There was something stuck in her throat. She wanted to puke but knew that she couldn’t, not yet at least. She looked around, not quite capable of recognizing any of the many faces around her as her vision was quickly blurring.

  How could this have happened to her?

  She hadn’t done anything wrong. Every single thing coming out of his mouth was a lie. She hadn’t attempted to poison anyone, she had never written a threatening letter, she was completely incapable of bullying another person, much less someone of lower status, she would never, under any circumstance collaborate with enemy agents to try to kill him. The prince was lying, in front of the whole court.

  “And thus, Lady Rose Wynthart, not only must I break our arranged union, but, under the authority that has been given to me as Regent of the Realm, hereby find you guilty of Treason. Do you have anything to say?”

  Rose tried to lock eyes with him. She had been educated for two decades now in how a proper lady of her station is meant to carry herself. With her head held high, looking at everyone in the eye, being the main voice in the room.

  But she couldn’t.

  Her eyes were watering, every part of her body was in pain. When she finally spoke, her voice was broken, quiet, hard to understand.

  “Your highness… I… I have not done any of that of which you accuse me.”

  “You declare yourself innocent, then?”

  “If this… if this was a trial I would.”

  Rose walked up to him. A few guards came in to stop her, but he gestured and the stood back. Her whole body was trembling, she barely registered the girl standing right behind him, peeking her head from behind his shoulders.

  “Why?” She whispered, tears now falling on the marbled floor of the royal palace’s grandest ballroom. “Why are you lying?”

  She couldn’t held her head high, she couldn’t look to his face. She was in so much pain. The only thing in her mind, at the moment, was her mother, back at their estate in the province, far away. What was she doing in this moment? Rose pictured her like she was just a few weeks earlier when she saw her for the last time; covered in her thick shawl, making new socks for her little sister.

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  “Lady Wynthart. Due to the Crown’s respect for your House, and the memory of your honorable father, your punishment will be decided in time. You have until the dawn of the day after tomorrow…” The clock chimed twelve, right at that instant. “Thirty hours, that is, to leave the capital and go home. Is that clear?”

  She nodded, almost automatically. One of the servants of the royal palace came to her side, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder, and walked her out of the hall. The moment she was outside, out of prying eyes, she couldn’t contain it and finally puked.

  Her pain fell on the floor in a liquid that was mostly saliva. She hadn’t eaten anything just yet.

  “Lady Wynthart? Lady Wynthart!”

  A soft voice was on her side. She turned left, her mouth still agape, to a plain brown-haired girl in one of the maid uniforms of the palace. Her brow was furrowed, one of her hands still on her shoulder as another massaged her back.

  “Lady Wynthart… May I call your servant?”

  Her servant? Yes, her trusty… Wait, no, he wasn’t here. Bruno was home, at the castle. She looked down. Her head hurt, her throat was on fire, her legs were trembling and she could hardly breathe.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I mean, you… You can’t call anyone. I… I didn’t bring anyone.”

  The maid scoffed, a small smile in her face, both of jest and of what feels like an attempt at reassurance. “But milady, surely you have at least brought someone to drive your carriage. I will go call him, sit here in this chair and do not worry, Beatrice knows what your coat of arms looks like, I will be back in a pinch.”

  Rose shook her head. “I came in a royal carriage, as His Highness’ fiancee.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  The two words from the maid were enough, as Rose was pulled back into reality, into the full dimension of what had happened. For only the briefest moment, as her mind struggled to see the sheer scale of what had happened. Everything was foggy and every single blink felt like she might not open her eyes again.

  She only recovered use of her senses upon arriving at the townhouse she had been living in every time she came to the capital.

  A handsome building, white and perfectly symmetrical. Located at the center of a long tree-lined avenue that shot just beyond the exterior walls of the royal palace, and led to the various estates and palaces of the nobles who could afford to move from the provinces to the capital.

  Rose remembers having apologized for the stain on the floor, the maid stating that it didn’t matter.

  She remembers going down the grand staircase and contemplating just throwing herself from it. She remembers the two guards at the gate, seeing her face and immediately cutting her and asking if she’s alright.

  She remembers the long walk by foot until finally entering inside the house’s foyer.

  She has never quite experienced it before, but this must be what despair feels like.