Bianca tried to remain as composed as possible, but her fingers trembled as she rolled the ring Peregrine had given her on their wedding night between them.
It wasn’t only that he had left her bed cold.
She had written to him. More than once. She had asked when he would return because she hated being alone in the capital and wanted him here, beside her. His letters had never given her a date, however, so she had eventually resigned herself to spending court season alone.
But if he had returned last night, why hadn’t she been told? And how, exactly, had Genevieve known before she did?
What am I? A piece of furniture? A placeholder?
The thought lodged painfully in her chest.
Bianca swallowed against the ache in her throat. She should have been used to Peregrine doing whatever he pleased by now. He had spent the past year chasing monsters across the kingdom while she remained behind to fulfill the endless duties expected of a duchess.
She knew his life was like this. She knew he had always been a man who followed duty wherever it led him.
Knowing that did not make being left behind hurt any less.
Still, she refused to let Genevieve see it.
Bianca drew a quiet breath, straightened her shoulders, and arranged a smile on her lips before walking toward her sister.
"Dear sister."
She slipped effortlessly into the sing-song voice of polite concern that noble ladies were practically trained to master from the moment they learned to speak.
"You’re positively glowing." Bianca rested a delicate hand on Genevieve’s shoulder, her smile sweetening. "Are you expecting again?"
She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a gentle murmur.
"Although perhaps I’ve heard incorrectly. I was told your husband has taken to sleeping in Lady Celeste’s bed of late."
Genevieve’s pretty face twisted.
Everyone in the capital knew about Count Nottingham’s fondness for courtesans, particularly whenever his wife was pregnant. Bianca wasn’t about to let her sister stand there and mock her empty bed while her own husband was apparently busy warming someone else’s.
For a moment, Genevieve could only stare.
Bianca had always been infuriatingly composed, carrying herself with such effortless elegance that she made it seem as though the entire world existed beneath her feet. She had never spoken to Genevieve like this before.
Whatever had gotten into her, Genevieve clearly had no intention of letting it pass.
"You missed my younger daughter’s Resonance Touch Ceremony yesterday," she said.
Bianca’s jaw tightened.
Was her younger daughter already two?
She was about to point out that she hadn’t attended because she hadn’t been invited, but Genevieve continued before she could speak.
"She had such a beautiful Torrent-Vein Glyph," Genevieve said, her smile returning, sweet as honey and twice as poisonous. "All along her arm. Perfect cerulean rings." She purred, tracing her own arm.
Bianca’s jaw clenched. She didn’t need a reminder of the kingdom’s laws. Other children discovered their elements at two and summoned familiars at seven. Bianca had stood in that same ritual circle at seven years old, shouting into an empty, mocking silence.
Nothing had answered.
Even now, the memory could make her feel like that little girl again.
Genevieve watched the change in her carefully. She saw the deep blue of Bianca’s eyes darken and the rims slowly redden, and satisfaction flickered behind her smile.
Yes. You deserve it. How dare you talk back to me?
Bianca’s fingers tightened around her skirt.
The whispers had already begun around them. She could hear the soft rustle of fans, the muffled laughter, the little murmurs that never needed to be spoken loudly because Bianca had heard them all her life.
Glyph-less. Cursed. Worthless. A nobody.
How could someone like that possibly stand beside the Duke of Valois?
Sometimes, in the darkest corners of her mind, Bianca wondered the same thing.
The familiar ache rose in her throat, and she forced it back. Her eyes burned, but she would not let the tears fall. Not here.
Bianca lifted her chin.
"That is good to know," she said calmly, as though Genevieve had just complimented her sister’s embroidery.
Then her gaze dropped deliberately to Genevieve’s belly.
"Let us hope this one is a boy, then."
Genevieve’s smile faltered.
Bianca’s own smile remained perfectly serene. "Otherwise, you may have to take your vows at the Mountain."
Silence fell between them.
Genevieve stared at her, utterly speechless.
Bianca didn’t wait for her to recover. She turned and walked toward her seat at the front of the hall, her steps graceful and unhurried despite the countless eyes following her.
The whispers grew louder behind her, and she could feel the weight of the glares against her back, but she refused to look around.
After all, she was the Duchess.
If they wanted to see her humiliated, they would have to be satisfied with watching her do it with her head held high.
Once seated, Bianca tried to focus on the auction. She soon learned that the Treasure of the Sea necklace set was among the items being presented. It had been crafted by the finest artisans of a bygone century for a royal princess, gifted by her husband as a wedding present and a proclamation of his devotion.
Bianca didn’t care much for the romantic tale behind it. She had only been told that the necklace was made from pearls and corals harvested from the deep sea, and that alone was enough to catch her interest.
Since she was already here, she might as well have it.
She listened as the auctioneer moved through the earlier lots, occasionally applauding when expected, but her attention kept drifting. She tried to imagine those pearls resting around her neck, but instead her gaze fell to her lap, to her restless fingers, and finally to the amber jewel set into the ring on her finger.
Her wedding ring. The gift Peregrine had given her on their wedding night.
Her thumb brushed over the stone.
Don’t cry, Bianca. Not here.
She had barely managed to steady herself when another murmur swept through the hall.
Bianca looked up. Her heart sank.
Lady Isolde Bennington had entered. For a moment, Bianca simply stared.
Isolde was Peregrine’s long-time fiancée—the woman he had been promised to before he married Bianca instead.
Six months after Bianca’s wedding, Isolde had married another man, but her marriage had lasted less than a year before her husband died. She had withdrawn from the capital afterward, keeping away from court and its endless gossip.
Until now.
Her return seemed to have been eagerly anticipated. Noble ladies immediately gathered around her, greeting her with embraces, warm smiles, and excited whispers, as though she had never left at all.
Bianca watched them from her seat, and the fragile composure she had fought so hard to maintain began to crack.
I can’t take this anymore.
She wanted to leave. She wanted to get back into her carriage, return to Valois House, lock herself in her room, and pretend this entire day had never happened.
Then Isolde’s gaze swept across the room.
It stopped on Bianca.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither woman moved.
Then Isolde’s lips curved into a smile, and she began walking toward her.