Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 284 - Two Hundred And Eighty Three

The morning mist still clung to the cobblestones of the capital city, turning the streets into a gray, ghostly maze. The air was crisp and cold, biting at exposed skin, smelling of damp stone and the charcoal fires of early risers.

Lily walked quickly through the fog, her head bowed low. She clutched a small, nondescript velvet bag to her chest, but inside the deep sleeve of her grey wool dress, she could feel the sharp corner of a thick envelope pressing against her wrist. It felt heavier than paper; it felt like a bomb.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. She knew she was being followed. Marissa had told her she would be.

Fifty paces behind her, blending into the morning crowd of market vendors and milkmaids, was Ashlyn.

Ashlyn wore a heavy woolen cloak, the color of soot, with the hood pulled up deep to obscure her face. She moved with a furtive, desperate energy. She had not slept well. The argument she had overheard the night before—the shouting, the slap, the tears—had fueled her with a manic, nervous excitement. She needed to see the end of this drama.

Lily reached the imposing iron gates of Prince Liam’s private residence. It was a fortress of luxury, guarded by men in the Prince’s blue and silver livery who stood like statues in the mist.

Lily stopped. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. She approached the guard station.

The guard, a tall man with a bored expression and a spear resting lazily against his shoulder, looked down at her.

"State your business," he grunted, his breath puffing white in the air.

Lily pulled the envelope from her sleeve. It was plain white paper, smooth and expensive, but it lacked the official wax seal of the Thompson family. It looked like a secret.

"Kindly inform His Highness," Lily said, her voice trembling just enough to sound terrified, "this is a gift from my mistress. Duchess Marissa."

The guard’s eyebrows shot up. He knew the name. Everyone in the Prince’s household knew the name. The woman the Prince was obsessed with. The woman he painted.

He took the letter. He weighed it in his hand, feeling the quality of the paper.

"I will," the guard replied, slipping it into his tunic.

Lily curtsied, a quick, jerky movement of fear. "Thank you. Please... ensure it reaches his hands only. It is... private."

She turned and hurried away, walking back toward the market, disappearing into the fog like a frightened rabbit.

Ashlyn watched from the corner of a bakery building, the smell of fresh bread doing nothing to settle her stomach. She waited until Lily’s grey dress had vanished from sight.

She stepped out of the shadows.

She walked straight to the guard. She walked with the arrogance of a noblewoman who was used to being obeyed.

"Wait," she called out.

The guard was just about to turn and open the small side gate to enter the residence. He stopped and looked at her, annoyed at the interruption.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly. "The gate is closed for visitors. Go away."

He was about to close the gate when Ashlyn pulled back her hood slightly, just enough to reveal her face.

"Lady Thompson," the guard muttered, recognizing her. She had visited the Prince before. She was the ’other’ sister. The desperate one. "Are you here to see His Highness?"

Ashlyn smiled. It was a conspiratorial smile, thin and sharp as a knife.

"Not exactly," she said softly.

Her eyes dropped to the bulge in his tunic where he had placed the letter.

"May I see that?" she asked.

The guard hesitated. He pulled the tunic tighter. "This is a private message for the Prince, My Lady. I have my orders. Intercepting royal mail is a crime."

Ashlyn didn’t argue. She reached into her cloak. She pulled out a small, heavy velvet pouch. She opened the drawstring and poured a few gold coins into her palm. The gold glinted brightly in the dull morning light, a promise of warmth and wine.

She held her hand out.

"I am his ally," Ashlyn whispered, leaning closer. "And I am her sister. I just want to ensure she isn’t playing any tricks on our Prince. She is unstable, you know. Surely, you want to protect His Highness from deceit? From a madwoman’s ramblings?"

She pressed the coins into the guard’s free hand.

The guard looked at the gold. It was more than he made in a month. He looked at the gate, then back at Ashlyn. He licked his lips.

"Be quick about it," the guard whispered, handing her the envelope. "Don’t delay before I get caught. If the Captain sees me, I’ll be flogged."

