Isolde stepped into the carriage and settled beside the window. She lowered her head, unable to suppress the small smile tugging at her lips as she felt the carriage dip beneath Peregrine’s weight.
In front of everyone, he had chosen to leave with her.
There had to be something deeper behind his actions.
Three years ago, he had broken their engagement out of necessity. He had needed to marry Bianca, and Isolde had always believed his decision had been one of loyalty rather than a lack of feeling.
After all, he had proved his loyalty to her time and time again.
And then her eyes fell upon the box resting on the opposite seat. Her heart began to pound. Slowly, almost reverently, Isolde reached for it and lifted the lid.
Her breath caught.
Inside lay the Treasure of the Sea.
No wonder they called it a treasure. Pearls and deep-sea corals were intricately woven together with delicate silver, each piece arranged with such exquisite craftsmanship that she had never seen jewelry so beautiful in her life.
So the rumors were true. Peregrine had bought it for her.
And, frankly...
She deserved it.
She had waited for him. She had understood why he had been forced to break their engagement three years ago. She had never blamed him for marrying Bianca. Surely, after everything, he still remembered what they had once meant to each other.
Isolde’s fingers moved toward the necklace.
"That is not yours to touch."
The cold, imposing voice came from the doorway of the carriage.
This necklace... is not for me?
Isolde flinched. Her fingers jerked away, and the lid slipped from her hand, slamming shut over the Treasure of the Sea.
Peregrine did not sit beside her. He took the seat opposite her instead. "It was meant for my wife."
His amber eyes settled on his Account Sigil.
Isolde’s body went rigid. For a moment, she thought he was talking about the necklace, but... he was looking at her hand.
That voice.
The air around her seemed to grow hotter by the second, and suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. Even her familiar whimpered uneasily.
She quickly held out the Account Sigil.
"I never intended to keep it for myself, Peregrine." She swallowed. "I was about to give it to Bianca before she caused such a spectacle."
Peregrine looked at it but did not immediately take it. Isolde looked at Peregrine with her eyes wide. Peregrine, however, had no desire to prolong the conversation.
Unfortunately, Iggy had other ideas.
"Why are you quiet, Perry? Sometimes you have to speak out! You can’t let her take advantage of you!"
The little fire sprite flew anxiously around Peregrine’s head.
"I don’t like her! She hurt Bianca! That poor little Bee! Oh, my heart!"
Peregrine remained silent.
Bianca wouldn’t mind.
She had always known he sent money to Isolde from his personal account, yet she had never questioned him about it or asked him to stop. Why would she worry about money? She had access to everything that belonged to him.
"You don’t understand women, Perry!"
Iggy puffed himself up dramatically until his tiny body scattered into a dozen flickering flamelets. Then every little piece of him spoke at once.
"No woman likes sharing her husband or his money!"
Peregrine cleared his throat. Iggy reassembled himself, looking extremely pleased with his own wisdom.
Peregrine’s gaze returned to Isolde. "After using mine? And it’s Her Grace for you."
Isolde’s chin sank toward her chest as the air inside the carriage seemed to become scorching hot.
"I..."
She could barely get the word out.
Her Grace?
I was supposed to be the Duchess. What right does Bianca have to take my place?
Her familiar was whining now, desperately urging her to leave. She wanted to get out. She wanted to run.
"I’m sorry."
With trembling fingers, she placed the Account Sigil on Peregrine’s knee. The moment it touched him, the black obsidian surface crumbled into ash.
Isolde gasped.
She scrambled backward until her back struck the cushion, staring at the remains of the sigil in horror.
Peregrine’s expression did not change. He simply knocked twice against the carriage roof.
The carriage stopped.
Isolde’s knees nearly gave way. She scrambled to her feet and practically threw herself out of the carriage. She stumbled onto the road, breathing hard as she watched him from a distance.
He hadn’t raised his voice or threatened her. He hadn’t even looked angry, and somehow that was far more terrifying.
Peregrine reached for the carriage door and calmly pulled it shut.
The carriage moved on, leaving Isolde standing alone behind it.
