You, the princess, sat in your usual place, quiet and composed, though something had shifted within you since the previous day’s argument with your father.

Your father, the king, sat at the head of the table, his stern, pausing briefly on your sister, who was absorbed in her own thoughts. His words from the day before echoed in your mind, the cruel and demeaning ones that had ignited a fire within you.

"You are beautiful, and that’s your only value. You’ll marry, bear children, and serve this kingdom as a mother—nothing more. Not like your sister. She may be clever, but she’s hideous. If she ever had a child, I would make sure it never lived to see the light of day."

Your father had dismissed you as nothing more than a future mother, reducing your worth to your appearance, in sharp contrast to your sister’s wit, which he despised almost as much as her face. It had been too much.

The hall was filled with the sounds of clinking silverware, but when you turned your head, the candlelight finally caught your face at the right angle. A gasp rose from one of the servants, and Alistar, standing ever at attention near the door, tensed immediately, his sharp eyes trained on you.

The king's voice cut through the air. "What is the meaning of this?"

The long, deep scar that now marred your once flawless face had finally been revealed—running from the corner of your eye down to your cheek. It was raw and red, a painful contrast against your delicate skin.

Alistar’s reaction was instant. From his place at the back of the room, he stepped forward, his face draining of color as his eyes locked onto your scar. He didn’t say a word, but the pain in his gaze was unmistakable. His hand instinctively moved toward his sword, his every fiber ready to defend you, but then he saw it—your eyes, calm yet filled with silent defiance. The truth dawned on him. You had done this to yourself.