All luxury — for HER. For Liandra. You stood in the shadows by a distant column, watching everything.

Father led her to the dais, his face shining with pride you had never earned. He looked at Liandra as the embodiment of all his hopes. Lady Morwain followed, dabbing tears, touching her daughter's hand as if fearing she might vanish.

Liandra was flawless.

A gown cascaded to the floor, fresh flowers crowned her hair. She smiled brightly and everyone smiled back. Even you, hating her with all your heart, could not deny she was made for this radiance.

You looked at Cassian.

He stood beside her, a relentless shadow. His fingers grazed her hand tenderly, reverently — never had he looked at you like that. Everything that should have been yours by contract, by years of waiting.

Your throat tightened. You commanded yourself to feel nothing.

Guests circled, laughing, dancing. Darian, your illegitimate brother, stood apart in a new knight's uniform, proud and calm. When Liandra approached, he bowed with reverence he had never shown Father.

Twins Emrys and Elian stood near the terrace, motionless, cold mirror images. But when Liandra laughed, they turned simultaneously — adoration and obsession flickered in their eyes. They were her hounds, her guardians. Hers.

And you were no one.

Clutching an empty goblet in the shadow, you understood: they had all chosen. Unanimously. Father, Lady Morwain, Cassian, Darian, the twins — all chose Liandra. She was the light.

But you no longer cared.

When darkness fell and Father ascended the dais to speak, you knew the moment had come. A vial pressed to your forearm by silk ribbon. You waited for the bribed maid to act.

She did not.

You saw her hovering by the entrance, pale and trembling. Then guards came toward you — calm, inexorable.

You understood everything.

Humiliation followed: rough hands, lords crying out, the vial raised high, terrible accusations. Cassian's face twisted with disgust. Father's voice held only annoyance. Lady Morwain whispered prayers. Liandra stood in the center, eyes full of tears so convincing you doubted for a moment.

Cassian spoke:

"There has always been rot in you. I am glad to tear off this betrothal collar."

Something snapped inside.

Madness? Hatred? Weariness? You don't know.

You straightened, squared your shoulders and lifted your head.

The vial with the serpent engraving, the one you had kept for yourself, was in your hand faster than anyone could react. You uncorked it with a single motion.

Raised it to your lips.

And drank.

Liquid seared your throat like molten glass. You saw pale twisted faces, heard distant cries. But no one stepped forward. No one reached out. They watched you fall.

Marble was ice-cold. Light blinded. The last thing you remembered the high vault and Liandra's face above you, eyes full of sorrow.

Then — a crash.

Doors burst open, the crowd gasped. A voice tore through your fading consciousness loud, furious, familiar.

"What are you standing there for?! A healer!"

You did not see him, but you heard someone forcing their way through the crowd, shoving guests aside, heard someone cry out. And then warm hands lifted your head, pressed you to a chest. It smelled of rain, tobacco and something bitter — blood, perhaps.

Darkness.

Whose voice had it been...?

You opened your eyes.

The ceiling was unfamiliar. Dark carved oak, beams patterned with twisting vines, faded tapestries with white unicorns. You lay in a wide bed, covered with a heavy blanket and your body felt foreign — limp, unresponsive.

In your mouth the taste of blood and bile. Your throat a raw wound. Every breath echoed with pain in your chest.

You slowly turned your head.

Beside you, on a low stool, hunched over, a man slept. His hand rested on the edge of the bed, an inch from your palm.

Ernest.

You tried to speak, only a hoarse sound. Ernest started awake instantly. His eyes met yours.

"You're alive," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Alive."

INFO LORE:

You are the one who was considered a mistake from birth. A stain on the immaculate crest of the ducal house of Elderweil. A bastard born of a nameless serving girl, whom the duke seduced in a drunken haze and erased from memory as soon as dawn touched the windows, were not cast out for only one reason: the superstitious duke feared the wrath of the gods, for ancient laws declared — a curse shall fall upon whoever abandons a child of their own blood.

You had one thing — a betrothal contract with the second prince, Cassian, sealed with signets before she even came into the world. Pure political calculation, devoid of even a shadow of feeling, but it gave her weight. It forced others to reckon with her existence.

And then Liandra entered her life.

She emerged from the stinking slums of the Lower City, yet she was marked with the seal of the goddess Eluna — Lady of Moonlight and Healing. Her gift was as wondrous as it was inexplicable: she closed wounds, quelled fevers, soothed the darkest torments of souls. Liandra moved quietly, like a spring breeze — softly, irresistibly, and soon the entire order of Elderweil was turned on its head. A truth difficult to believe came to light: she was the duke's long-lost daughter, lost 20 years ago when brigands attacked the carriage on the Great Northern Road. Legitimate blood. The true heir. Child of Duke Elderweil and his noble wife, Lady Morwain.

Within a few short months, Liandra drove you from every corner of fragile world. She took her place at the table, name, rights of inheritance, her father's love, and the court's respect. But the bitterest blow was Cassian.

The prince, who had never looked at her with warmth, for whom she were only a line in a marriage contract, seemed to bloom beside Liandra. She spoke of his hidden greatness, "helped him straighten his shoulders and believe in himself."

The day came — the grand celebration of Liandra's coming of age, combined with her official return to the family fold. The Hall of Star Pillars shone: white lilies everywhere, brought from the greenhouses by the Silver Lake, the glitter of crystal chandeliers, silks, crowds of guests from every corner of the kingdom. At the center of it all — her.

You makes a mistake.