Ashlyn snatched the envelope. Her heart was pounding against her ribs like a hammer.

She turned her back to the street, shielding the letter with her body, creating a private space in the public square.

She examined the outside.

"This envelope doesn’t have a seal," she whispered to herself.

Usually, a letter from a Duchess would be sealed with red wax and the family crest. To break it would be a crime, a visible violation. But this one was just tucked closed. It was meant to be opened easily.

"Very clever of you, Marissa," Ashlyn muttered, a sneer touching her lips. "In order to be anonymous, you didn’t use your seal. You didn’t want Derek to find proof if he caught Lily. You are covering your tracks."

She slid her finger under the flap and opened it.

There was a single sheet of paper inside. The handwriting was elegant, looped and feminine. It was definitely Marissa’s writing. Ashlyn knew it well from years of envy.

She read the words greedily, devouring them.

"My situation has become unbearable. I cannot stay here another night. He has threatened me. He has locked me out. Meet me at the Old Temple as the sun dips in the sky, after vespers. Do not bring many guards; I must not be seen. I am afraid."

Ashlyn stared at the words.

"The Temple," she whispered.

She scoffed.

"That witch," she thought, her anger flaring up like a struck match. "No matter what I want, she always interferes. She is going to meet him tonight. She is going to trade her body for his favor and protection. She is going to sell the Thompson’s dignity to save her own skin."

Ashlyn felt a surge of jealousy so strong it tasted like acid. If Marissa went to the Prince, she would be valuable. Liam would keep her. He would discard Ashlyn. Marissa would win again, even in defeat.

"I cannot let her steal my place," Ashlyn vowed silently.

Five Minutes Later...

The guard walked through the inner courtyard of the residence. He didn’t go to the main hall. He went to a small side door used by the servants and spies, a discreet entrance for discreet messages.

He met the Prince’s personal valet, a man who wore silk and a perpetual sneer.

"A letter for His Highness," the guard said. "From the Duchess Marissa."

The valet took it on a silver tray, handling it with white gloves. He carried it up the stairs, his footsteps silent on the carpet.

Prince Liam was in his solar, eating a breakfast of exotic fruit and spiced wine. The room was bright, filled with morning light that reflected off the gold ornaments. He was in a good mood. He had received reports from his spies at the Thompson estate. They told him the argument had been loud, violent, and public.

"Your Highness," the valet said, bowing at the door. "A letter."

Liam looked up. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin.

"From whom?"

"The Duchess Of Denver, Your Highness."

Liam’s eyes lit up. He sat up straighter. He snatched the letter from the tray, his fingers eager.

"Leave," he commanded.

The servants bowed and retreated, closing the doors.

Liam looked at the envelope. No seal. Smart. She was learning the game of shadows. She was learning that seals were for people who wanted to be caught.

He opened it. He unfolded the paper.

He read the contents.

"My Lord, I have made my choice. My husband has cast me aside, so I look to the future. I accept your offer. I cannot live in fear any longer. Meet me at the Golden Swan as the sun dips in the sky, in the private room. I am yours."

Liam paused. He read it again.

"The Golden Swan," he said aloud.

He dropped the letter onto the polished wood of the table. He leaned back in his chair, a triumphant smile spreading across his handsome face.

"So," Liam whispered, staring at the painted ceiling where cherubs played. "Marissa has finally come to her senses."

He imagined her. He imagined the proud, cold Duchess broken by her husband’s rejection, coming to him for safety. Coming to his territory. It was exactly what he wanted.

"She wants to meet at the Golden Swan," he mused. "Her own territory. It makes sense. It is public enough to be safe, private enough to talk. It is a place of secrets."

He stood up and walked to the window. He looked out over the city.

"She will come to me. On her own accord," he said.

He laughed soft.

"Derek," he murmured to his absent enemy. "You poor fool. You drove your wife right into my arms. And tonight, I will take everything you have."

He smiled.