Lord Red sat in the back of his unmarked carriage, the rhythmic jolting of the wheels against the forest path doing nothing to soothe the frantic pounding in his chest. His skin still felt sensitized, the ghost of Justine’s heat lingering on his thighs, yet the air around him felt frigid.
How did she know?
The question looped in his mind like a noose. For a year, he had played her with the precision of a master lutanist. He had groomed Justine—the "Vicious Lady" whose reputation made her the perfect shield—to be his silent bank and his private solace. She was supposed to be the woman who gave everything and asked for nothing but his "sacred" love.
But the woman in the villa tonight... her eyes hadn't been those of the infatuated fool who melted under his touch. They were the eyes of a woman who had seen his corpse and spat on it.
"She is just tired," Red hissed to the empty carriage, his fingers gripping his knees until his knuckles turned white. "Women like Justine... they thrive on drama. She wants more attention. More jewelry. She’s heard a whisper about Lana and is lashing out."
He couldn't lose her. Not now. The Crown Prince, Eric, was being shipped to the Northern front in less than forty-eight hours. The King’s health was failing—thanks to the slow, rhythmic administration of the "tonic" Lana had provided. Red needed the Duke’s signatures to mobilize the private knights. He needed Justine’s blind devotion to bridge the gap to the throne.
By the time the carriage reached his private quarters, his panic had transmuted into a cold, manipulative resolve. He would play the role of the repentant lover. He would overwhelm her with the very thing she used to crave: his public acknowledgment.
The Duke’s Estate: High Noon
The following afternoon, the gates of the Oakhaven Ducal Estate creaked open. Red arrived not in a secret carriage, but on a white stallion, dressed in the silver-and-blue finery of the Royal House. In his hand, he carried a massive bouquet of Blood-Drop Lilies—Justine’s favorite, rare flowers that symbolized a love that transcended life and death.
As he walked through the manicured gardens, he put on his most tragic expression—the look of a man who hadn't slept, a man haunted by the thought of losing his soulmate.
He found Justine in the sun-drenched conservatory. She was dressed in a gown of deep, obsidian silk, sipping tea while reading a ledger. She didn't look up when he entered.
"Justine," he began, his voice cracking with practiced emotion. He dropped to one knee beside her table, the lilies spilling onto the marble floor like a sacrifice. "I haven't breathed since I left you last night. Your words... they cut deeper than any blade. I realized I have been a coward, hiding our love because I feared my mother’s wrath and the Vizier’s reach."
He reached for her hand, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I bought these for you this morning. They reminded me of us—precious, rare, and worth any price. Please, my heart. Don't let a few whispers of 'Lana' destroy what we have built. She is a political necessity, a shadow I must endure until I can make you my Queen."
Justine finally looked at him. She didn't pull her hand away, but her touch was as unresponsive as a corpse. She looked at the lilies—the very flowers Red had placed on her empty casket in her previous life during his "mourning" performance.
"Blood-Drop Lilies," she whispered, her voice eerily calm. "Do you know why they are called that, Red? It is said they only grow where a heart was broken so completely that the earth itself wept."
Red felt a shiver go down his spine. "A poet’s tale, my love. To me, they represent the passion I feel when I am inside you, when the world disappears and—"
"They are beautiful," she interrupted, finally standing up. She picked up the bouquet, her fingers brushing the petals. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she tilted the vase of tea onto the flowers, drowning them in the amber liquid.
"But I find I’ve developed an allergy to things that thrive on death."
She leaned down, her face inches from his. The scent of her—no longer just jasmine, but something sharper, like ozone before a storm—overwhelmed him.
"You spent five thousand gold pieces on these flowers today, Red. Gold that came from my father’s account last month. Tell me... did you use the change to buy Lana the sapphire pendant she’s wearing at the palace today?"
Red’s breath hitched. "Justine, I—"
"Stand up, Prince," she commanded, her voice turning into a whip. "The 'Shadow Bride' is gone. If you want my support, you will have to earn it in blood, not petals. And start by explaining why the Crown Prince’s supply lines to the North were cut last night. Did you think I wouldn't notice where my money was really going?"
Red stood, his face flushing with a mix of desire and terror. He had never seen her like this—so dominant, so terrifyingly sharp. He wanted to crush her to him and silence her with a kiss, but for the first time in his life, he was afraid that if he tried, she might actually kill him.
