She smiled more in the mornings.
She danced with Corrine, arm-in-arm, like nothing had changed.
But something had.
And as the wedding drew closer, as Corrine and Calix grew closer, Brienne's shadow stretched longer.
She watched them in the garden, his forehead pressed to Corrine's, love painting their world in shades of gold.
And Brienne turned away—her hands behind her back, fingers stained with ink and dried blood.
"Soon," she whispered.
And the earth beneath her heel cracked ever so slightly.
The nights in the Carello estate were known to be tranquil—breezes that whispered through ancient trees, stars that spilled silver over the velvet skies. But for Corrine and Calix, the nights were anything but still.
They were alive.
Their love was not forged in the cold rituals of courtship, but in fire—wild, breathless, and forbidden. Every stolen glance across candlelit halls, every brush of fingers beneath formal sleeves, built a hunger they could no longer restrain.
And so, they didn't.
They hid in the shadows of the rose garden, lips pressed in desperate silence, hands tangled in hair and silk. They slipped from their chambers under moonlight like ghosts chasing only each other.
It was dangerous. Reckless.
But it was theirs.
---
One night, driven by desire and daring, Calix and Corrine fled deeper into the forest behind the estate. The air shimmered with magic, soft and pure, untouched by even the most ancient enchantments. And then they found it.
A hidden lake.
Its surface sparkled like scattered stardust, glowing faintly with ethereal light. It was a place forgotten by time.
Wordless, they undressed—bare skin kissed by the cool night air—and stepped into the water.
It embraced them like destiny.
Corrine gasped as Calix pulled her to him, his arms firm around her waist, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss both tender and possessive. The lake rippled as their bodies moved, as soft moans and whispered names filled the hollowed night.
They didn't care who might hear.
Here, they were not prince and bride-to-be. They were simply man and woman, bound by the stars, tangled by fate.
When they emerged, glistening and breathless, they collapsed together on a smooth, flat stone by the water's edge.
He laid her down beneath him, the moon painting silver over the slope of her hip, the arch of her neck. His touch—slow, reverent—set her aflame again.
Their bodies met in rhythm.
She cried his name against his lips as he moved within her, and he held her like he never wanted to let go.
The night belonged to them.
Or so they thought.
---
Not far beyond the clearing, in the dense hush of the trees, another watched.
Brienne.
Her hand gripped the bark of an old trunk, fingers biting into the wood. Her breath hitched—not from shock, not even from heartbreak.
From hunger.
Not for Calix.
Not even fully for Corrine.
But for what they had.
For the way Calix looked at her sister like nothing else existed.
For the way Corrine cried out his name like a sacred vow.
For the pleasure, the power, the light of it all.
Brienne's pupils dilated. Her lips parted, trembling with something darker than grief. Her jealousy festered into something ravenous—an ache not just of the heart, but of the soul.
She wanted that.
She wanted to be worshipped.
She wanted to be chosen.
She wanted to burn as brightly as Corrine did in that moment—naked under moonlight, bathed in love.
But the gods had not chosen her.
And so she would choose herself.
Her whisper was barely audible over the rustle of the leaves:
"If light will not claim me… then darkness shall."
The scent of burning herbs and wilted petals choked the air inside the spell chamber. Brienne stood over a cauldron of ancient iron, her long, ink-black hair clinging to her cheeks as sweat glistened on her brow. The flames beneath the pot flickered blue, unnatural, fed by more than fire—fed by ambition, envy, and something that should never have been touched.
The book before her was wrapped in flesh-bound leather, its words crawling across the page like living ink.
She had broken the seal on the forbidden tome—the one hidden beneath the Carello estate, locked away by Matriarchs past.
"Love is not taken... unless it is stolen."
Her hands trembled, but she continued.
A drop of her own blood.
A strand of Calix's hair, stolen from his comb.
And a vial of Corrine's tears—harvested the night she cried herself to sleep, unaware that her own sister watched from the shadows.
Brienne poured the spell into a fine crystal phial. Its contents shimmered gold one second, then deepened to a lustrous red—like wine and blood mixed together.
She smiled.
"Let him love me," she whispered. "Let him forget her."
---
The Morning After
Calix sat at the sun-drenched terrace, unaware of the storm that brewed inside his tea cup. Brienne's hands were delicate as she poured, voice soft as honey.
"You've barely rested," she said gently. "You should drink something warm."
Calix gave her a tired smile. "Thank you, Lady Brienne."
She smiled back, though her heart was thundering.
He lifted the cup. Drank.
And the world shifted.
His pupils dilated. His posture slackened.
And then he turned to her—gaze locking with hers in a way that made her breath catch.
"…Brienne?"
"Yes, Your Highness?" she said, playing her role perfectly.
His voice was low, almost reverent. "You're… radiant this morning."
She nearly wept.
---
Corrine came running down the corridor that afternoon, cheeks flushed with joy. Her letters to Calix had gone unanswered the night before, but she thought nothing of it.
He must have fallen asleep, she told herself.
He loves me. He always will.
But the moment she stepped into the drawing room, the world ended.
Calix stood by the window. Brienne beside him.
Corrine's voice faltered. "Calix?"
He turned. His gaze was cold—detached.
Not love.
Recognition, perhaps.
Nothing more.
"I was looking for you," Corrine said, trying to smile. "We said we'd go to the lake again today, remember?"
His expression stiffened. "You misunderstand, Lady Corrine."
Her breath hitched.
"Misunderstand?"
Calix looked to Brienne, then back at Corrine.
"You and I… whatever we had—it was a mistake."
Corrine's heart cracked.
"What are you saying?" she asked, stepping forward. "Calix, we—"
"You are no longer suitable," he interrupted sharply. "You gave yourself too freely. You are tainted. I cannot marry you."
The words struck her like blades.
Corrine staggered. "But we love each other…"
"No," he said, voice colder than winter. "I do not love you. I love Brienne."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Corrine dropped to her knees.
"No… please… not like this…"
But Calix didn't bend.
Brienne turned her face away, pretending to hide her 'shock'—while inside, her heart danced with vicious delight.