The scent of buttered scones and freshly steeped tea did nothing to mask the rot in the air. In fact, the scones made it worse—now, betrayal smelled like breakfast.

I sat stiffly at the grand mahogany dining table, my hands folded neatly in my lap, my mind replaying the night before like a cruel performance on an endless loop.

Brynda. Lorran. The sheets tangled like a poorly wrapped gift no one asked for. And that perfume—the one she stole from me—hanging in the air like fragranced guilt.

Across from me, Brynda sat with perfect posture, her golden curls arranged immaculately as if nothing had changed. She reached for her teacup, moving with delicate grace as if she hadn’t torn my world apart.

Beside her, my parents sat in uneasy silence. My father cleared his throat, breaking the stillness.

"Cassandra, this situation is… regrettable."

Regrettable.

I turned my gaze to him, but he didn’t look at me. Instead, he traced the rim of his teacup as if the conversation bored him.

“You understand why we’re disappointed in you,” he continued.

Oh yes, the classic “we’re not mad, just disappointed”—followed by being mad anyway.

I blinked slowly. “Disappointed.”

My mother sighed, setting her napkin down with careful precision. “Lorran was a fine match. A future marquess. Now…” She exhaled sharply. “Now we could be ruined.”

Something inside me went very still.

“Ruined?” I repeated. “Because my fiancé—” the word tasted foul, “—chose to cheat on me?”

Across the table, Brynda offered the kind of pitying smile one might reserve for a stray dog—right before kicking it—then lowered her lashes in false humility.

“Oh, Cassie,” she murmured, shaking her head as if I were a foolish child. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

I stiffened.

“I told them everything,” she continued, her voice feather-soft. “How distant you were with Lorran. How you never—” she hesitated, just long enough for my mother’s lips to purse, “—let him love you properly. He was heartbroken, Cassandra. I couldn’t bear to see him suffer.”

I stared at her.

It was masterful.

Not an outright accusation but a gentle shift of blame. Not her fault. Not Lorran’s fault. Mine.

I had played this game with her before, but I now realized I’d been playing checkers while she played blood-soaked chess.

Not today.

I leaned forward slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me, cousin,” I murmured, letting my lips curl into the ghost of a smile. “Did you also accidentally spill boiling water on me when we were children?”

The color drained from her face.

It lasted only a second before she composed herself, tilting her head. “Cassandra, I was seven. It was an accident.”

Right. And I was born yesterday, with a crown and no memory of her hiding her laugh while I screamed.

My father rubbed his temples. “Lorran’s father is furious over the broken engagement,” he said. “You know what Marquess Norville is like when he feels he or his son has been slighted in any way. He is not a man to anger.”

Ah. There it was.

Brynda sighed delicately. “I swear, I never meant for this to happen. And I certainly never thought Cassandra would up and end their engagement.”

“If an engagement is all you care about,” I snapped. “Then why doesn’t Brynda marry him? They’ve already skipped to the wedding night. May as well do the rest in order.”

My father stiffened. “I doubt the Norvilles would allow Lord Norville to marry someone without a title.”

Brynda’s face fell, but I’d seen better acting at a country fair puppet show.

She placed a hand over my mother’s. “But I love him. I love him, Aunt. Shouldn’t that matter?”

My mother covered Brynda’s hand with her own.

And that was it.

No matter what I said, no matter how loudly I shouted, they had already made their choice.

Not me.

Her.

I exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling over me. Then I stood.

My father’s brows lifted. "Where are you going?"

I smoothed out my dress, my hands steady. "To the Percival estate."

“You can’t just—” my mother began.

“I can.”

At least there, betrayal wasn’t served with tea and scones.

And with that, I turned and walked away.

Not one of them called my name or even tried to show they cared.

Because they didn’t care.

The Percival Estate

Entering the estate was such a stark contrast to the lifeless walls of my home. It wasn’t the lush gardens framing the entrance or the warm lantern light that glowed behind the windows.

It was the absence of glowering frowns and critical eyes.

A butler didn’t greet me at the door. Instead, Penelope Percival, my childhood friend, stood in the open doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

She didn’t rush to embrace me or offer words of sympathy.

Instead, she held up my note like it personally offended her and wagged it at me. “Say it. Out loud.”

I tried to manage a weak smile but most likely pulled off a slightly crazed grimace instead. “You were right. The sky is blue. Brynda is evil. I was wrong.”

Penelope sighed, stepping aside. “You’re staying here. For good.” It wasn’t a question.

“If you’ll have me.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” she said softly. “You know my parents would let you live here forever if you let them keep you.”

“They still talk about adopting you,” she added. “Mostly to try to get one of my brothers to marry you, but still, they do love you.”

Her staff rushed forward, eager to please.

They prepared a guest room without a second thought, and their actions showed how keen they were on making me comfortable—they offered warm drinks, delicious cakes, and books to read.

Penelope found me after my room was settled.

“You get the good guest room,” she said, linking her arm with mine. “The one my mother pretends she doesn’t favor.”

I smiled to show my gratitude, but my heart wasn’t there. I felt too torn up inside.

“Come on,” she added, leading me toward the sitting room. “All those years fighting with Brynda, and still I couldn’t protect you,” she muttered, frustration laced with affection.

“There’s not much you could have done,” I muttered. “Lorran had just as much of a hand in this as Brynda did.”

“Next time I see her, I’m hexing her hair. Nothing dramatic—just a slow frizz that starts at the crown.”

That night, for the first time since this nightmare began, I allowed myself to grieve.

Not in sobs.

Not in wails.

But in silence.

I lay in the lavish guest chamber, staring at the ceiling, my hands fisting the sheets.

Lorran had betrayed me.

My family had abandoned me.

And Brynda had won.

For now.

But I would remember.

And one day, they would regret it.

A Storm Brewing

I had expected the fallout to settle. It did not.

Three days into my stay at the Percival estate, Penelope’s steward knocked on my door, his expression grim. “A courier arrived, my lady,” he said, handing me a letter.

It was sealed in red wax, the Inglerad crest pressed into it.

For some reason, my intuition told me this was no ordinary message. A chill ran through me.

I broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, my eyes scanning the words—

And everything inside me froze.

Cassandra,

We have received word of your alleged conspiracy against the Crown. Please face disgrace with dignity. Try not to embarrass us more than you already have.

~ Baron Inglerad

I shuddered. Baron Inglerad. He didn’t even have the decency to sign his message “father.”

The ink blurred as my pulse pounded in my ears.

The air vanished from my lungs.

“Cassandra?” Penelope’s voice was tense. Concerned.

I lifted my head slowly, my fingers tightening around the letter.

“They’re coming for me.”

At that moment, I knew the fissure that had been created by Brynda seducing Lorran had now turned into multiple cracks.

The trap was sprung.