Chapter 3: Not Fit to Be a Princess

The children were already in bed. Only Mrs. Brooks, the cook, bustled in the kitchen, prepping breakfast for the next day.

"Your Highness, are you staying the night here?" she asked, her voice warm and familiar.

She whipped up a bowl of chicken noodle soup for me, cracked an egg on top, and brought it over with a smile that tried to chase away my gloom.

I quietly unpacked my bag, setting aside a few simple clothes.

"These… these are for everyone. I probably won’t be able to stop by for a while," I said, my voice barely steady.

Mrs. Brooks’s expression shifted, worry flickering in her eyes. She was sharp—maybe she didn’t know I was leaving the capital, but she could tell I was hurting over Sebastian’s new marriage.

"Your Highness, try not to dwell on it. The Crown Prince cares for you—he must have had no choice."

I drifted, lost in thought. Did he really care that deeply?

After all, I became a prince’s wife as an orphan—something unheard of in the royal family.

But now, as Crown Prince… I couldn’t accept that kind of love, not when it came with so many conditions.

Mrs. Brooks, thinking I was lost in memories of Sebastian’s kindness, kept trying to reassure me. "I heard Miss Ashmore is well-educated and gentle. I’m sure she’ll treat you with respect, too."

Just hearing that, the warmth of the broth seemed to stick in my throat, impossible to swallow.

Everyone said Clarissa Ashmore came from a prominent family, gentle and virtuous. But no one saw the way she mocked me, always with a smile.

She’d suggest we perform for visiting dignitaries, or start poetry contests at crowded gatherings.

Sebastian would sit in silence, his expression stormy.

I’d seen that look before—when he faced noble ladies who made things hard for me. Now, it was aimed at me, the one being humiliated.

It felt like I was the one who’d let him down.

Of course.

He wasn’t the Sebastian from seven years ago—not the one who’d sneak into my room to teach me to read, not the down-on-his-luck prince who’d laugh at my clumsy attempts at poetry.

Now, he was the Crown Prince—the future king, always watched, always judged.

Back then, frustrated, I stood up. "I can perform a sword dance—"

"No need."

Sebastian cut me off, his face tightening even more.

"That’s not something a Crown Princess should do."

I froze, stunned.

The night before he became Crown Prince, he’d promised me that no matter what happened, I should always be myself.

But just a month later, those words meant nothing.

"Did you hear what I said, Your Highness?" Mrs. Brooks asked, sitting beside me, concern etched on her face.

I gave a halfhearted hum. "Yes, I heard."

All these years, I really had tried to be a proper royal wife. But compared to the noble ladies who’d had tutors since childhood, expecting me to become someone like Clarissa Ashmore—well-read, skilled in the arts—in just two years…

It was too much to ask.

Far, far too much.