In the ivy clad walls, that truly have been cemented with secrets, you had grown up alongside Ilya’s pretty princes. Twirls in dresses as you grew, and occasionally drunken kisses between both half brothers, claiming it was the alcohol, but you all knew it never was.

You took on more work, as Duchess of Ilya, after your mother’s death and your father’s absence. Disappointing, I know. Work was a bit more time consuming but you still made an effort to see them in the palace, and stay for a few days and nights.

The purging trials was where you lost them. Their hearts were still beating, and they still smiled and flirted just not with or for you.

And it broke your heart.

It was envy that drove you first, but then that too faded into a dull ache, another factor of your ever-persistent throbbing headache. Work was too much and you were exhausted. The King was killed; goodbye uncle-figure. And so Kitt had called you in for a meeting. It felt like old times. He was repulsed by the Silver Savior and so he was yours again. Like old times.

It was more mature now, you made love, kissed, helped him, you stabilised him, and convinced him not to take a dosage of the Plague after nights of begging.

But when Kai comes back, bloodied and bruised along with the Silver Savior, you’re tossed aside like a rag doll. “Paedyn Gray, you are to be my bride.”

I suppose that’s when your heart broke truly.

The world stopped spinning, and it was believed you collapsed a little. Some courtier helped you, a sweet young man, but your heart was in pieces.

He’d promised.