that Roland’s house showed no preparations for a bride. At this, a smile spread across Edmund’s face.
“I’ve wronged Sir Roland,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll choose a new bride for him.”
A strange thrill stirred in his heart, a feeling unknown even when Eleanor first gave herself to him.
The court crier called, “The prince’s bride arrives!”
Edmund hastened out, his steps quick.
The court crier faltered. “Another litter approaches? Is there a second bride this day?”
Edmund’s smile widened, barely contained. He strode past Eleanor’s litter, reaching the second as it halted.
His heart raced as he lifted the curtain. “Margaret, you’ve come…”
But in an instant, his face drained of color.
