The palace never stayed quiet for long.
By afternoon, the chandelier incident had already turned into legend. Servants whispered of omens, nobles gossiped about curses, and somehow, in every version of the story, my name came up.
Apparently, the quiet sister had shown up early, stolen the prince's attention, and nearly brought the ceiling down doing it.
"Jealousy can make strange things happen," one lady murmured as I passed in the corridor.
I didn't bother correcting her. Let them talk. If there was one thing worse than being invisible, it was being predictable.
Still, the unease lingered. The chandelier hadn't simply fallen—its chain had been sliced clean through. Someone had wanted to make a statement.
But who?
"Thinking too hard again?"
The voice made me turn. The prince stood at the end of the hall, half in shadow, his posture relaxed but his eyes too sharp to miss anything.
"I heard the entire castle's been buzzing since breakfast," he said, approaching. "You seem remarkably calm."
"I've learned panic doesn't help," I replied. "And I doubt the chandelier cared who was sitting beneath it."
"Maybe not," he said, studying me. "But you were very nearly in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I tend to do that a lot lately."
He chuckled quietly, the sound echoing off the marble.
"Lady Isabella," he said, "you're not what anyone expected."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is," he answered, his lips quirking. "Mostly."
We stood there for a moment, sunlight pooling around us like honey. Then he glanced away, his tone shifting. "I've been thinking about something you said yesterday—about people loving the idea of someone."
I blinked. "You remembered?"
"It's hard to forget when it sounds true."
I wasn't sure what to say. His gaze held mine a moment longer than it should have.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Elizabeth approached, radiant as ever, her gown catching the light with every step. "Your Highness," she greeted, curtsying with effortless grace. "I was hoping to find you."
Her eyes flicked to me. "Oh. Sister. You're here too."
I smiled lightly. "How observant."
The prince tried—and failed—not to smile.
Elizabeth's tone stayed sweet. "I came to invite you both to the garden fête tomorrow. The duchess insists everyone attend. It is the start of the prince's birthday week, after all."
Ah. That scene.
In the book, this was where Elizabeth's charm won the prince over once and for all. Isabella tripped into the fountain, and the chapter ended with everyone laughing.
Not this time.
"I'd love to attend," I said. "It sounds delightful."
Elizabeth's smile tightened just a fraction. "Wonderful. Wear something bright, sister—it'll be easier for people to see you."
She curtsied again and glided away, leaving the faint scent of lavender behind her.
The prince exhaled softly. "You two have an interesting relationship."
"That's a polite word for it."
He looked amused. "You enjoy defying expectations, don't you?"
"Only when they're boring."
That earned another low laugh. "Then I'll look forward to tomorrow. Try not to start another scandal before then."
"No promises."
He shook his head, still smiling, and walked off down the corridor.
When I turned the corner toward my chambers, my maid was waiting, wringing her hands.
"My lady, someone delivered this for you."
She handed me a folded note, the paper thick and expensive, sealed with plain red wax.
Inside, the handwriting was neat and deliberate:
"The duchess requests your presence an hour early tomorrow. Privately."
No signature. No explanation.
Just that single line.
I folded it carefully, heart quickening. A private meeting before the fête?
That wasn't in any version of the story I remembered.
And maybe that was exactly what made it interesting.