“Her Grace, it's getting late, you should rise. You have to enter the palace today,” came Lily's chirping in just as I finally dozed off.

The title felt somewhat awkward, but seeing Lily's exuberance, I mustered up a tired smile. The heaviness in my thoughts, a weight that lingered from hours spent tossing and turning, barely allowed me to take a couple hours of restless sleep. Last night's worries had weighed heavily on me, barely allowing me two or three hours of restless sleep. A pounding, persistent ache throbbing behind my temples. My eyes betrayed the lack of rest, carrying the weight of fatigue despite my attempts to conceal it. As I dressed, I couldn't help but notice the dark circles beneath my eyes, reminders of the restless hours spent lost in thoughts that refused to quiet down.

Lily noticed the subtle signs of weariness etched across her mistress's face. As she delicately applied the makeup, her skilled hands moved with precision, yet she couldn't ignore the slight tremble in her employer's fingers, a tell-tale sign of exhaustion. Carefully, she soothed me, “His Grace was perhaps occupied yesterday. He still cares deeply for you. You are his one and only bride.”

I nodded absentmindedly as she coaxed on and turned to the wardrobe. My mind was still clouded by the lingering effects of a sleepless night, the ache in my head persisting despite her attempts to soothe. Scanning through a cabinet full of white gowns, I couldn't help but furrow my brows. "Why is everything white?"

Lily paused, "Your Grace, you've always liked white, haven't you?"

Well, this seemed to align with the pure, innocent and angelic stereotypical image Elizabeth was trying to project, didn’t it?

Just as I was about to ask Lily to arrange for a spectrum of hues going forward, I heard an announcement call in from outside, "His Grace has arrived."

Spinning back almost instinctively, I turned to see him entering the room. As he walked in, the sun seemed to form a halo around him, backlighting his silhouette, casting a golden glow that seemed to outline his striking profile. He was tall, his posture exuding confidence, each step purposeful as he crossed the threshold. There was an air of elegance in the way he moved, a subtle grace that accompanied his every gesture.

His features were sculpted, chiselled almost, framed by the sunlight that highlighted his strong jawline and emphasized the gentle curve of his lips. His eyes, a mesmerizing hue, seemed to catch the sunlight, sparkling with an intensity that held a depth of emotions.

Dressed impeccably, he exuded an effortless charm, his attire enhancing his magnetic presence. It was as though the room itself brightened in his presence, the air charged with an energy that was both exhilarating and calming.

As I stood there, momentarily taken aback by his sudden appearance, a rush of emotions flooded through me. There was a sense of awe in witnessing his entrance, a sense of empathy washed over me – I was starting to understand why Elizabeth was so persistent in her pursuit for his love. His presence alone felt like a ray of light breaking through the clouds, momentarily dispelling the haze of fatigue and uncertainty that had enveloped me earlier.

I shook my head as I caught myself, a mental nudge to refrain from dwelling too deeply on the allure that had momentarily captivated me. It was a conscious effort to pull back from the brink of fascination, to avoid getting lost in the complexities that seemed to beckon from behind his eyes.

He strode over to me and bent over a little as he gazed apologetically at me, "I indulged in too much wine last night and fearing I would disturb your rest, I told the servants to let you rest early while I retired to the study. I hope Elizabeth, you wouldn’t be upset with me."

There was a hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of evasion, almost as if he were navigating a delicate balance between truth and the fabrications woven into his words. According to the current timeline, Charlotte should be back in our residence. At this point, the Duke had already developed feelings for the main character. Despite being unaware of her identity, there seemed to be a cosmic pull, an urge to go to her, a sense of keenness to protect her.

As the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings raged on the wildly on the inside, I masked on a polite smile and practised the curtesy that I had hastily learned from Lily earlier. “Your Grace, I would never.”

But before I could complete the curtesy, the Duke interrupted, halting my movement with a gentle yet decisive pull. His hands exuded a subtle warmth that seemed to transcend the physical touch. When he took my hand, there was a comforting sensation that spread through me, a gentle heat that wasn't just skin deep but resonated within. There was a look of genuine concern etched across his face, a sincerity that softened his features as he looked at me. His actions conveyed a sense of understanding, as if he wanted to dispel any formality that might have hindered our genuine interaction.

"Please," he said, his voice carrying a tone of warmth and reassurance. "We needn't observe such formalities in private moments."

His words resonated with a kindness that embraced the authenticity of the moment, a desire to foster a more genuine connection beyond the confines of societal expectations.

If only he knew what kind of person Elizabeth truly was. What kind of pain she had put his true love through. Would he still be as kind as he was today? No, he would hate me and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. I pushed back the weight of these constant stream of thoughts as I squeezed out a dainty smile and resisted the impulse to yank my hand out of his grip.

