Your mouth says one, your eyes say another

Cassandra rode through the countryside, the rhythm of her horse's hooves offering some solace to her restless mind. By the time she returned home, her thoughts were still tangled.

As the guards swung open the gates, the first sight that greeted her was Selena, arm intertwined with Prince Timothée, radiant in yet another elegant afternoon dress. They looked every bit the perfect couple.

Perhaps the problem truly lies with me, Cassandra thought bitterly, but she lifted her chin, determined not to show her turmoil.

She strode past them, but Selena's voice halted her steps.

"Your Highness?"

Cassandra turned slowly, her impatience evident. "What do you want now, Selena?"

Selena smiled, a saccharine expression that barely masked her glee. "I simply wanted to inform you that we're off to the modiste," she said, her teeth flashing.

Cassandra forced a tight smile. "Will you inform me next when you plan to powder your nose? Or is it that you're still accustomed to being my servant?"

Selena flinched, her grip tightening on Timothée's arm. His disapproving blue eyes met Cassandra's, but she no longer cared what he thought.

He can go to hell.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

"Did you hear what she said?" Selena hissed, her outrage evident as Cassandra's doors closed firmly behind her.

Inside her chambers, Ruth rose quickly from her embroidery. "I've been waiting for you, Your Grace," she said, her voice rushed and her appearance disheveled.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed as they traveled from Ruth's untidy hair to the faint bruise on her neck. Fury ignited in her chest. "Did he hurt you?"

Ruth gasped, instinctively covering the mark with her hand. "No, Your Grace—it's not... I—it was something else," she stammered, avoiding Cassandra's gaze.

Cassandra frowned, unsettled by Ruth's evasiveness, but she had little time to dwell on the matter.

"I'm going to Briston. Prepare me a gown," Cassandra said firmly, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"Of course, Your Grace. Have you finalized the purchase yet?" Ruth asked as she began helping Cassandra out of her riding habit.

"Not yet," Cassandra replied with a weary sigh, slipping into a robe before stepping into the bath. She lowered herself into the water with a contemplative look, the heat soothing her tense muscles.

"Would you like breakfast before we leave?" Ruth ventured gently, gathering Cassandra's hair to wash it.

"No," Cassandra answered curtly. "I'm in no mood for food this morning. You know how much I hate being irritated before midday."

Ruth hesitated, her brow furrowed. "I understand, but you'll weaken yourself if you keep skipping meals. Forgive my forwardness, Your Grace, but your health is paramount. You've already endured so much—losing your husband and your closest friend to betrayal. I know you're hurting."

Cassandra's expression hardened. She looked at Ruth, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "I won't lose, Ruth," she said, her voice steely with determination.

"Not to anyone. Not ever again."

They dressed quickly, choosing a jade green velvet morning gown with full sleeves and a flowing skirt.

---

The streets of the capital were bustling with life. Children played, merchants hawked their wares, and carriages crowded the cobblestone roads. Cassandra marveled at the lively scene—a stark contrast to the fear and uncertainty that had once gripped the kingdom.

Her carriage rolled into the eastern district of Briston, a place devastated by the war. The ruins were a sobering sight—charred remains of homes, soot-covered streets, and makeshift shelters pieced together from scraps. The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air.

As Cassandra stepped down from the carriage, the destruction weighed heavily on her heart. Ruth covered her nose with a gloved hand. "This is horrible," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Cassandra's servants began distributing provisions—bread, rice, grains, salt, and spices. It was only enough to sustain the residents for two months, but it was all she could provide for now. She had plans to purchase the land and rebuild, though she had heard whispers of a rival buyer.

As she moved through the ruins, a small, grimy child clung to her dress, silently pleading. Cassandra lifted the girl into her arms without hesitation. "Ruth, bring some bread and milk," she called.

Ruth returned with the food, and Cassandra watched as the girl ate hungrily. Her heart ached for the child and the many others who had suffered.

As she walked further, something shiny caught her eye. Bending down, she picked up a fragment of silver. She brushed off the dirt, her mind racing. Could there be silver on this land? Was that why someone else sought to purchase it?

A throat cleared behind her. Cassandra straightened, her gaze traveling from polished boots to the unmistakable blue eyes of Prince Timothée.

"I didn't know you enjoyed playing in the dirt, Your Highness," he said, his hand extended toward her.

Ignoring his gesture, she rose and dusted her hands. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be shopping with your wife?" she asked, her tone biting as she turned toward her carriage.

"Goodness, no. A modiste is no place for a man," he replied, his tone amused. "I dropped her off. I trust the modiste will guide her well enough."

"Then why are you here?" she demanded.

"This land is part of the war's ruins. I've been overseeing its condition, as I have with the others." He quickened his pace to match hers as she strode up the hill.

"You came here to distribute supplies," he observed.

"Poking around in my business now, are we?" she snapped.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It's hardly a secret, my lady."

"Stop following me. Surely you have more important matters to attend to," she said sharply. Her focus was so intent on avoiding him that she nearly tripped over a broken plank.

Timothée caught her by the arm, pulling her close. His hand rested at her waist, steadying her. She froze, her breath hitching.

"Careful. You nearly fell," he said softly.

"Unhand me, you brute!" she hissed, stepping back.

He chuckled, clearly entertained. "Brute? I'm your husband."

"Was," she shot back, her eyes blazing. "We're nothing more than strangers."

His gaze lingered on her lips before meeting her eyes again. "Your mouth says one thing..." he began, his voice low.

"Your eyes say another," he finished, releasing her and walking away.

"I'll bring the papers tomorrow," he called over his shoulder.

Cassandra watched him go, her heart pounding in defiance.