Esme sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the gardens below. A dangerous plan was forming in her mind—bold and perfect. It was her only chance to regain a sliver of control in her life, and her family could hardly afford to punish her, not so close to her wedding. For the first time in ages, Esme felt the thrill of purpose; she finally had a concrete plan. But to pull it off, she needed Maria’s help.

Maria was only allowed in Esme's room twice a day to deliver meals, especially when Esme was confined like this. She only received two meager servings—one in the morning and another at the thin edge between lunch and dinner. But Maria would be back within twenty minutes.

As she waited, Esme reviewed her plan, searching for any weakness. Each detail had to be perfect. She couldn’t afford any mistakes—not this time. She readied herself, her mind running through every possible scenario and backup plan, her heart hammering with anticipation.

Exactly twenty minutes later, a soft knock echoed against the door. “Your Highness, may I come in?” Maria’s gentle voice floated into the room.

So polite, Esme thought with a sigh. Most of the other maids would have barged in, likely throwing her meal on the floor, or worse, eating from it out of spite.

“Yes, come in, Maria,” Esme said, keeping her voice steady. “Leave the food on the table. I need to talk to you.”

As Maria approached, Esme leaned in close, her voice a low whisper. “I need you to do something for me. It’s risky… very risky.”

Maria looked at her with a mix of curiosity and concern but nodded without hesitation. Anytime Esme had an idea, it meant trouble—but Maria had always been loyal.

Esme’s resolve wavered, a sliver of doubt creeping in. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” she murmured, almost to herself. The risk felt heavier now, realizing what this favor could cost Maria.

Maria’s gaze turned determined. “No. It’s brilliant.”

“It could get you in serious trouble,” Esme warned, her voice catching.

“I don’t care. I would do anything for you, Your Highness.” The raw loyalty in Maria’s voice startled Esme, and before she knew it, she pulled Maria into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” Esme whispered, brushing away a tear. Maria had done so much for her, asking nothing in return.

Maria had felt a deep loyalty to Esme ever since witnessing the cruelties inflicted on her. Esme’s mother, Zinera, had once been the Emperor’s cherished mistress. She bore him a son, Esme’s older brother, Prince Alexis, who was currently away on a distant military campaign. Alexis had been Esme’s only true ally—apart from Maria. But Zinera’s favor with the Emperor had evaporated the day she gave birth to Esme. Unlike the rest of her family, blessed with the red fox’s amber eyes, russet hair, and sun-kissed skin, Esme was born with silver hair and sapphire eyes—a “blasphemy” against their lineage.

When the Emperor first looked upon her, he saw not his daughter, but a disgrace. Without hesitation, he ordered Zinera’s execution, accusing her of infidelity. It was only after her death that the Empire’s temple confirmed Esme’s parentage. But the damage was done. Her mother was dead, and her father’s heart twisted with resentment, blaming Esme for Zinera’s downfall. His cruelty was matched only by that of his wife, the Empress, who took every opportunity to remind Esme of her mother’s betrayal.

At the dinner party that evening, the air was thick with unspoken tensions as the Emperor sat at the head of the table. Duke Xolotl’s uncle sat at his right, while the Empress and her children filled the left side. Beside the Duke sat his uncle, Phineas, facing the Crown Prince. The Empress, desperately trying to maintain a strained conversation about the weather, failed to mask the mutual disdain between the families. Each of Damarcus’s words was a veiled insult, his “compliments” barbed and unmistakable.

At last, Phineas glanced at Philia, who had slipped in late. Mistaking her as the Duke’s bride, he commented, “You would make a beautiful wife for my nephew.”

The royal family paused, stunned, before breaking into mocking laughter.

“Oh, she would,” Damarcus sneered. “But not as your nephew’s bride.”

Phineas’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the Emperor, confusion shifting to a glint of suspicion. Did the Emperor intend to break the marriage contract?

The Emperor’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Who says I would nullify the contract?” reading his thoughts.

“Yes, who indeed?” The Empress’s voice dripped with amusement. “My husband is a man of his word.”

“You’re not marrying me,” Philia interrupted, turning towards the Duke, barely containing her smirk. “Your bride is my elder sister, Princess Esmeralda.”

Silence fell as the Duke’s family, blindsided by the revelation, struggled to process the deceit. Of course—Esmeralda, the forgotten, outcast princess. They had been thoroughly outplayed.

Phineas’s fists clenched under the table, his mind racing. They’d been manipulated yet again by the Emperor’s cunning. But the Duke sat in careful silence, his expression unreadable, though he had anticipated every move. He’d even chosen Esme intentionally, signing the contract to seem outmaneuvered by the Emperor, solidifying the royal family’s belief that he was nothing more than a “dumb musclehead.” In truth, he had outfoxed the foxes.

“Your Majesties,” he spoke with forced politeness, “may I meet my bride?”

The Empress smiled with feigned pity. “I’m afraid not. Princess Esmeralda is terribly busy with wedding preparations. It’s custom, after all.”

“But custom also dictates a groom may see his bride,” Phineas argued, seething.

“True,” the Empress said, a sly smile playing on her lips, “but so is the custom for a bride to plan her wedding.”

Resigned, the Duke’s family rose to leave, humiliation edging every step. But just as they turned, the grand doors opened, and a maid announced the arrival of the most stunning woman the Duke had ever seen.

“Your Majesties,” she bowed, silver hair tumbling forward like moonlight, sapphire eyes locking onto the Duke’s in a fearless gaze. Clad in deep blue silk, her presence demanded every gaze in the room.

“I apologize for my tardiness. I only wished to greet my future husband,” she said with a sly smile, turning the court’s silence into something electric.