chapter 11

Leor sat in his study, fingers drumming against the desk. He had spent weeks watching his father dote on Lilic, and it made his blood boil. That girl—an illegitimate nobody—had waltzed into their lives and stolen their father's attention without even trying. It was unbearable.

He needed to put her back in her place.

Nothing too drastic, of course. Just something to remind her that she didn't belong. A little humiliation, a little fear. Enough to make her understand her limits.

It was easy to arrange. A loose saddle on her horse, just enough that when she rode, it would slip at the right moment. She'd take a fall—maybe scrape her knees, maybe even break something if luck was on his side—but it wouldn't be fatal. Just a lesson.

The next morning, as expected, Lilic took her usual ride. Everything was perfect—until the moment the saddle suddenly shifted beneath her. A second too late, she realized something was wrong. The leather strap had been loosened, and before she could regain control, the saddle slipped completely, throwing her off the horse.

Pain flared through her shoulder as she hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. Dazed, she lay still, staring up at the sky as the realization hit her.

This wasn't an accident.

She knew exactly who was behind this.

A commotion broke out. Servants rushed toward her, voices overlapping in concern. Her vision wavered, but she forced herself to sit up. Her arm throbbed—probably a bad bruise, maybe worse—but she forced her face into a composed expression.

"I'm fine," she said calmly, waving off the panic around her. "It was just an unfortunate accident."

No one questioned her. After all, why would they? Lilic was the quiet, harmless one. Not someone who would suspect foul play. Not someone who would retaliate.

She lifted her gaze toward the estate, where she could just make out Leor watching from a distance, his expression unreadable. He wasn't coming closer. He was waiting to see how she reacted.

She didn't give him the satisfaction.

Lilic stood, dusting herself off despite the sharp pain in her shoulder. She nodded at the stable master, instructing him to check the horse and saddle before stepping away as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just come inches from serious injury. As if she hadn't just realized the full extent of Leor's resentment.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Leor turn away, walking off as if nothing had happened. But there was a slight stiffness to his movements.

So, he wasn't completely unaffected.

Good.

Later that evening, at dinner, Lilic sat across from him, her posture as perfect as ever. The room was filled with the usual small talk, but Hadrian seemed to be watching her more closely than usual. Perhaps he had noticed the slight stiffness in her movements, the way she winced when she reached for her glass.

But Lilic said nothing. She didn't even glance at Leor.

Let him think he had won this round.

For now.

later that day, after hearing about the accident, Hadrian came to Lilic room to check on her

. "It was just an accident," she said, her voice even. "Nothing to worry about."

But Hadrian did worry.

The moment he saw the bandages on Lilic's arms, his expression darkened. He didn't say anything at first, simply watching her in that silent, calculating way of his. Then, without a word, he left the room.

That night, the estate trembled with Hadrian's fury.

Leor hadn't expected to be caught. He had been careful—there was no evidence, and Lilic herself had brushed it off. But Hadrian knew his children, and he knew Leor's hatred far too well.

The punishment was swift. Leor was confined to his quarters for an indefinite period, His influence at the estate diminished instantly. No one dared to oppose Hadrian's decision, not even Leor himself.

The next morning, just as the household began to settle, an order arrived from the royal palace.

Lilic was to attend the upcoming marriage market.

Hadrian read the decree in silence, his grip tightening around the parchment. This wasn't a request—it was a command. One that could not be ignored.

For the first time in years, Hadrian felt powerless.

And he hated it.

He knew how stubborn the empress was. She never took a "no" as an answer, which explains her trying so hard to get lilic 

He had spent the entire morning writing letter after letter, trying to find a way out of this. He cited Lilic's delicate health, her unsuitability for the market, and even attempted to remind the Empress that his daughter had already refused. Each excuse, however, felt flimsy even as he wrote it. He knew the Empress well enough to understand that she would not back down.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. His steward, Conrad, entered with a bowed head. "My lord, a response has arrived from the palace."

Hadrian took the sealed letter and opened it, scanning the contents with a growing scowl.

The Empress's words were written in the elegant yet firm script he had come to loathe:

*'Lord Hadrian,

Your concerns are noted. However, Lady Lilic Aster is of age and as such must attend the marriage market per the traditions of the empire. This is not a request. It is her duty.

Her presence is expected.

Do not disappoint me.'*

Hadrian clenched his jaw. The Empress had made it clear—this was not a discussion.

He exhaled slowly, setting the letter down. There was only one thing left to do—tell Lilic.

—

When Hadrian found Lilic in the library, she was curled up in a chair, reading as usual. She looked up when he approached, closing her book with a soft thud.

"I take it the Empress didn't accept your refusal," she said before he could even speak.

Hadrian frowned. "How did you know?"

Lilic gave him a small, knowing smile. "She doesn't seem like the type to take 'no' for an answer."

Hadrian's expression darkened. "She isn't."

There was a pause. He expected her to sigh, to protest, to show at least a flicker of distress. Instead, she simply leaned back in her chair, looking… unconcerned.

"So, when do we start the preparations?" she asked lightly.

Hadrian stared at her. "You're accepting this?"

Lilic shrugged. "Did I ever really have a choice?"

For a moment, he was speechless. He had braced himself for resistance, but here she was, agreeing without hesitation. It made him uneasy. "You don't have to go," he said, voice low. "I'll find another way."

Lilic tilted her head, studying him. "You tried, didn't you?"

Hadrian didn't answer. He didn't need to.

She sighed. "Then it's fine. It's just a market, isn't it? I'll go, look around, and come home."

Hadrian frowned. "You make it sound simple."

"Because it is," she said with a soft chuckle. "Besides, it's not like I'll actually be forced to marry someone. The Empress can parade us around all she likes, but she can't make me pick a husband."

Hadrian's shoulders relaxed slightly. It was true—while the marriage market was designed to arrange advantageous matches, the final choice still rested with the noble ladies themselves. No one could force her to say 'yes' to a suitor.

Still, it didn't sit right with him.

"You will not be attending alone," he said firmly. "I'll have people watching over you."

Lilic smiled. "I expected nothing less."

—

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of preparations.

Tailors arrived with bolts of fine fabrics, dressmakers measured Lilic for new gowns suited for the high society event, and etiquette tutors were summoned to review the customs of the marriage market. Though Lilic was already well-versed in noble decorum, Hadrian insisted on thorough preparation.

Jewels were selected, gloves were fitted, and rumors had already begun to spread about Lady Lilic Aster's unexpected attendance.

Meanwhile, Leor watched everything unfold with barely concealed amusement. "Finally, she's being sent off where she belongs," he muttered to himself, pleased that soon Lilic might be out of his life for good.

Hadrian, however, was less satisfied. He sat in his study long into the night, brooding over the idea of Lilic being surrounded by men seeking her hand. He knew most of the noble sons who would be in attendance—arrogant, power-hungry, unworthy.

And Hadrian would make sure they never got close to his daughter.

No matter what it took.