Seeing her daughter dressed in heavy and uncomfortable attire, Duchess Hawthorne's composure crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes as she rushed forward, enveloping Portia in a fierce embrace. Her sobs filled the air as she thought of the silent suffering her daughter might have endured in this grand but merciless palace.
As splendid as the palace appeared, it was a gilded cage. A cruel place of schemes and shadows, a hell she wouldn't wish upon any woman, let alone her cherished child.
Portia, who had been raised with care as delicate as spun silk, was unprepared for such harshness. Even as a girl, the clothes she wore were of the finest, softest cotton and handpicked to ensure her comfort. How could her daughter survive in a world like this? It was steeped in politics, deception, and bloodshed.
"My sweetheart, what have you done?" the duchess whispered through her tears, cupping Portia's pale face in her trembling hands.
"You look so fragile... so pale..." Her voice cracked as her fingers brushed the coarse fabric of Portia's gown. "And these clothes—they are so harsh against your tender skin. You don't belong here."
It was not that the palace could not provide for Portia but the fact that they would not accept her. They would always mock her for her weakness. And the palace life was nothing less than living on the battlefield. Duchess Hawthorne did not wish for her daughter to live such a terrible life when her family could provide better options.
The duchess' gaze shifted to Cristiano who was standing stoically nearby. He was undeniably handsome, but there was a darkness about him and a cold, brooding aura that the duchess found deeply unsettling. To her, he was a man of shadows, unworthy of the light that was her daughter.
Bitterly, she muttered, "What did you see in him, Portia? He is nothing special. I raised you with so much love and care and gave you a life free of hardship and yet, you chose this. This family. This palace."
Her words grew sharper as her grief overpowered her. "Who will protect you here? Who will shield you from the viciousness of palace politics?" She closed her eyes tightly, as though the very thought of her daughter's life in this wretched place was too painful to bear.
Taking Portia's hands in her own, she pleaded, "My dear, come home with us. Leave all this behind. Come back to where you are loved, where you are safe."
At this moment, Cristiano could scarcely believe his ears. Nothing special? Should he remind the senile woman that it was her deranged daughter who had forced him into this marriage? He had never wished to marry Portia!
He was forced.
Forced!
Disappointment washed over him as he watched his beautiful but unwanted wife cling to her mother's hand and speak, her voice calm but firm. "Mother, I understand your concern, but he is my husband. I married him in front of everyone, in the church, in the presence of the goddess you hold so dear. I took vows in her name. How can I leave him now? Wouldn't I be a cheater? A liar? Wouldn't your daughter be taking advantage of him?"
The duchess rejected her logic outright. "He does not deserve you."
"My dear, the crown prince is here," Duke Hawthorne reminded his wife. Since they had been living in seclusion, his wife had long abandoned the need for formalities. But here, in the palace, she was openly disparaging the crown prince right in front of him.
With a huff, the duchess dismissed the matter. She turned to face Cristiano, curtsied stiffly like a dutiful citizen, but then, like a mother-in-law scorned, pointed a finger at him. "Greetings to the crown prince," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "But I will never accept you as my son-in-law. His Highness does not deserve my daughter. She is too good for him."
Cristiano stared at the woman, his mind reeling. Was he hearing this correctly? She was insulting him? What did she say? He did not deserve Portia? What did that woman even have? She was just an empty shell of a woman and meant nothing to him. Nothing.
At that moment, the king and queen entered the room. Seeing the duchess crying and holding Portia tightly, the king's voice rang out with concern. "Is the duchess alright?"
The duke responded, "She is worried about Portia."
Just then, Alpha Hawthorne, the son of the Hawthorne family and now the alpha of his pack, stepped forward and bowed respectfully to the royal couple. "Greetings to the King and Queen of Moonhaven. We have come to bring Portia back with us."
The queen, visibly irritated, narrowed her eyes. "What nonsense is this?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Were we not the ones who rejected the crown princess, forced upon them? How could the Hawthorne family now act as if they are playing hard to get? This is outrageous."
Her anger simmered—no, it was beyond anger—she was livid.
Alpha Hawthorne responded. "Your Majesty, we were not informed of this union. Marriage is not just between a man and a woman but between two families. We were not made aware of the circumstances, and we do not accept it."
Duke Hawthorne who was standing quietly added, "Your Majesty, we ask for forgiveness. We are ready for any punishment, but please, allow Portia to come home with us."
The king pondered the matter for a moment, his gaze drifting between the three members of the Hawthorne family. Finally, he turned to Duke Hawthorne and said, "Duke Hawthorne, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"
The two men left the room, and a few minutes later, when they returned, Duke Hawthorne's behaviour had shifted. His earlier objections had disappeared, replaced by a more pacified attitude. Now, he was the one convincing his wife and son to accept the marriage.
Portia stood there, watching in disbelief. She hadn't seen this turn of events coming.
When Duke Hawthorne finally supported the marriage, the duchess found herself unable to resist. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she reluctantly accepted the situation.
She turned to her husband and requested, "Buy a house in the capital, near our daughter. And, Your Majesty," she addressed the king, her voice laced with subtle desperation, "May I visit my daughter often?"
The king gave a simple nod, offering no objection.
Throughout it all, the queen stood seething in silence. She loathed the duchess's audacity, the way she had managed to twist the situation in her favour. Her anger bubbled beneath the surface, but she refrained from speaking out.
She would not express her fury—at least not now. As she watched her husband and the king bend so easily to the duchess's wishes, the queen vowed silently that one day, she would make the Hawthorne family pay for this humiliation.