Lady Elizaveta's silk slippers echoed faintly against the polished marble floors of the palace. The grand chandeliers above bathed the corridor in golden light, but the radiance did little to warm her mood. Her delicate hands clenched the folds of her gown as she walked, her thoughts spiraling with frustration and suspicion.
For weeks, the whispers had grown louder—Prince Andrei's attention was drawn elsewhere. At first, Elizaveta dismissed the gossip as courtly nonsense. After all, she was the daughter of one of the most powerful noble families in Russia. It was her, not some nameless woman, who was promised to the prince. And yet, his absence from their planned outings, the lingering looks he cast into the distance…
Someone had captured his attention, and Elizaveta intended to find out who.
She reached her private quarters and shut the door firmly behind her. Turning to the gilded mirror above her vanity, she stared at her reflection. Her porcelain skin, flawless and adorned with just enough rouge to highlight her beauty, was framed by golden curls cascading like silk over her shoulders. A face that many men had worshiped. And still, it seemed, not enough to hold Andrei's devotion.
Elizaveta sat at her desk and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a letter she had intercepted just days ago. The parchment was worn, the ink smudged, but the words were clear:
"Yelena, my soul aches for the moments we steal away together. I long for the day we are free of this charade, when I can hold you openly and without fear."
She crushed the letter in her hands, her chest tightening. Yelena. A name she had heard only in whispers from the palace servants, always spoken in hushed tones. A woman of lowly origins, some even said a prostitute.
Elizaveta's lip curled as fury surged through her. If the prince thought he could discard his duty for some peasant girl, he was sorely mistaken.
Elizaveta rose abruptly and strode to the window overlooking the gardens. Below, she saw Prince Andrei in conversation with a young man, his head tilted in thought. He looked unbothered, his noble bearing as effortless as ever, as though he had no care for the scandal brewing beneath his feet.
But Elizaveta cared. She would not allow herself to be humiliated, her family's honor tarnished, by some foolish infatuation. If Yelena was indeed the woman occupying Andrei's thoughts, Elizaveta would find her. And she would remind her—and the prince—of the consequences of defying the expectations of their world.
She stepped back from the window, her resolve solidified. It was time to uncover Yelena's identity and ensure her removal, by whatever means necessary.