The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the curtains as a soft breeze drifted through the partially open window. Sunlight filtered in, casting a golden glow over the space. It was a guest room, though far more luxurious than any Isla had ever seen. The bed was large, draped in fine silk sheets, and the furnishings were polished to a mirror-like shine.
Rosaline lay motionless on the bed, her face pale but peaceful, as if she were simply asleep. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow, and her hands rested atop the blanket, which had been pulled up to her chest.
Isla hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do. She felt like an intruder, standing there with blood still staining the edges of her gown. But then she thought of Rosaline's smile—the warm, kind one she'd seen at the ball—and the guilt in her chest tightened.
She walked closer, her footsteps soft against the plush rug. There was a chair beside the bed, and she sank into it, folding her hands in her lap. For a moment, she simply sat there, unsure of what to say or think.
"I wish I could tell you I have a plan," Isla murmured, her voice barely audible. "But I don't. I don't even know why this is happening."
Rosaline, of course, didn't respond. Isla sighed, leaning back in the chair and rubbing her temples.
This was all so wrong. Rosaline was supposed to be the star of the story, the shining heroine who captured everyone's hearts. And yet, here she was, vulnerable and hurt, while Isla—the so-called villainess—sat at her bedside, feeling utterly useless.
The door creaked open behind her, and Isla turned to see Adrian stepping inside. He carried a tray with a teapot and two cups, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"You're still here," he said, setting the tray down on the small table by the window.
"I thought someone should sit with her," Isla replied, watching as he poured tea into the delicate porcelain cups. "She shouldn't be alone."
Adrian glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "She's not alone. You're here."
Isla raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"It's a start," he said, carrying one of the cups over to her.
She accepted it reluctantly, her fingers brushing his as he handed it to her. The brief contact sent a jolt through her, and she quickly looked away, focusing on the tea instead.
Adrian pulled a second chair closer to the bed and sat down, his gaze resting on Rosaline. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Isla broke the silence. "You care about her, don't you?"
Adrian's eyes flicked to her, his expression guarded. "I care about a lot of people."
"That's not an answer," Isla said, her tone light but probing.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Rosaline is... important. She doesn't deserve to be caught up in all of this."
"All of what?" Isla asked, leaning forward slightly.
Adrian hesitated, his jaw tightening. "It's complicated."
Isla rolled her eyes. "Everything with you is complicated. You can't just give me a straight answer, can you?"
He smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I did."
"Try me," she challenged, crossing her arms.
Adrian studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether or not to trust her. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"My family," he began, his voice low, "has always been close to the royal line. By blood and by duty."
"By blood?" Isla repeated, frowning.
He nodded. "My great-grandmother was a princess—a younger sibling of the current king's grandfather. She married into the Blackthorn family, and since then, our ties to the crown have been... complicated."
"Complicated how?" Isla asked, genuinely curious now.
Adrian's lips pressed into a thin line. "The Blackthorns have always been fiercely independent. We've served the crown, yes, but we've also challenged it. The king sees us as both allies and threats, depending on the day."
Isla blinked. "So you're... what? A cousin to the royal family?"
"Something like that," Adrian said, his tone deliberately vague.
"And that's why the king interfered in your engagement?"
Adrian's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold. "The king has always had a vested interest in my life. He thinks he can use me—or rather, my title—to his advantage. This engagement was his way of ensuring I stayed loyal."
"Loyal?" Isla echoed, her brow furrowing.
Adrian's gaze darkened. "He doesn't trust me. He never has. And he certainly doesn't trust the Blackthorn name."
Isla was silent, processing his words. She'd known there was tension between Adrian and the king, but she hadn't realized it ran this deep.
"Why tell me this?" she asked softly.
Adrian looked at her, his gray eyes piercing. "Because you deserve to know what you've been dragged into. This isn't just about us, Isla. It's bigger than that."
Her chest tightened at the weight of his words, but before she could respond, a soft groan came from the bed.
Both of them turned sharply toward Rosaline, who was stirring slightly, her eyelids fluttering.
"She's waking up," Isla said, setting her tea aside and leaning forward.
Adrian stood, his expression tense but hopeful. "Rosaline?"
The heroine's eyes opened slowly, her gaze unfocused at first. But then they landed on Adrian, and a faint smile crossed her lips.
"Adrian," she murmured, her voice weak.
"I'm here," he said softly, taking her hand in his.
Isla felt a pang in her chest, though she wasn't entirely sure why. She stood, stepping back to give them space.
Rosaline's gaze shifted to her, confusion flickering across her face. "Who...?"
"This is Lady Evangeline," Adrian explained gently. "She's been helping."
Rosaline's expression softened, and she managed a small nod. "Thank you."
Isla forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Adrian glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes, but he didn't say anything.
"I should go," Isla said quickly. "You'll want some privacy."
Before either of them could protest, she turned and left the room, her heart heavier than when she'd entered.
---
Isla wandered the halls aimlessly, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She wanted to tell herself that the ache in her chest was just concern for Rosaline, but she knew better.
She was jealous.
Jealous of Rosaline's connection to Adrian, of the way he looked at her with such tenderness. It was foolish, really. Adrian didn't even like her—he'd made that clear enough. Yet here she was, feeling things she had no right to feel.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Clara until she nearly bumped into her.
"Isla!" Clara exclaimed, steadying her. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," Isla said quickly, though her voice wavered.
Clara frowned, clearly unconvinced. "You've been acting strange all day. Talk to me."
Isla hesitated, then sighed. "It's Adrian."
Clara's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, this should be good. What did he do this time?"
"It's not what he did," Isla said, running a hand through her hair. "It's... how I feel. About him. About everything."
Clara's expression softened, and she guided Isla to a nearby bench. "Start from the beginning."
Isla hesitated, then began to explain—about Adrian's connection to the royal family, about Rosaline, and about the confusing mess of emotions swirling inside her.
When she finished, Clara was quiet for a moment, her gaze thoughtful.
"You're falling for him," she said simply.
Isla's eyes widened. "What? No! That's—"
"Completely obvious," Clara interrupted, giving her a knowing look. "Eva, I've seen the way you look at him. You can't fool me."
Isla groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This is a disaster."
"Why?" Clara asked, tilting her head.
"Because he doesn't feel the same way," Isla said miserably. "And even if he did, it wouldn't matter. He's tied to the royal family, and I'm just... me."
Clara reached out, squeezing her hand. "You're not 'just' anything, Eva. You're smart, kind, and stronger than you think. If Adrian can't see that, then he's an idiot."
Isla managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Clara."
"Anytime," Clara said, grinning. "Now, come on. Let's find something to take your mind off all this drama. Maybe we can convince Thomas to spar with you. That always seems to cheer you up."
Isla laughed despite herself, the tension in her chest easing just a little. "I'll think about it."
As they stood and began walking down the hall, Isla couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as they seemed.