The chill in his eyes was so barren and devoid of warmth that it cut through her pride like a blade. Anita’s fingers drifted towards the layers of necklaces around her neck, and she fiddled with them uneasily. However, this only exacerbated the feeling of suffocation, and she soon lowered her hand.

“Even if a couple has yet to share their wedding night, appearing in mismatched attire would surely have caused talk.”

He addressed her as though she were a servant, standing her there like a doll. Although his expression hardly changed, the flat cadence of his voice conveyed reproach nonetheless.

Anita’s breath hitched; her corseted waist made breathing difficult. To her, his words were not a reprimand, but a provocation.

Since that disastrous wedding night, she had not seen Cedric once. Not only had he ignored her, he had also turned away the maids she had sent with timid messages, hoping to repair whatever damage remained. The poor girls had spent hours scurrying through the palace halls, only to be turned away by his attendants without so much as a glance.

And now, after all that, he dared to scold her for not coordinating her outfit with his?

“I sent word… but there was no reply.”

She spoke quietly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to steady it.

Thinking of all the effort her attendants had wasted, Anita could no longer remain silent. Reading the flicker of resentment in her eyes, Cedric crossed one leg over the other and let out a derisive laugh.

“So what? Did you think that not answering meant you could do as you pleased?”

His half-lidded eyes weren’t truly looking at her. The words cut deeper than any blade. A dull ache pressed into her chest, and her fingers twitched, curling and uncurling as if to ease the pain.

“Princess.”

“……”

“This isn’t Callithea. If you were so desperate to get married that you came running across half the continent, you should have known better. Or do you still long for the days when everyone bowed to your every word?”

Anita’s hands trembled. The fear and pain he had inflicted on her that night were etched in her memory, leaving an indelible scar. Now, with that same look on his face and the same cruel glint in his eyes, he was openly and hatefully mocking her again.

“…Forgive me, Your Highness. I only kept using the title you yourself preferred. I beg your understanding.”

The words were soft, almost meek, yet there was steel beneath them. You refuse to recognize me as your wife, and still you expect me to act like one? The unspoken message lingered in her eyes, where for the briefest instant, defiance sparked.

Cedric fixed his sharp, unwavering gaze on her. The air between them froze. Then, as if her resistance amused him, he slowly rose from his chair.

The sound of his footsteps approaching made her tremble harder, but she forced herself to stand up straight, refusing to flinch and give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. He found her efforts almost laughable.

“Is that what you want? To be called my wife?”

He stopped just one step away. A faint smile curled his lips, but it vanished as he spoke a single, cutting word.

“Know your place.”

“……”

“How presumptuous.”

Contempt and hatred emanated from him. Her blood ran cold as she absorbed the words, which struck her so deeply.

Cedric studied her pale face for a moment, then lifted a hand and nudged her chin with his finger to force her to look up. His expression twisted faintly, as though he had touched something unclean.

“I’ll concede to appearances before others, but don’t expect anything more.”

Her heart dropped with a thud, as if plunging into an endless void. It felt as though a hole had opened in her chest and tears welled in her blue eyes.

Through the blur of her vision, she found that she could meet his gaze more easily. Anita bit back the tears threatening to fall, looked at him, and then froze.

There, faint but unmistakable, was a mark that should not have been there at all.

“Why? Does this bother you?”

Cedric immediately met her gaze and withdrew his hand. Although the palace’s finest physicians had concealed most of the bruise with their deceptive artistry, the mark his father had left on his cheek had not completely vanished.

“Thanks to him, I look like this, and you look at me like that?”

The swelling had long since disappeared, and was impossible to notice from a distance. Even up close, it was difficult to spot unless you looked carefully. Yet somehow, Anita had seen it at once: the faint trace of violence.

It was that, rather than the mark itself, that angered Cedric.

Cedric took a step back, his voice laced with mockery.

“Does it disgust you to look at me?”

“Why… why…?”

Her reaction took him by surprise. Instead of shrinking away in fear, she reached towards him. Her eyes were wide, not with terror but concern, and she trembled. The blue of her gaze shimmered with shock and pity, and Cedric faltered for a moment.

Then irritation surged. He frowned sharply and pushed her hand away.

Smack.

A sharp sound cut through the air. Anita staggered and clutched the back of her hand, where a sharp pain was just beginning to develop. Her fingers tightened, trembling from the pain.

“I suppose a mark like this is an unbearable humiliation for a crown prince.”

That quiet, almost broken sentence twisted his chest with something ugly. A heavy, hot fury rose up inside him until he thought it might choke him. He needed somewhere to direct it.

Cedric’s eyes darkened as he stepped forward again, closing the distance between them until their faces were mere inches apart.

“But tell me something, Princess.”

“……”

“You’re just the same.”

“You’re like this bruise: an ugly blemish that shouldn’t be here.”

The thought, once spoken aloud, brought him cruel satisfaction.

