Chapter 8
637 Words
Josephine stood rooted to the spot, forcing a brittle smile as she accepted the gift. But Alistair, who had been all tenderness moments ago, had already slid seamlessly to Clarice's side.
"What brings you here?" he murmured, warmth dripping from his words. "And with such thoughtful gifts?"
Clarice thumped his chest with a playful smack, her voice syrup sweet.
"Did you think I would let you handle this mess alone? If household drama blows up, it is your reign that will crumble."
He chuckled, the indulgence in his eyes louder than any words.
Their intimacy seared Josephine's vision like acid.
The lanterns blazed as brightly as ever along the bustling street, yet as the three walked, one silhouette gradually dissolved into the gloom, forgotten.
At the archery stall, Alistair turned to Josephine.
"Which prize catches your eye?"
Before she could speak, Clarice yanked his sleeve.
"Give me that bunny lantern."
During the lantern riddle contest, Clarice solved puzzle after puzzle, drawing Alistair's admiring gaze.
"Clarice, your mind moves like quicksilver."
Josephine slipped away from the feast unnoticed, while their laughter chased her back to the palace.
Alone in her chambers, she coolly examined the stashed oil and kindling.
If this farce of a wedding was inevitable, she would turn the bridal chamber into a pyre of her rebirth—a staged exit worthy of legend.
The ceremony arrived in the blink of an eye.
Amid hollow congratulations, gossip slithered between the wine glasses.
"Six months ago, the Crown Prince begged the King to wed that maid. Now look at him, parading another bride."
"No heart colder than a prince's."
In the bridal suite, Josephine adjusted Clarice's headpiece until the girl dumped boiling coffee over her fingers with a smirk.
"Does it burn?" she purred. "Good. Tonight, His Highness warms my bed while you play handmaid. Enjoy the show."
Josephine flicked the scalding drops away, then cracked her palm across Clarice's cheek.
"I tolerated you out of courtesy, not fear," she growled, her voice like winter steel. "You bit the hand that fed you. Do not cry when it bites back."
Why feign patience when freedom waited at dawn?
The door exploded inward. Alistair charged through, his wedding robes a bloody ripple of silk. Seeing the mark on Clarice's face, he hurled Josephine aside.
"You dare strike her on our wedding day? Is this how you honor the law—or your future King?"
Josephine's lower back slammed violently against the beam, a trickle of blood seeping from her temple. Yet she let out a low, mocking laugh.
"What punishment does His Highness have in mind for me? Perhaps making me kneel outside?"
Alistair froze, but Clarice was already covering her face, putting on a tearful performance.
"If I had known it would be like this, I never would have married you just to keep up appearances. Now I have made Madam Josephine resent me for nothing."
Those words lit Alistair's temper like a match to kindling.
"Out. To the storeroom. Three days without food or water."
Josephine turned on her heel and left, silent as a shadow.
In the main hall, the wedding ceremony had just concluded when flames erupted in the courtyard, licking hungrily at the night sky.
Amid the chaos, Alistair's thoughts snapped to Josephine, still trapped in the storeroom. He whirled around, only for Clarice to clutch his sleeve desperately.
"Please, Your Highness, stay. I have sent help. Josephine will be alright."
A thought struck him. Josephine had survived hell with him. Clarice was delicate.
Without another thought, he scooped Clarice up and bolted through the flames.
Meanwhile, inside the storeroom, Josephine swiftly positioned a charred corpse in the pre-planned spot before slipping out the window.
Perched atop the palace wall, she drank in the sight of the inferno one final time.
"Farewell, Alistair."
- Writer
