Chapter 1

I'm to marry the most powerful man in the realm in seven days. He still doesn't know I take my tea without honey.

At my final gown fitting, my sister said she wanted to help me choose.

I stepped out of the dressing chamber and saw her fastening the family crest brooch on my betrothed Lord Ashford's ceremonial cloak.

Gabriel Ashford. The Duke who commands the King's armies. The man whose name makes envoys from every rival kingdom lower their eyes.

I had just opened my mouth to say "Let me," when the seamstress smiled and curtsied to her.

"This way, my lady bride."

Gabriel didn't correct her. The black-armored knights standing at the door kept their gaze forward. Margot only smiled shyly and leaned into him.

Behind me, Soren, my childhood friend, brushed past with his quill and ledger. He's the chronicler the Ashfords hired to record the wedding for the family annals.

I stood frozen, like a stranger who'd walked into the wrong room.

Page after page in his ledger, every line about Margot and my betrothed. Margot at the mirror. Margot laughing. Margot at Gabriel's elbow. Not a single line about me. The bride.

Margot spoke as easily as though she were the one getting married.

"Elara, hand me that bouquet."

When Gabriel noticed I hadn't moved, he came over and gently took the flowers from my hands. Those eyes, the ones that had made grown lords kneel, softened a little.

"Elara, what are you staring at? Go choose the wax seal for the invitations. I'll join you when Soren is finished."

Soren glanced up from his ledger.

"Elara. Out of the way. I can't see them from here."

I moved without a word and stood in the corner.

In that moment, I understood how unwanted I was.

If this wedding had no need for me, then I wouldn't be there.

...

I quietly lifted my cloak from the bench and pushed open the door.

The bell above it chimed once.

No one called after me.

I looked back. Margot was twirling before the mirror. Gabriel stood behind her, adjusting the sash at her waist.

Soren dipped his quill.

"Yes. Hold there. Just like that."

His pen flew across the page, line after line.

I turned and walked out.

When I climbed into my carriage, the two black-cloaked knights of my escort fell in behind me without a sound.

A folded note waited on the seat. From the wedding herald.

My lady, the day approaches. Have you chosen the wax seal for the invitations?

Before I could answer, another arrived.

Or perhaps your sister might choose. She has such a good eye.

The carriage was silent.

So silent I could hear my own breathing.

In and out, as if I were counting something.

What was I counting?

How many times I'd been forgotten in this betrothal. How many times overlooked.

I wrote three words back. Let her decide.

I meant it. Gabriel would listen to her in the end anyway.

The reply came at once. As you wish, my lady.

I stared at the words and pictured the herald exhaling in relief. Every choice the bride made was undone afterward. They were tired of redrafting parchment. Easier to let my sister decide from the start.

I hadn't yet folded the note when more arrived.

Soren had sent copies of his day's pages around to the wedding party. One after another.

I unfolded one. His hand was clean and lovely. Every line described the way Margot had moved, the way Gabriel had looked at her. A betrothal record fit for the King's own archives. The future Duchess of Ashford and her husband.

I'd poured everything into this wedding, as though it could prove I wasn't always the one who got forgotten.

I never imagined that in the end, I'd still be pushed outside the frame.

The notes on my lap lit and dimmed in the lantern light as more arrived.

I didn't answer.

No one noticed.

I dismissed my escort at the castle gate and walked alone to my chambers in the east wing.

Pinned to my looking glass was a slip of parchment, in my own hand.

Seven days until the wedding.

I peeled it off, crushed it in my fist, and dropped it into the hearth.