He looked down at the trembling woman before him, her breath caught in her throat, her head unable to lift. His lips curled faintly.

“So stay quiet. Not a word—not even a breath. Do you understand?”

The words hung heavily between them, like a curse.

Anita held her breath. Completely.

Only the soft, steady drip of tears broke the silence, falling from her chin to the floor.

He could have offered her a handkerchief — perhaps he should have — but instead, Cedric merely watched. He watched until her sobs dulled into stillness.

When the last tear fell, he continued to gaze at her coolly and wordlessly, as though chastising her for crying at all.

It didn’t take long for Anita to steady herself again. Though still beautiful, her face was completely expressionless, like a pale porcelain doll drained of life.

Bored by the silence, Cedric let out a quiet sigh and bent forward in a playful gesture. Smiling dazzlingly, he extended a hand towards her.

“Good. Seems you understand, shall we go then, Princess?”

··· ✦ ···

The ballroom was like something from a dream.

Dark blue silk draped the windows, and the ceiling sparkled with silver and crystal stars. Countless candles reflected off the polished mirrors, creating a sky filled with scattered constellations. Pale flowers in shades of white and blue covered the hall like drifting clouds. High above, in the centre of the room, hung a great, luminous moon that an inebriated onlooker might well mistake for the real thing.

This was the pinnacle of splendor and the triumph of the Second Prince, Gerard. His artistic renown reached new heights that night. Though outwardly composed, the Empress looked upon her son with faint displeasure, while the Emperor praised him unreservedly for his flawless execution.

Under the dreamy lights, the musicians played soft, ethereal melodies. Couples clasped hands, eyes gleaming like stars, gliding across the floor in perfect rhythm.

It was beautiful — so beautiful, in fact, that some people even said it was perfect.

But that was only skin deep. Beneath the glitter and laughter, there was an undercurrent of unease.

“The Crown Prince hasn’t looked at Her Highness once.”

“Didn’t you see when they entered? The moment they greeted Their Majesties, he dropped her hand as if it burned him.”

“And the dance! Goodness me, I’ve never seen one so mechanical! It’s as if the rumors are true.”

“Oh, surely not! You mean the rumor that His Highness left the princess alone on their wedding night?”

Eyes turned, pretending not to. Every stolen glance found its way to the dais, where Anita stood alone. Some gazes carried sympathy. Others carried amusement.

“Come now, don’t act surprised. Everyone suspected it. Would the Crown Prince of Laxion ever truly desire a woman from Callithea?”

“But she’s so beautiful. Look at her, she’s radiant. Even if they mock her, every man’s gaze is drawn to her.”

Unlike Anita, who stood motionless and alone, Cedric occupied the center of the floor—dancing. For the sixth time that evening, perhaps the seventh. Twice, even, with the Duke of Colbert’s only daughter.

They were newlyweds. And yet the prince who had deserted his bride on their wedding night now danced openly with another woman.

The whispers that had slithered through the hall finally hardened into certainty. The crowd split in two—those loyal to Cedric, the Crown Prince, now mirrored his contempt, their cold, deliberate gazes turning toward the abandoned princess who stood alone beneath the imitation moon.

Those who championed a stronger alliance with Callithea, including the Empress’s faction, several high-ranking clerics, and the Callithean guests who had accompanied Anita to Laxion, could not hide their discontent. To them, the Crown Prince’s behaviour was not only an insult to his bride, but also a public humiliation of Callithea.

Nevertheless, none dared to voice their anger. At the head of the hall, the Emperor and Empress continually drew Anita into gentle conversation, offering her kind words and polite courtesies. Yet everyone knew that these gestures were merely a delicate veil draped over the inequality between their two nations.

“Crown Princess,” the Empress said sweetly, beckoning her over, “these are Larion and Liliana of House Sez. They’re quite dear to me.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

The young woman said this, bowing gracefully. Anita returned the greeting with a polite smile, though she felt her breath catch inside. This was precisely the kind of situation she had dreaded.

With Cedric keeping his distance, the people approaching her were inevitably members of the Empress’s faction — the very people who quietly opposed her husband. The more they gathered around her and laughed and chatted, the deeper the scowls grew among Cedric’s supporters across the hall.

If Anita wanted to consolidate her position, it was clear what she had to do. Cedric should have danced with her at least once or twice and introduced her to his allies. This would have established her firmly in the court.

But he made no such effort.

Instead, he remained at the center of the dance floor, moving with practiced ease while paying no attention to her.

‘Katrine Colbert…’

Anita’s gaze lingered for a moment on the young lady in Cedric’s arms — the Duke of Colbert’s only daughter. She was graceful and radiant, and seemed utterly at ease in his presence. She laughed at something he said; her laughter was as bright as a bell.

Although Anita quickly lowered her eyes, she felt a sharp ache coil beneath her ribs, colder and heavier than any humiliation.