Chapter 2
1046 Words
Josephine's brow furrowed slightly.
Ever since Alistair had been named Crown Prince, few dared to look at her with such insolence, let alone address him so casually by name.
Yet there he stood, the Crown Prince in all his majesty, making no move to intervene.
"Clarice comes from another world," Alistair explained with a dismissive wave. "She has wild ideas and a mouth that does not know restraint. But she will be useful for my ambitions. Do not let it bother you, Josephine."
Her lips curved into a smile, thin and humorless.
When they were finally alone, she bit back a warning, then failed to hold it in.
"How did Your Highness meet her? We should verify her claims. Please be careful before she stabs you in the back."
What she meant as concern, he took for jealousy.
"Josephine," he sighed, heavy disappointment in his voice, "I expected better from you. Clarice is just an advisor. Do not bring this up again."
Her nails dug into her palms. 'He knows boundaries,' she told herself.
At first, Clarice simply spun bizarre tales that left the court spellbound.
Then came her so-called reforms, with Josephine as her first target.
Alistair had initially protested.
"Josephine is my future consort. What is wrong with her having privileges?"
But soon he was laughing at her jokes, indulging her whims, his gaze growing warmer each day.
Josephine was not blind. Whatever this was between them, it was not just advice anymore.
And then came the final betrayal.
He had tossed her life aside like dice on Clarice's say-so.
Now Josephine lay motionless on her bed, lost to the world for who knew how long.
When she finally stirred, the royal physician mopped his sweating forehead.
"Thank heaven. Any longer and the Crown Prince would have had my head."
Her lips were bloodless. Though awake, her limbs felt leaden, her breath shallow, like a corpse dragged back to life.
Strangely, she felt a flicker of surprise.
'So he still cares whether I live.'
But when she asked, "Where is His Highness now?" the servants avoided her eyes, their answers stumbling.
Once, he would have been at her bedside for a mere headache.
She did not need their excuses. Her fingers curled into the sheets. She understood.
Beyond the walls, winter's fury raged, snowflakes biting like tiny teeth.
Cold clawed at her skin as consciousness returned, the room's warmth stolen away.
She called softly for more coals for the fire, only to hear a servant murmur in response,
"Lady Clarice deemed the fire in your chamber too extravagant. She has had it removed."
She turned her head slightly, her voice barely a whisper.
"Did His Highness approve this?"
Once, he would personally oversee every detail concerning her. When she urged him not to trouble himself, he had insisted, "If I cannot even care for you properly, how can I govern this kingdom?"
Newly empowered back then, he had declared to all, "No one is to slight Josephine."
When the servant remained silent, Josephine summoned her waning strength and staggered out, searching for him.
She found them in the kitchen. The hearth blazed warmly as he sat shoulder to shoulder with Clarice, sharing a strange brew called spiced coffee.
Clarice held a spoon to his lips, and he accepted it with a tender smile.
His smile vanished the instant he saw Josephine. His brow darkened with irritation.
"You should be resting. What is this unseemly wandering about?"
Josephine did not confront him. Instead, she forced a frail smile.
"My room is too cold to bear. I heard you permitted Lady Clarice to remove the fire. I came to plead for mercy."
A flicker of guilt crossed Alistair's face, but Clarice interjected cheerfully.
"Such a simpler life strengthens the constitution. Once she grows accustomed, the cold will not trouble her, and she will fall ill less often."
Turning to him, she added, "Did you not just save a guard with that miracle remedy? The whole household praises your kindness. My method benefits everyone."
After a weighted silence, Alistair rested a hand on Josephine's shoulder.
"Clarice speaks sense. This is for your own good. Go back now."
Josephine laughed suddenly, staring at the man who had once treasured her like a jewel. She could not believe such cruelty came from his lips.
Cold had not always been her enemy.
Years ago, when Alistair lay ill during his exile, with no medicine or physician, she had begged for remedies in vain.
Desperate, she threw herself before a nobleman's carriage. The man had looked down with disdain.
"What a loyal servant."
Gesturing to a pond crusted with ice, he had sneered, "Jump in, and the medicine is yours."
She had lingered in the icy water until her mind nearly deserted her, emerging with a body forever haunted by cold.
Back then, Alistair would shiver in the cold himself, yet without hesitation he would wrap her in his only heavy cloak, shielding her from the biting wind.
Now, everything had changed.
Tears slipped soundlessly down her cheeks as she whispered,
"Your Highness, is this really what you want?"
The man before her seemed to have forgotten their shared past entirely, his voice laced with irritation.
"Yes. You came from servant stock. When did you become so fragile? Others endure without complaint. Why must you be the exception? Or are you challenging Clarice's authority?"
An icy gust tore through the courtyard. Josephine staggered, her legs nearly giving way.
She doubled over coughing violently, and when she pulled the handkerchief away, it was stained with bright red blood.
She did not argue. Turning on her heel, she walked away.
The walk back felt endless, each step heavier than the last as she trod upon the shattered remains of their memories.
Once, he had raged at any mention of his mother's lowly origins. Now he turned that same insult against her without remorse.
Yet she had never been a mere maid.
No ordinary servant could have schemed and maneuvered to win the King's favor for him at every turn.
It had all been about repaying a debt, nothing more.
The six-month mark was nearly upon them. If he still denied her the position of rightful consort, she would walk away without looking back.
- Writer