Time was short, and so we readied ourselves directly to enter the palace without so much as a breakfast together. As we stepped into the carriage, a wave of opulence greeted me - the fine interior adorned with exquisite details, luxurious fabrics, and elegant furnishings. The plush seats, embroidered with intricate designs, contrasted starkly with our physical proximity, which felt almost intimate yet emotionally distant.

Throughout the journey, Duke Alexander's gaze wandered, likely pondering over the arrangements for Charlotte.

Our physical proximity became a juxtaposition against the backdrop of lavishness—a stark reminder of the emotional separation, each lost in our own thoughts despite the confined space that brought us together physically. The gilded setting stood in contrast to the emotional distance that lingered, almost tangible in the silence that enveloped us.

Amidst the grandeur of the carriage's interior, the gap between our thoughts seemed to widen, echoing the stark contrast between the luxurious surroundings and the mental space that divided us, as we journeyed side by side yet lost in our separate contemplations. The Duke remained oblivious, while I, observed with an air of nonchalance like the author from the side lines. Was it his coldness that drove Elizabeth’s obsession to committing such crimes just for more affection?

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The is the juncture that the secondary male protagonist will be introduced, King Richard III, the reigning monarch of the land who happens to be a sworn god-brother of Duke Alexander. They grew up together and appeared to share a strong bond. He will subsequently run into Charlotte in a chance encounter and fall deeply in love with her as well. He will even attempt to make her his queen against his entire court, regardless of the treason charges carried by the Arnoult family. This will necessarily result in the falling out of the brothers and an intense rivalry over her affections.

Authors seem to have this penchant for such cruelty. Beauty constructed under their pen conceived for the sole purpose of being destroyed later with strife and enmity.

Not only him, another male antagonist, Prince Henri, from a neighbouring country who would be making an appearance soon on these lands, would also fall head over heels for Charlotte. While loitering around the city’s defence in the evening, he would narrowly escape the soldiers and be saved by Charlotte. Thereby being dragged into this Mary Sue-esque conflict over love.

Reflecting on the plot, Charlotte just seemed to attract men effortlessly. With the aura of the lead female protagonist, men however astute or cold, had an inexplicable attraction towards her. In sombre contrast, would be Elizabeth also known as me, now. She seemed to be devoid of any genuine affection or care. The foundation of her relationships were transactional – nobody really cared about what happened to her as long as it didn’t impact their interests.

My stomach pinched in queasiness – this author was too biased. I made a mental note to even the playing field when and if I was ever able to go back to sequel. Despite the gravity of her misdeeds, I found a thread of empathy weaving through the fabric of her story. It was a sudden realization, an awakening to the understanding that her actions, though unforgivable, stemmed from a place of profound loneliness and yearning for acknowledgement. Elizabeth had always lived in the shadow of another - a constant companion to someone else's light. Over time, the weight of jealousy had taken a toll, warping her psyche in ways unforeseen within the walls of this repressed ancient society. To empathize with her wasn't to condone her sins, but rather to recognize the intricate layers of pain and desperation that had shaped her path. As I pondered over the injustices of life and it’s long faring impact, the carriage rolled to a stop. We have arrived at the palace.

I watched the Duke alight first, his graceful movements speaking volumes about his innate elegance. Then, with a gentle lean, he extended his hand towards me, an offer to assist. His smile, radiant like the morning sun, had this inexplicable effect—it was as if the warmth of that smile seeped into me, making my heart skip a beat and my knees a tad bit unsteady. Taking his hand, I felt a surge of exhilaration, a fluttering sensation that hinted at a hidden excitement within me. His touch, though brief, left an imprint, a tingling sensation that lingered. My face burned red as I lowered my head and pulled my hand back.

I am a modern, independent University Graduate armed with past relationships. Was I being influenced by the ancient society? I tugged my gown as I readjusted it a little busily, trying to dispel the awkwardness that was blushing through my veins.

Tailing behind the Duke, I couldn't help but feel a surge of awe at the grandeur that greeted me. The sprawling gardens stretched out like a tapestry of nature's finest artwork, vibrant blooms weaving a colourful carpet beneath towering trees that seemed to reach for the sky.

As we made our way through the gardens, I attempted to maintain composure, to lower my gaze and act nonchalant, as if the beauty surrounding us didn't leave an impression. It was a delicate balance between suppressing my admiration and subtly acknowledging the splendour that surrounded us. It took all that I had to lower my head and put on an air of indifference – this wasn’t new to Elizabeth. I bit my tongue as I chided myself inwardly.

Amidst the lush greenery and vibrant blooms, there stood the imposing figure of the king, a commanding presence even from afar. He was surrounded by a retinue of courtiers, their hushed conversations and deferential gestures highlighting his stature. The way he carried himself exuded authority, his demeanour regal and dignified, as if the very air around him held a sense of reverence. Before we could approach, he strode over to us.

"My brother, you are finally here! I wanted to attend your wedding yesterday but Mother was worried it might disturb you both, so I refrained."

