Lila
The garden blurred.
I stood rooted in place as the crowd surged like a rising tide, too many voices at once, crashing into each other, demanding answers I couldn’t give. My name—my real name—ripped through the air like a curse.
Lila.
Someone repeated it. Then another.
“Who is she really?”
“Elena Ashford was supposed to be—”
“Did the King know?”
I couldn’t move.
The stone tiles beneath my feet might as well have cracked open. I felt like I was sinking into them, body too heavy, breath too shallow. My hands clenched at my sides, fingers shaking.
I wasn’t dressed for war. I was dressed for a quiet, polite ceremony. The green dress clung to me, suddenly too tight, too visible. Like my skin wasn’t mine anymore.
Isabella stood near the center of it all, calm and radiant. A pe
