The Prince’s Fiancée
1087 Words
Lily forced herself to smile.
Not the proud, practiced smirk Lady Elara was known for.
Just something polite. Measured.
“I only thought a quieter morning suited the weather, Your Highness.”
For a heartbeat, Adrian said nothing.
His emerald eyes stayed fixed on her, unreadable beneath the sunlight spilling through the corridor windows. Up close, he carried the kind of presence that made the entire hall seem smaller—calm, regal, and far too observant.
Then, to Lily’s surprise, the corner of his mouth curved faintly.
“A quieter morning?” he repeated. “That is unlike the Lady Elara I know.”
A warning.
Or perhaps a test.
Lily kept her expression smooth even as panic flared inside her chest.
Of course he would notice. In the novel, Elara had spent years demanding his attention, arranging lavish teas and extravagant gifts, always trying to remind the court she was his future bride.
Lily had done the exact opposite in a single morning.
“I suppose people can change,” she said lightly.
Adrian’s gaze sharpened.
“Can they?”
The question lingered between them like the edge of a blade.
Before Lily could answer, the servant beside them bowed and gestured toward the garden terrace where the tea had been arranged.
Crystal cups glittered in the sun. Fresh roses climbed white stone pillars, their petals drifting in the breeze. Beyond the terrace, the Valemont gardens stretched into a sea of violet and silver blooms.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
This was where the first c***k in Elara’s relationship with Adrian had originally formed.
In the novel, she had spent the entire tea accusing him of neglect, demanding reassurance, and insulting the “lowborn girl” newly accepted into the royal academy.
Lily sat gracefully, folding her hands in her lap.
Not this time.
A maid poured tea into delicate porcelain cups.
Adrian watched her over the rim of his own. “You are unusually calm.”
Lily nearly laughed from nerves.
If only he knew.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said carefully, choosing each word like stepping stones over a river. “Perhaps I have been too… demanding.”
The prince’s hand paused.
In the original story, those words would never have left Elara’s lips.
His gaze settled on her, thoughtful now rather than suspicious.
“That is a surprising admission.”
“I prefer honesty.”
A dangerous half-truth.
Adrian leaned back slightly in his chair. “Then be honest with me, Lady Elara. Why this sudden change?”
Lily’s pulse thundered.
Because I died.
Because I know exactly how this engagement destroys us both.
Because your future belongs to someone else.
Instead, she lowered her eyes to her tea.
“I realized fear can make people act foolishly.”
His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in those emerald depths.
“Fear of what?”
Losing everything.
Being abandoned again.
Repeating another life’s mistakes.
But Lily only offered a small smile. “The future.”
For the first time, Adrian’s gaze softened.
It was subtle—so slight most people might miss it—but Lily noticed.
Perhaps because she knew the prince in the novel had always been lonelier than he appeared.
“The future is uncertain for everyone,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone made the words feel personal.
Before Lily could respond, a sudden pulse of cold brushed against her fingertips.
She stiffened.
The blue rose pinned at her waist—chosen by the maids to match her gown—had begun to glow faintly.
A thread of icy blue light curled around her wrist like mist.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed instantly.
“That flower,” he said.
Lily looked down.
The glow vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Her stomach twisted.
Blue rose magic.
The Valemont bloodline’s so-called curse.
In the original story, Elara wouldn’t awaken this power until much later, after the heroine entered the academy.
Why now?
“Just a trick of the sunlight,” Lily said quickly.
Adrian did not look convinced.
His gaze lingered on the rose before shifting back to her face.
“You truly are different.”
This time, the words carried less suspicion.
And something far more dangerous.
Interest.
Lily’s heart sank.
This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid.
The safest path was distance. Politeness. Enough civility to end the engagement peacefully later.
But if Adrian became curious now, he might begin paying attention to her in ways the original story never intended.
A butterfly effect.
One wrong step and the entire plot could twist into something worse.
She set down her teacup.
“Your Highness, I was thinking it may be best if we spend less time worrying about appearances.”
His brow lifted. “Appearances?”
“Our engagement,” Lily said, forcing the words out evenly. “There is no need to perform affection where there is none.”
Silence.
Even the breeze seemed to still.
Adrian stared at her.
In the novel, Elara’s obsession with the engagement had been suffocating.
To hear her speak so coldly of it now was almost unthinkable.
For one terrifying second, Lily wondered if she had gone too far.
Then Adrian stood.
Slowly.
Gracefully.
He stepped around the table until he stood beside her chair.
Lily looked up, caught off guard by how close he suddenly was.
His gloved fingers lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his eyes.
Emerald met violet.
Sharp. Searching.
“And what,” Adrian said softly, “makes you so certain there is none?”
Lily forgot how to breathe.
This was wrong.
This was not how this scene was supposed to go.
The prince was supposed to grow colder toward Elara.
More distant.
Not this.
Not him standing close enough for her to feel the warmth of his presence.
Not his voice dropping into something dangerously intimate.
His thumb brushed lightly beneath her chin before he stepped back.
A small movement.
But enough to send her thoughts into chaos.
Adrian’s expression returned to calm, though his eyes gleamed with something almost amused.
“I look forward to our next tea, Lady Elara.”
Then he turned and walked away, black-and-gold coat swaying behind him like a shadow.
Lily remained frozen in her chair long after he disappeared down the garden path.
Her pulse refused to settle.
This was bad.
Very bad.
She had tried to avoid the prince.
Instead, she had made him curious.
And curiosity, in stories like this, was always where love began.
- Writer
