The garden outside House Elara's estate was deceptively beautiful.
Blossoms of pale blue and white shivered gently beneath the morning breeze. A marble swimming pool stretched elegantly between trimmed hedges and stone benches, its surface reflecting a sky so perfect it felt cruel. The air smelled faintly of roses and mint, too fresh for someone who hadn't slept well in days.
Lan stood near the edge of the pool, her reflection wavering in the gentle ripple of the water. Her gown, though clearly expensive, clung in all the wrong places—tight across her chest, too long in the sleeves, and cinched uncomfortably at the waist. It wasn't her size. It wasn't meant for her.
But it was the only thing the maids had given her.
No one had asked if she was cold.
No one had offered a change.
She folded her hands before her carefully, shoulders stiff. Her hair had been brushed but not styled. Her feet ached in the pointed slippers. She didn't belong here—and everything around her was a reminder of it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. A familiar silhouette.
Lady Elara stepped into the garden, radiant in a gown of soft ivory and lilac, her hair pinned up with violet jewels that shimmered beneath the sun. Her steps were graceful but sure, as though even the flowers parted for her. Beside her was a woman Lan hadn't seen before—a girl, really, though older than her by a few years. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen.
She was stunning.
Soft auburn curls framed a sharp jawline, and her dress—flowing, royal blue—fit her like water clinging to glass. There was poise in her smile, polish in the way she held her chin, and just enough curiosity in her eyes to make Lan instinctively pull her sleeves down further.
"Lan," Lady Elara called warmly. "You're outside today. That's good."
Lan turned and offered a slight bow, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Good morning, Lady Elara."
"I wanted to introduce someone to you," Elara gestured gracefully. "This is Lady Mireille. Her father is the Duke of Austerfeld. She's recently returned from her studies in the western provinces."
"A pleasure," Mireille said with an elegant nod. Her voice was melodic, practiced.
Lan returned the gesture, trying not to let her nerves show. "The pleasure is mine."
Elara gave a kind smile. "How are you adjusting, dear? I heard the transition has been… fast."
There it was. A chance.
A moment to say the truth: that her maid had been sent away. That the others were cruel. That the clothes pinched her ribs and the halls felt like walls.
But instead, Lan forced a soft smile.
"I'm fine. Everyone has been very kind."
A small lie, spoken with all the grace she could manage.
Mireille tilted her head slightly, as though seeing through the veil. But she said nothing, only folded her hands and glanced toward the pool.
"This estate is quite famous for its gardens," she said lightly. "I've heard even the Queen herself used to bathe here when she was a girl."
Lan looked at the pool again. The sunlight made it look almost inviting.
Almost.
"I've never swum before," she admitted softly. "Where I come from… we had rivers, not pools."
"Then perhaps one day you'll try," Elara said kindly. "But not in that gown. It looks uncomfortable."
Lan's cheeks warmed. "It is, a little. But it's all I have right now."
Elara's eyes narrowed slightly—not at Lan, but at something else. Perhaps a silent thought. But she said nothing, only touched Lan's arm lightly.
"Come back inside when the wind picks up. You don't want to catch a chill."
With that, she and Mireille turned to continue their walk through the garden paths. The two moved like the wind itself—soft, measured, untouchable.
Lan stood in silence again, her reflection rippling on the pool's surface like a cracked mask. The water beckoned. The world whispered.
And she—silent, foreign, alone—wondered how long she could keep pretending that everything was fine.
.....
The wind howled outside the grand estate, rustling the glass panes as though the night itself sought entry.
Inside her chamber, Lan sat cross-legged on her silken bedding, a single lantern casting a soft glow across the walls. She wore a fresh sleeping robe—still too large for her frame—and her long hair, freshly brushed, spilled like black ink over her shoulders. The events of the day played through her head on repeat: the blinding blue of the pool, the soft-spoken smile of Lady Mireille, the way Lady Elara had watched her with veiled concern.
She hadn't touched dinner.
The maids had brought it late, colder than usual, and placed it on the side table with disinterested hands. None had spoken to her. No warmth, no small talk. Just silence and stone-faced glances.
Only Mina had returned. At long last.
The sound of the door creaking open was soft but sure.
Mina stepped inside holding a folded blanket in her arms. Her face looked weary, dark circles painting shadows beneath her eyes. But when she saw Lan awake, her lips formed a small smile.
"You're still up," Mina said, walking over to place the blanket near her feet.
"I couldn't sleep," Lan replied quietly. "Too many thoughts."
Mina sat beside her, legs tucked under her skirt. For a moment, the two sat in silence.
Then, Lan turned to her, voice hesitant. "That woman who came with Lady Elara today… she was very beautiful."
Mina glanced at her. "Lady Mireille of Austerfeld."
"You know her well?"
"Well enough," Mina said, brushing a bit of hair behind Lan's ear. "She used to visit often. Much more often than she does now."
Lan hesitated. "Did… something happen?"
Mina gave a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "She was almost engaged to the prince, once. Everyone thought it was certain. She has the breeding, the charm, the wealth. And Prince Alaric—he didn't outright refuse her, either. That was the most dangerous part. It gave people hope."
"And then… I arrived," Lan murmured, her voice a mere breath.
"Yes," Mina nodded. "You. The war bride. The foreign girl. The orphaned beauty from a fallen kingdom. You ruined every noble girl's dream, even if you didn't ask to."
Lan blinked, lowering her gaze. "She must hate me."
"She's too well-trained to ever show it. But you'll feel it eventually. One way or another."
Lan swallowed, her hands curling against her knees. "She's beautiful," she whispered. "I mean it. Her eyes, her voice. If someone like her couldn't win his heart, then what does that make me?"
Mina was quiet for a while. The lantern crackled softly behind them, stretching their shadows across the wall.
Then she said, almost to herself, "I don't like Prince Alaric."
Lan looked up. "Why?"
Mina's jaw tightened. "I have my reasons."
It wasn't an answer. It was a wall.
"Mina…" Lan began.
But the older girl rose to her feet quickly. "It's late. You should try to sleep, Princess. The more rested you are, the easier it'll be to face what comes tomorrow."
Lan felt the cold creep over her again as Mina gathered the lantern and moved toward the door.
Just before leaving, Mina paused. Her voice came softer, laced with something between warning and protection.
"Don't envy Lady Mireille for her beauty. The prince may have once been close to her… but not even she could warm his heart. If anything, your presence made him colder."
Then she left.
And Lan, alone in the glow of the half-burned wick, pulled the blanket up to her chin and stared into the flickering shadows.
She had thought this marriage would be a cage.
But now, she was starting to wonder if it was a battlefield of its own.