The late afternoon sun painted the garden in strokes of amber, warm light spilling across tidy hedgerows and marble paths. Lady Calista, the prince's wife, strolled at a measured pace between her maids. Her deep-blue gown whispered against the grass as she paused to admire a nearby flowerbed.
A cluster of delicate blooms caught her attention, fragile white lilies kissed with gold at the tips. She reached out, fingertips brushing a single perfect bloom, when the sound of laughter pulled her gaze up.
Across the path was Clarisse, the prince's mistress, attended by two maids and dressed in a silken rose-colored gown that set off her porcelain skin. She moved like someone used to eyes upon her. Clarisse's lips curved in a smile that was too sharp to be kind.
"My lady," Clarisse greeted as she swept closer, her gaze fixed on the same lilies Lady Calista had paused before. "You have a discerning eye. I was about to take one for myself."
Lady Calista stiffened only a fraction. "By all means," she replied smoothly. "There are plenty to admire."
"Perhaps," Clarisse said, reaching brazenly for the most perfect bloom, though she paused just long enough to see if Lady Calista would withdraw. When she did not, Clarisse's smile deepened with satisfaction. "But this one caught my eye first."
A brittle silence followed as Lady Calista held her gaze. Even without words, the undercurrent was clear, a contest dressed in pleasantries.
"You seem to have a habit of taking what catches your eye," Lady Calista answered lightly, allowing herself a polite, almost vacant smile. "I suppose I must admire that boldness."
Clarisse's lips twitched. "Some of us have learned that boldness is necessary at this house. My lord is especially fond of my boldness." Her voice was honey over steel.
Lady Calista took a breath, cold eyes briefly falling on the flower between Clarisse's fingers. It was all so transparent. Still, she inclined her head gracefully. "Of course. And I wouldn't dare stand in your way." With a small, generous gesture, she let her hand drop. "Do take it.It suits you."
That seemed to surprise Clarisse only for an instant before her chin lifted and she plucked the lily with careless ease. "You're very gracious," she murmured.
"Only as one ought to be," Charlotte replied serenely.
"Although this flower looks pleasing to the eye, it's beauty is fleeting and will soon wither away. "
And without another word, she inclined her head and turned, her maids following as she moved away down the path, every inch the composed lady.
Left alone, Clarisse twirled the lily absently between her fingers. Her victory felt hollow.
A breath of gossip brushed past as two of the distant servants whispered.
"Arrogant as always," one murmured under her breath. "Favored or not, it's only fleeting. She still hasn't given the Lord a son."
"That's why the wife's position is forever safe," the other agreed. "She already gave him his only daughter. What is Clarisse but a pretty pastime?"
Clarisse's lips pressed into a hard, bitter line. The bloom in her hands crushed under her grip. She stared after Lady Calista's graceful retreating figure, envy sparking hot in her chest. No matter what favors she won in the prince's bed, without a son, she would forever be simply a mistress.
And in that moment, her determination flared, sharp and fierce as a blade. Whatever it took, she would bear a son and cement her place. Only then would she never have to bow to anyone again.
Lady Calista's Chambers
The door swung shut behind Lady Calista with a decisive click. The polite curve of her lips vanished, and for the first time that afternoon, her shoulders slumped under the weight of her fury. Her hands, trembling, gathered up the hem of her gown as if readying for battle before she rounded on a nearby chair and knocked it aside with a sharp crack.
"How dare she," Lady Calista hissed, voice trembling as she hurled a silk pillow across the room. "That insolent girl dares parade before me like she owns this house!"
Her maid-in-waiting, Lydia, rushed in, face pinched with concern. "My lady, please, you mustn't upset yourself. Clarisse is merely a fleeting infatuation for His Highness," Lydia said gently, her hands wringing together as she moved closer. "A bright bloom, yes but blooms wither quickly."
Lady Calista whirled, her dark eyes glassy with unspilled tears. "You think I do not see the way he looks at her? The way he visits her chambers while mine grow colder by the day? That wretched girl is young and ripe enough to bear him a son, something I can no longer do!"
Lydia hurried forward and took Calista's hands. "My lady," she whispered urgently, "the prince cannot overlook that you've already given him a daughter, a legitimate heir of the bloodline. That slut may tempt the Lord, but she cannot erase your standing. And you have the young lady. No one can take her place as his firstborn."
Lady Calista pulled away, her hands pressed to her flat belly as bitter memories surged. "And yet he craves a son," she murmured. "He has never forgiven me for what happened in my last confinement. Every scream, every drop of my blood for nothing but a damaged womb. The physician himself said I could never bear again." Her lips twisted with a bitter smile. "And still, Benedict looks at me as though I failed him personally."
The room felt close and warm with the unspoken truth they both knew. Lady Calista had nearly died bringing her daughter into the world, and she had survived at the cost of her future children. A consort in all but title left to watch younger women warm the prince's bed.
"My lady," Lydia tried again, gentler this time, reaching to smooth Calista's trembling hands. "Your position is safe as long as you hold your head high. Clarisse cannot rival a trueborn princess."
Lady Calista stared blankly at the polished floor, her heart pounding. "Can't she?" she whispered, voice brittle. "If Clarisse bears him a son, then my days will be numbered." Her chin lifted with a sudden, sharp pride. "No. I must not allow that to happen. I will not be swept aside like some barren relic."
Lydia's gaze lowered, concern and loyalty shimmering in her eyes. "We will not let that happen, my lady," she assured softly.
Lady Calista exhaled slowly, her hands still trembling but her spine straightening once more. Beneath her polished facade, a fierce resolve was already taking shape. Clarisse might have youth and favor on her side but Calista was a survivor. And she would do whatever was necessary to keep her place.