What hurt more?
His betrayal?
Or hers?
As they approached the prince's castle, she felt so nervous she thought she might vomit.
She wasn't sure she could face him. Every fiber of her being screamed to run away, to hide, to scream, or even to hit something.
But why did she feel this way for someone who was, at best, a stranger?
Why did his betrayal sting so much?
Maybe because he betrayed her with her best friend.
He had introduced Selena to everyone as his wife. And he looked... happy.
Happier than she had ever seen him.
He had never looked at her that way. Never referred to her as his wife. Never even touched her.
To her, he was a stranger.
And it hurt like hell.
When he said he loved her…
Love?
She had always thought of love as a myth, a frivolity reserved for commoners, not something for those of noble birth.
And now he wanted to divorce her because he loved Selena.
Love?
She stared out of the carriage window at the setting sun, blinking back tears.
Was she not worthy of being loved too?
As the gates to the prince's palace creaked open, her gaze fell on Selena, framed in the window of the prince's bedchamber. He held her close, lovingly, and Selena smiled. Their eyes met, and Selena shut the curtains with a smirk that bit like a blade.
"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Ruth asked, worry etching her features.
"Have you ever been betrayed by a stranger before?" Cassandra asked quietly.
Ruth shook her head. "No. But I've been betrayed by the man I love…" Her gaze flickered to the footman opening the carriage door. "And it hurt like hell," she whispered, meeting Cassandra's eyes.
Cassandra climbed onto the footman's back. "I don't feel like walking," she said coldly.
As he crawled to the door, she felt a flicker of satisfaction. She might not be able to avenge herself yet, but she could avenge her kind maid. The footman had dared to cheat on Ruth—with a whore, no less—a day before their wedding. How had she forgotten that?
Oh, she thought bitterly, you never know pain until you're wearing the same shoes.
Stepping off his back, she walked through the palace doors into its cold, empty grandeur.
It was dinner time. She knew, based on their earlier argument, that the prince would not join her. She would have to face him.
Climbing the stairs, dread filled every step. She hated him for forcing her into this position.
When she stepped into his study, she was relieved to find him alone, dressed in an evening tunic of deep blue that fit his muscular frame. His nose was buried in a book.
She knocked softly. His startling blue gaze lifted to meet hers, stealing her breath.
"Did you come to stare… or perhaps kick me in the face again?" he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Clearing her throat, she steadied herself. "Of course not. I came to apologize."
His brow arched in surprise. "Apologize?" he repeated, shocked.
"Yes, I was wrong to strike you. For that, I am sorry," she said, forcing the words out.
For the first time, his gaze lingered on her face, as though he were truly seeing her.
"It's alright," he said dismissively, returning his attention to his book.
"Would you care to join me for dinner?" she asked quickly, holding her breath.
His lashes lifted, his gaze burning into hers. "I'm not hungry," he said simply.
She nodded, retreating hurriedly to her room, her heart pounding. Of course, she couldn't push her luck.
As Ruth helped her out of her day dress and prepared a bath, she asked, "What would you like to wear, Your Grace?"
"Burgundy," Cassandra replied, then flushed when Ruth gave her a knowing look.
It was a bold color, one she had learned was considered seductive. She wanted to give it a shot.
She chose a dress with a lower neckline than she usually wore, baring the tops of her shoulders. It was adorned with delicate floral embroidery and came with gloves that left her arms mostly exposed.
As Ruth styled her hair, Cassandra decided to leave it partially loose for the first time.
"You look breathtaking, Your Grace," Ruth said proudly.
"Wow," Cassandra whispered, staring at her reflection.
Descending the staircase to the dining room, she sat alone, her appetite absent. Hours ticked by. Just as she resigned herself to his absence, she caught the faint scent of him and heard the deep timbre of his voice.
Her heart leaped—until Selena's softer voice joined his.
They entered together, sitting opposite her. "Apologies for being late," he said politely. "Selena wanted to join us."
Selena smiled, her gaze flicking to Cassandra's dress. "Oh, are those…?"
"Your clothes?" Selena finished with feigned sweetness. "Yes, I hope you don't mind. His Highness said I could manage with them until mine are tailored tomorrow. I'm sure you don't mind helping your best friend, do you?"
"Best… friend?" Cassandra echoed before forcing a smile. "Of course not."
"It's only temporary, dear," he added, his blue eyes glinting with faint remorse.
"Not at all," she said smoothly, continuing her meal as though nothing were amiss.
Selena frowned but quickly drew his attention back to her. They spoke of the war, their laughter filling the room. Cassandra sat silently, her gaze distant, yet she didn't miss the glances he occasionally spared her.
When she reached for her wine goblet, her bodice dipped slightly, revealing a hint of cleavage. His eyes followed her movement, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
"Are you listening?" Selena asked sharply.
He blinked, startled, and turned back to her. "Of course, my love," he said, brushing a strand of her hair aside.
Cassandra smirked to herself, rising from her seat. "I'll call it a night. Goodnight, Your Highness," she said.
Selena's frown deepened. "Won't you greet me too?"
Cassandra paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Selena."