Vivienne's POV
I didn't sleep. How could I, knowing a witness was coming to expose me in twelve hours?
By dawn, I'd made a decision: if I was going down, I'd face it head-on. No more hiding.
Eleanor disagreed. You should leave the capital. Disappear before—
No. I pulled on my riding habit, ignoring my exhausted reflection. Running makes me look guilty. I stay. I fight.
Isabelle—
My name is Vivienne. I met her eyes. And Vivienne Laurent doesn't run from jealous duchesses and corrupt chancellors.
The palace garden tea was mandatory for noble ladies. I arrived exactly on time, chin high, refusing to show fear.
Celeste was already there.
My stepsister sat at the center table, surrounded by fawning ladies like a queen holding court. When she saw me, her smile sharpened into something predatory.
Lady Vivienne. She gestured to the empty seat across from her. How lovely. Please, join us.
It was a trap. Everyone could see it. But I couldn't refuse without looking weak.
I sat.
We were just discussing you, Celeste said sweetly. Such a mystery, our new arrival. Tell us, what was your late husband's name again?
My stomach clenched. Lord Henri Laurent.
Henri Laurent. Celeste tapped her teacup thoughtfully. And where exactly in the southern provinces did you reside?
The coastal region. Near
How specific. And his family? Surely they attended your wedding?
Each question came faster, sharper, designed to trip me up. The other ladies watched like spectators at a blood sport.
His family was small, I said carefully. Quite private.
How convenient. Celeste's eyes glittered with malice. Private families leave no records. No witnesses. Almost as if they never existed at all.
The accusation hung in the air. Several ladies gasped.
I forced myself to smile. Are you suggesting something, Duchess Harcourt?
I'm simply curious. She leaned forward. You see, I've made inquiries. Very thorough inquiries. And I find it fascinating that no one in the southern provinces has ever heard of Henri Laurent. Or his mysterious widow.
My blood turned to ice. She was closer to the truth than I'd thought.
Perhaps your investigators aren't as thorough as you believe, I replied coolly. The southern provinces are vast. Easy to miss smaller estates.
Or perhaps Celeste's voice dropped dangerously low, —you're not who you claim to be at all.
Our eyes locked across the table. For one terrible moment, I saw recognition flicker in her gaze. Not complete understanding—not yet—but something. A ghost of memory. A whisper of suspicion.
Then a servant appeared at her elbow, whispering urgently.
Celeste's expression transformed from suspicious to triumphant. Excuse me, ladies. I have urgent business to attend to. She stood, shooting me one last poisonous look. We'll continue this conversation very soon, Lady Vivienne. I have so many more questions.
She swept away, but I caught her words to the servant: Send him immediately. I want a full report within the hour.
My hands shook as I lifted my teacup. The witness. They were bringing him now. Earlier than expected.
I had even less time than I thought.
I fled to the stables, needing space to think, to breathe, to plan my next move. My horse—a spirited gray mare Eleanor had purchased—stamped impatiently as I saddled her.
Running away?
I spun. Adrian stood in the stable doorway, dressed for riding, watching me with those storm-gray eyes that saw too much.
I could ask you the same thing, Your Highness. I tightened the saddle strap with shaking fingers. Or is stalking your guests a royal hobby?
Only the interesting ones. He moved closer, studying my face. You look terrified. What happened?
Everything is falling apart. Celeste is closing in. I'm running out of time.
Nothing I can't handle.
Another lie. He grabbed the reins before I could mount. Talk to me, Vivienne. Let me help—
You can't help me. I yanked the reins from his grip. No one can.
I swung onto the horse and kicked her into motion, galloping out of the stables before he could stop me.
The palace grounds blurred past. Wind whipped my hair. My horse's hooves thundered against the earth. For a few precious moments, I felt free.
Then I heard hoofbeats behind me.
Adrian.
He rode a massive black stallion, closing the distance between us with frightening speed. His face was determined, focused, competitive.
Fine. If he wants a race, I'll give him one.
I urged my mare faster. We tore across the open field, neck and neck, neither giving an inch. The competition was fierce, exhilarating, dangerous.
I was so focused on beating him that I didn't see the rabbit hole.
My horse's front leg buckled. She screamed. I flew from the saddle
Strong arms caught me mid-air.
Adrian's momentum carried us both tumbling into the grass. We rolled twice before stopping. When the world settled, he was on top of me, his body covering mine protectively, his arms cradling my head.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed.
His face was inches from mine. His gray eyes dark with something I didn't dare name. His heartbeat thundered against my chest, matching my own racing pulse.
Are you hurt? His voice was rough.
No. The word came out breathless. You caught me.
I'll always catch you. His thumb brushed across my cheek. Even when you're running from me.
The tenderness in his touch nearly broke me. Here I was, lying, manipulating, using him—and he looked at me like I was something precious worth protecting.
Adrian
I can't stay away from you. The confession escaped him like he'd been holding it in for days. I've tried. God knows I've tried. But every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every time I'm in a room, I search for you. What have you done to me?
My heart shattered. Because I felt it too. This impossible, inconvenient, devastating attraction that was never supposed to be real.
Try harder, I whispered, even as tears burned behind my eyes. Please. Try harder.
Why? His forehead touched mine. Why do you keep pushing me away when I can see in your eyes that you feel this too?
Because when you learn the truth, you'll hate me. Because I'm using you. Because this can never work.
Because you're engaged to Seraphina Blackwell. Because you're the Crown Prince. Because—
I don't care about any of that. His hand cupped my face. I care about you. Only you.
He was going to kiss me. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his body pressed against mine, taste it in the air between us.
And God help me, I wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted to forget everything and just feel this impossible connection.
His lips were a breath away from mine when a voice shattered the moment.
Well, well. How touching.
We sprang apart. Celeste stood at the edge of the field, opera glasses dangling from her hand, a servant beside her.
Her expression was pure triumph.
The Crown Prince and the mysterious widow. In quite the compromising position. Her smile was venomous. One might think you were hiding a scandalous relationship.
Adrian stood, pulling me up with him. Duchess Harcourt. Lady Vivienne's horse stumbled. I was ensuring she wasn't injured.
Of course you were. Celeste's eyes gleamed with malice. Though I wonder what Lady Seraphina Blackwell would think of such... enthusiastic concern for another woman's safety.
Careful, Adrian's voice turned deadly. You're speaking to your Crown Prince.
And you're speaking to a Council member who has just discovered very interesting information about Lady Vivienne Laurent. Celeste turned to me, triumph blazing in her eyes. Or should I say—the woman pretending to be Lady Vivienne Laurent.
My blood turned to ice.
I don't know what you're—
My investigator just returned from the southern provinces. Celeste pulled out a document, waving it like a weapon. There is no record of Henri Laurent. No marriage certificate. No death record. No estate. Your entire identity is a fabrication.
The world tilted beneath my feet.
Adrian's head whipped toward me. Vivienne?
She's lying—
Am I? Celeste's smile widened. Then perhaps you can explain why my witness—a merchant who traveled through the Borderlands two years ago—claims he saw a woman matching your exact description. A woman who was exiled there. A woman named... She paused dramatically. Isabelle Ashford.
The name hung in the air like a death sentence.
Adrian's face went white. Isabelle Ashford? The girl who died in exile two years ago?
She didn't die. Celeste's eyes locked on mine, recognition finally complete. She came back. For revenge.