Chapter 3
I met his gaze calmly as Gideon stormed toward me, his face dark with anger.
“Isolde,” he seethed, “you clearly promised to give the wedding gown to Lenora. So why did the master embroiderer say you commissioned another for yourself? Do you mean to wed on the selfsame day, to cast your shadow upon her bridal
hour?”
Ah, so his fury was for his new darling, Lenora.
I lifted my eyes and saw Lenora standing behind him, her eyes red-rimmed.
“Lady Isolde,” she said in a trembling voice, “if you dislike me, you need only say so. Why make things difficult for Lord Gideon? No man weds a wife and takes a mistress on the same day. What will his friends think? What will the neighbors
say?”
Then, with a dramatic thud, she dropped to her knees. “If only I can stay by Lord Gideon’s side, I care not for status-even as a servant, even nameless, I would be content. I beg you, Lady Isolde, do not torment him any longer!”
Her words were pitiful, each syllable twisting Gideon’s expression darker.
“Isolde,” he growled, “must you be so intolerably petty? What man would ever want a jealous shrew like you?”
The embroidery tower stood in the heart of the bustling district, and their heated exchange quickly drew a crowd. Whispers spread like wildfire.
“This Isolde-if she didn’t want him to take a mistress, she should’ve just refused outright. Playing these games only
brings shame upon all involved.”
“A lord straying among the roses is but nature’s way. For Isolde to show such bitter envy – any house that welcomes her
shall know naught but discord.”
“Mark my words, she’s nearly twenty. With all of Evermere expecting her marriage to the Scholar, if he casts her aside now,
she’ll be lucky to wed a beggar.”
Their laughter and gossip cut like knives, each word carving deeper into my flesh.
Seeing my pallor, Gideon scoffed. “Isolde, it’s not that I lack affection for you. If you behave, you’ll still be my one and only
wife.”
Yet in my past life, he had slaughtered my entire family without hesitation-even the innocent child in my womb.
The sheer absurdity of his condescending mercy nearly made me laugh aloud.
Perhaps my silence lasted too long, for Gideon’s tone softened slightly. “I spoke too harshly. Don’t be stubborn, Isolde. I’ll give you the grandest wedding, and you’ll remain my rightful wife. When both of you are sworn to my bedchamber, neither shall find more favor than the other under my roof.”
His words were laughable.
I remembered how, in my past life, he would spend every Candlemas shut in his chapel, kneeling before the altar through the night. No matter how I pleaded or coaxed, hoping to walk the torchlit procession with him, he would refuse me with a psalm upon his lips.
I had believed it some holy devotion-until my dying day, when the truth was revealed. Those vigils had never been for
God’s glory.
They were intercessions for Lenora’s wellbeing.
There was no such thing as impartiality. The human heart was always, inevitably, skewed,
“I will not marry you,” I said flatly.
Gideon’s face darkened instantly. He stepped closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “Then who will? Have you not heard them? The entire city knows of our betrothal. Who else would dare take you? Isolde, do you truly mean to become the laughingstock of the capital by wedding some beggar? Or do you wish to drive your father to an early grave with shame?”
