If Corvina was willing to mark her like this, how much further was she actually planning to take this arrangement?
Callista felt a hot blush creep up her neck, silently cursing herself for even entertaining the idea of intimacy with her tyrant of a "master."
Well, It was hard to blame her instincts.
In her past life, she had been David, a completely unremarkable guy whose romantic life was practically non-existent.
She was, for all intent and purposes, a total virgin.
She stole a quick glance sideways at Corvina: porcelain skin, full, dark-tinted lips, a sharp nose, and a figure that belonged on a high-fashion runway.
Honestly, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?
"Prince Alistair must be utterly blind..." Callista muttered under her breath.
"He certainly is," Corvina preened instantly, a smug, immaculate smirk spreading across her face.
’Never mind.’ Callista rolled her eyes internally. ’This woman obviously has other plans for me.’
Seriously... What are her intentions?
***
Corvina’s P.O.V
She had always known how fragile her power was as a woman.
The world had made sure to remind her of it at every turn.
The only true weight she carried was the legacy of her name: Rosenberg.
A ducal house holding the financial reins of the kingdom, flowing beneath its economy like blood. She could buy anything under the sun.
Wealth? Effortless.
Influence? Handed to her on a silver platter.
Yet she was not spoiled, she was cultivated.
And despite every luxury and triumph within her grasp, the single thing that eluded her was the one token that could validate her power: the Crown Prince’s heart.
Why was it that after a lifetime of being sculpted into the ideal Lady Rosenberg, her sacrifices bore no fruit?
Her intellect, her perfect poise, her agonizingly refined grace; everything had been meticulously curated for the crown.
She had given up her own soul just to earn her place.
Did "herself" even exist anymore, or was she merely an ornament forged for a throne?
"Corvina, you must become the Queen, or else..." her father’s voice would echo.
Or else what? Cast aside like a faded trinket, abandoned despite being raised in a palace of gold?
Did the prince truly prefer a wild lily, untouched by the corruption of high society?
Perhaps her power was always just an illusion.
Beneath the surface, her childhood was a quiet graveyard of denied desires.
Stolen dreams, forbidden books, and the hollow echoes of broken promises meant to reward her for being a "good girl."
She possessed everything, yet held nothing she actually wanted and needed.
So when she saw that woman, the pristine bloom with pure, unblemished petals standing at the center of the ball, her deepest nightmare solidified in an instant.
"YOU WHORE!"
Callista...
A woman who bore the effortless beauty of a wild, untouched garden - so starkly different from the artificial, gilded conservatory that had raised Corvina.
It was infuriating simply having to look at her every day: that effortless smile, that pale, guileless expression, those soft, unbothered eyes.
Why did her very existence feel like such a maddening insult?