Bianca took several deep breaths until she could finally compose herself.
Her eyes landed on the consent form lying on her desk. Now, more than ever, she knew she had to obtain Peregrine’s signature.
She would do it herself, before he ever had the chance to ask her to leave.
Yes, nothing in her life had ever happened according to what she wanted. This time, however, she would get what she wished for.
On her own terms.
But how?
If Peregrine knew this was what she wanted, he would deliberately refuse to sign. His pride would never allow him to let her walk away on her own terms. He would make her beg for her freedom, and Bianca would rather die than give him that satisfaction.
She needed to trick him into signing it.
But how?
Bianca sat at her desk and racked her brain, but nothing came to her.
So she finished the account records instead.
That, at least, she knew how to do. She would start with what she could control.
And then she simply decided not to think about the consent form sitting in front of her like an accusation.
Her gaze wandered to another book.
The previous one was far too close to reality. This one was titled "A Noblewoman’s Guide to Flowers."
Of course, the respectable title was a complete lie.
The story was about a princess whose husband, an arrogant hostage prince, returned home after five long weeks of battle. His wife had spent their entire ten-year marriage waiting faithfully for him, believing that one day he would finally consummate their union.
Instead, he returned with a mistress.
"Men!" Bianca muttered.
With her full sympathy for the poor princess—who was becoming far too relatable—she continued reading.
Except the princess wasn’t helpless. She had secrets of her own, and she too had decided to leave.
Oh, this is interesting.
Bianca became increasingly absorbed as the story reached the prince’s first night home. The princess escaped one difficult situation, only to be called a "mistake" by her husband.
Bianca paused.
Does Peregrine think I’m a mistake too?
She stared at the page for several seconds before forcing herself to continue. Then came the romantic scene.
[His lips lingered, trailing sultry kisses up her neck, each one a spark that set her skin ablaze. His hand roamed higher, fingers teasing the soft skin beneath her breasts, kindling a fire that threatened to consume her. A soft sigh slipped free, her grip tightening as her body arched, craving more.]
Bianca’s cheeks warmed. She should stop reading. She knew she should. But she couldn’t.
She found herself imagining the princess in her place, imagining what it would be like if Peregrine ever looked at her the way the prince looked at his wife.
Except Peregrine would never behave like that.
Would he?
The thought alone made her face burn.
Bianca abruptly slammed the book shut.
Enough.
She needed to do something useful. Something she was good at.
She went to the kitchen. She cooked.
The maids stared in astonishment as Bianca began slicing crabapples with considerably more enthusiasm than necessary. Soon, she was making mountains of crab lanterns, each one fried with meticulous concentration.
She only stopped when a maid informed her that Peregrine had returned.
Bianca stared at the final crabapple in her hand.
Then she stuck out her tongue and gave it a long, noisy childish trill, as though the small round fruit were her husband himself and had personally offended her.
"I’ll see you now!"
She gathered a neatly stacked tray of crab lanterns, the account records requiring Peregrine’s signature, and carefully slipped the consent form between the papers.
She paused at the door of his study and drew a deep breath.
A maid stepped forward to help carry the tray, but Bianca shook her head. She would do this herself.
She had a plan.
With her head held high and her chin raised, Bianca entered the study. There he was...
Her husband sat behind his desk in all his usual glory, looking like an emperor who had somehow misplaced his crown. His Sprite-tier familiar was the only other creature she could see in the room. For some reason, that gave Bianca immeasurable courage.
"Your Grace."
She placed the tray of crab-apple lanterns on his desk first.
"Welcome back."
Peregrine didn’t look up.
But Bianca caught the slight twitch of his eyebrows.
Of course.
There was almost nothing her husband hated more than crabapples. And there was almost nothing she loved more than making crabapple pastries.
It was one of the few small battles she could reliably win.
"I need your signatures."
Bianca passed the papers to him. She held her breath.
Peregrine reached for the documents. Her heart began to pound.
Sign.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her dress.
Sign.
Peregrine turned the first page. Bianca’s eyes followed his hand.
Sign them, Lord Crabapple. Don’t you dare stop now.