Married to my enemy

Four: Empty chair

Lina’s pov

The invitation arrived at breakfast.

It was written on thick cream-colored paper, sealed with the royal crest, and placed beside my untouched tea as though it were something precious.

I stared at it for several seconds before opening it.

The Queen was hosting a luncheon for the noblewomen of the court.

Attendance was expected.

I laughed quietly.

My maid, Mara, looked up from where she stood near the window.

“Your Highness?”

“Nothing.”

I folded the invitation and placed it back on the table.

For three years, I had attended every event I was expected to attend.

Every luncheon.

Every ball.

Every tedious afternoon where noblewomen smiled at me before whispering about me the moment I turned away.

I had worn beautiful dresses and listened patiently while they spoke about Elena’s kindness.

I had smiled when they compared us.

I had pretended not to notice when conversations stopped the moment I entered a room.

I had done everything a princess was supposed to do.

And what had it earned me?

An empty marriage.

A husband who believed the worst of me.

A kingdom that had already decided I was a villain.

“Tell them I won’t be attending.”

Mara stared at me.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The luncheon.”

“But, Your Highness, the Queen—”

“Will survive without me.”

Mara’s mouth opened and closed.

I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

“Should I say you’re ill?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

Her eyes widened.

“No?”

“Tell them the truth.”

Mara hesitated. “And what would that be?”

I lifted my teacup.

“That I don’t wish to attend.”

The poor girl looked as though she wanted to pray for me.

I couldn’t blame her.

In this palace, honesty was more dangerous than rebellion.

⸻

By noon, everyone knew.

I discovered this when I passed two ladies-in-waiting in the corridor and they immediately fell silent.

One of them looked at me with poorly hidden horror.

The other curtsied so quickly that she nearly dropped the basket in her hands.

I continued walking.

Behind me, the whispers began.

“She refused the Queen’s invitation.”

“How arrogant.”

“Perhaps she’s finally lost her mind.”

I smiled faintly.

Yesterday, I had been cruel.

Today, I was unstable.

I wondered what I would be tomorrow.

The possibilities were endless.

I spent the afternoon in the library instead.

It was quiet there.

The books did not care whether I smiled at them. They did not expect me to pretend to be grateful for their insults.

I had just settled beside the window with a book when the doors opened.

I didn’t look up.

“If you’re here to tell me I’ve offended someone, please leave a written complaint.”

Silence.

Then a familiar voice said, “You’re becoming impossible.”

I looked up.

Megan stood in the doorway.

For some reason, I wasn’t surprised.

“How unfortunate for you.”

His jaw tightened.

“The Queen asked where you were.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“That sounds like a terrible problem.”

“Lina.”

I closed my book.

“What do you want, Megan?”

He walked farther into the library.

“You embarrassed my mother.”

I stared at him.

Then I laughed.

“You’ve spent three years embarrassing me in public, and I never realized I was expected to keep count.”

His expression darkened.

“This isn’t about us.”

“Everything in this palace is about appearances.”

I stood from my chair.

“The Queen invited me to sit in a room with women who despise me and smile while they discuss how wonderful Elena is. Forgive me for deciding I had better things to do.”

“You have responsibilities.”

“So do you.”

His eyes narrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

I picked up my book and moved around him.

He caught my arm.

The movement was familiar enough to make my stomach twist.

“Lina, stop.”

I looked down at his hand.

Then at him.

Slowly, he let go.

Something shifted across his face.

Regret, perhaps.

But it vanished before I could be sure.

“You’re acting like a child,” he said.

That hurt.

Not because his opinion mattered as much as it once had.

But because I had spent years acting like an adult while everyone around me behaved cruelly—and somehow, I was still the one blamed for the damage.

“Maybe I am,” I said quietly.

Megan seemed surprised by my agreement.

“But I’m tired of being punished for refusing to enjoy my own humiliation.”

The library became silent.

His expression changed slightly.

Not softer.

Just uncertain.

For a moment, I thought he might understand.

Then the doors opened again.

“Your Highness!”

Elena hurried inside.

Her eyes immediately found Megan.

Then me.

“Oh.” Her voice softened. “I didn’t realize you were both here.”

“Clearly,” I murmured.

Elena ignored me.

“The Queen is asking for you, Megan.”

He nodded.

Then looked at me.

“You should come.”

“No.”

“Lina—”

“I said no.”

Elena’s face filled with concern.

“Perhaps she isn’t feeling well. She’s seemed so different lately.”

I looked at her.

There it was again.

That perfect concern.

The beginning of another story.

Another lie.

“Don’t worry, Elena,” I said pleasantly. “I’m feeling better than I have in years.”

Her smile faltered.

Only slightly.

Megan noticed.

Of course he did.

His attention was always sharpest when Elena was involved.

“Enough,” he said.

I blinked.

“Enough?”

“Stop speaking to her that way.”

A familiar ache pressed against my chest.

But it didn’t grow.

It didn’t consume me.

For once, I simply accepted it for what it was.

Megan would always defend Elena.

And I was finally learning that I didn’t need him to defend me.

I stepped around them.

“Enjoy the luncheon.”

“Lina.”

I paused at the door.

Megan’s voice was colder now.

“If you continue behaving like this, people will talk.”

I looked back over my shoulder.

A laugh escaped me.

“They already do.”

Then I left.

⸻

That evening, I sat alone on the balcony outside my chambers.

The palace glowed beneath the setting sun, beautiful and distant.

Somewhere below, people were still talking about me.

I knew it.

The princess who had insulted the Queen.

The unstable wife.

The arrogant woman who believed herself above tradition.

They could call me whatever they wanted.

For years, I had tried to become small enough to fit inside their expectations.

I had smiled until my cheeks hurt.

I had swallowed every insult.

I had endured every humiliation because I believed that eventually, someone would notice how hard I was trying.

No one had.

So I would stop trying.

Not to become cruel.

Not to punish them.

But because I deserved at least one place in this world where I didn’t have to perform.

And if that made me the villain in their story—

Then they were welcome to tell it without me.

For the first time, I had left an empty chair behind.

And somehow, it felt like freedom.