As I performed the curtsy, lowering my gaze in a show of respect, I couldn't help but steal a glance at the king as I rose. His face, illuminated by a ray of sunlight, held a striking resemblance to the Duke. His features, reminiscent of his brother's, possessed a similar allure—a strong jawline, sharp yet kind eyes, and a confident yet approachable posture. The king's face, framed by the sunlight, bore a timeless handsomeness, with defined features that carried a sense of authority softened by a welcoming expression. His eyes held a depth that invited curiosity, a warmth that belied the responsibilities he bore.

The brothers engrossed themselves in conversation, their words weaving a tapestry of discussions that seemed to delve into matters of state and family. As they spoke, I stood at the side-lines, an observer to their discourse, I tried to maintain a composed demeanour, nodding politely whenever their gaze briefly met mine, but inwardly, a sense of restlessness crept in. It was only after a gentle nudge from the entourage that the Queen Mother was waiting for our arrival, that they finally begrudgingly made their way to her quarters.

Apart from the fleeting moment when the king acknowledged my presence during the greetings, his sight never graced my direction again. In all fairness, I would consider Elizabeth a rare beauty in her own right, but she never seemed to attract anyone in her own right. I guess in a world revolving around Charlotte, that halo effect was reserved solely for her.

Walking into the drawing room of the Queen Mother was like stepping into a scene from a bygone era. The room exuded an air of refined elegance, adorned with ornate furnishings and rich tapestries that whispered tales of history. The soft glow of chandeliers cast a warm ambience, illuminating the opulent space adorned with antique furniture, delicate china, and exquisite paintings adorning the walls. It was a space that seemed frozen in time, a sanctuary where tradition and sophistication melded seamlessly. The atmosphere was hushed, carrying an air of dignity and grace. The fragrance of fresh flowers lingered, mingling with the subtle scent of polished wood and aged books. Each piece of furniture bore the mark of craftsmanship and heritage, adding to the room's timeless allure.

The Empress Dowager, her wrinkles and greying hair, was reclined atop a grand throne at the head of her drawing room. Next to her sat the favoured imperial mistress, Lady Buckingham resplendently dressed in colourful silks and adornments. An air of authority hung about her despite not having been named queen yet, for she ruled the courts with an iron fist – confident that it was only a matter of time that she would be granted that official title.

We knelt before the Queen Mother, heads bowed in respect. She smiled graciously, seemingly amiable and kind. But I knew better than to let my guard down around her - she was the woman who had fought her way to the top of the harem. Rumours of her dislike for Elizabeth had been whispered along the corridors. As a seasoned wielder of power, she had a keen sense of the hearts and despised those who manipulated the vulnerability in other’s hearts for their own means.

As if sensing my hesitation, her gaze shifted sharply from the Duke towards me, the warmth in her eyes replaced by sternness. "You are now married into the Smith household - you must behave as befits your station as a Duchess and do nothing that would besmirch it." The words were laced with an implicit threat and a silent demand for compliance.

The Queen Mother and the King must have been aware of the part Elizabeth played behind the scenes to corner the Duke into proposing marriage. That would explain the frostiness in their tone and their lack of approval towards me. It appears that apart from the Duke, nobody else was beguiled by the innocent and vulnerable act that Elizabeth played. Without any allies or good favour, it was no wonder that Elizabeth would have such a tragic ending the moment she was deserted by the Duke.

It was one of those classic stories in tear-jerker love tales: the male protagonist always has faith in the vicious antagonist at first and goes through dozens of misunderstandings with his true love before overcoming all challenges to be together.

After tonight's unpleasant revelations, I comprehended this reality. Altering fate all at once might be hopelessly difficult, but changing another’s perspective of me was a more potentially more manageable first step. Under ordinary circumstances, Elizabeth would have looked to the Duke to defend her. So, the Queen Mother’s harsh words were probably meant to provoke me. If I displayed any temper at all, she would take the opportunity to lecture me further.

"Thank you for your wise advice, Your Highness. I will do my utmost best to follow your instructions."

I looked into the Empress Dowager's eyes undauntedly, envisioning her to be a boss who had just given me a raise, exhibiting utter devotion to my dollars.

The Empress Dowager's piercing gaze bore down upon me as I stood in the middle of the room. She had expected a much different response from me – something far more rebellious. Her eyes narrowed, perplexed. She pressed, “Remembering is not enough; you must act upon it."

My mouth twitched involuntarily at the sight of her - this tiny stature of a woman who commanded an entire court. I was somehow drawn to this old lady, how lonely and tired she must be, defending her position in this cunning world.

“I will take your advice to heart and act upon it in the future; practicing self-restraint and proper etiquette," I replied humbly, head bowed. Completely unbothered by the surprised looks.

My attitude was enough to sway the Empress Dowager slightly. It even drew a sidelong glance from the King. It was as if I had set the first pawn onto the board – changing my image and getting her to change her views

I had found the first milestone to achieve in my survival gameplay for a malicious female second lead: change my image.