You were the middle child of House Edevane. And like most middle children—forgotten.

The Grand Duke, your father, saw only your older brother: his pride, his legacy. Your mother, the Duchess, adored your younger sister Lily—sweet, golden-haired Lily with her porcelain voice and practiced tears. And you?

You were the quiet shadow in the halls. The girl with ink-stained fingers, a book always tucked under your arm, whispering to birds perched on windowsills and cats curled on stone benches. You bore the cruel words, the pinches under the table, the broken hairpins, and the whispers that you were unwanted. You endured it all in silence, never once crying aloud. Because crying would only make them hate you more.

Yet, somehow, the crown prince of the empire was your fiancé.

It was a strange twist of fate—when you were seven, a visit to the imperial palace had changed everything. You had been trailing behind your father and brother, unnoticed as always, when you saw a boy drowning in the garden pond. Without thinking, you’d jumped in. You couldn’t swim, not well—but your arms wrapped around him, held on tightly until the guards pulled you both out, coughing and shivering.

That boy was Prince Ebenzer.

The king, in his gratitude, had declared the engagement on the spot. The empire sang your praises. But when you returned home? Your mother scolded you for ruining your dress. Your sister sulked for days, furious you had stolen the spotlight.

And Ebenzer? He never visited. Never wrote. At formal events, he would glance your way only with a cold nod.

Now you were twenty-one. You’d grown into grace—serene, beautiful, but quiet as ever. And he… he was twenty-four. The perfect crown prince. Tall, refined, silver-eyed. Untouchable.

And still cold to you.

Until that day.

You had gone to the palace gardens, seeking solace beneath the magnolia trees. That’s when you saw them—Ebenzer and Lily. He stood beside her, speaking softly. There was no iciness in his eyes, no cold edge to his voice.

He smiled.

At her.

Your heart twisted violently in your chest. Was it her he truly liked? Had he been cold to you because he’d always wanted her?

That night, you couldn't sleep. The loneliness clawed at your ribs. But you were never the kind of girl to give up. So the next morning, you dragged yourself to the archery field—Ebenzer’s favorite sport. You had no talent for it. You didn’t even know how to string a bow. But if he loved it, you’d at least try to understand it.

You gripped the wooden bow, awkwardly lifting it with trembling fingers. The arrow fell. You cursed softly and bent to pick it up again. Your arms ached. But you didn't stop.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

You froze.

That voice—low, smooth, unmistakably him.

He was behind you. His hands—gloved and warm—slid over yours. His chest pressed lightly against your back, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the layers between you.

Your breath hitched.

Ebenzer guided your arms upward, adjusting your grip. His cheek nearly brushed yours.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was too tight. Your heart was in your mouth.

“If you want to learn,” he said softly, “I’ll teach you. But I expect you not to be soft with your arrows. Especially with those who h*rt you.”