I Was Always the Substitute

After I was pregnant, Henry and I made up. He didn’t attend court every day, but he had a lot of responsibilities. I did my duties as a future Lady Dawson, running manor affairs when needed and otherwise staying out of his way.

Once I was with child, he forbade me from working—he insisted I rest.

I stared at the ceiling—was I growing moss up there? In a few days I’d blossom and bear fruit.

At least Henry had some conscience. He visited every day, cooked for me, bought me treats, hunted up fashionable trinkets.

He even wanted to hire a traveling troupe, but I preferred storybooks. I used to sneak reads in the Bennett Estate—my mother said storybooks were improper. Henry didn’t want me reading too long; he claimed it strained my eyes. He read to me instead; his voice made those stories sound downright pregnant. Halfway through I’d drift off and miss whole passages.

Pregnancy made me ridiculously delicate. I threw up until I nearly fainted and became picky—Maggie lost weight from my fussiness.

I wasn’t doing great either, but I endured as best I could.

Then Henry moved in—he put a bed across from mine. Now even a little rustle from me at night would wake him.

Sometimes he would feed me water, sometimes he’d massage my feet, sometimes he’d even cook me a bowl of noodles. When I couldn’t sleep, he’d tell me stories, and I’d always wake up in his arms the next morning.

Those two months were the most carefree I’d ever had. I nearly forgot Edward existed.

Then one day, he came.

To be precise, he arranged to see me. He knew I wouldn’t agree to meet him, so he detained Maggie when she went out to buy plums and sent her away.

Moonlight Tavern.

Edward looked at my slightly rounded belly, and for a moment a sad shadow crossed his eyes.

He said, “Claire, Isabella’s pregnant, but the child isn’t mine.”

“Whoa!”

I couldn’t help a vindictive smile. “Congrats—unexpected fatherhood.”

“It’s Henry’s child.”

I don’t know how I made it back to Dawson Manor that day.

The storybooks always say sorrow brings rain.

I wanted rain too—preferably a torrential storm—but the sun beat down, bright and merciless, with no hint of clouds.

My heart ached. It hurt so badly I thought I might die.

I didn’t understand why I felt this way.

Clearly Henry’s heart had always belonged to Princess Isabella.

Clearly the person in my heart had always been Edward.

So how had it changed?

When had I started thinking of Edward less and less, until I didn’t care about him at all?

When had I started waiting for Henry to come home and eat with me?

Waiting to see what gift he’d bring?

Hoping, even, that when he read the storybook, he’d complain about the clichés but keep reading anyway.

I wandered back to the house like a ghost and sat at the window the whole afternoon.

Maggie was terrified. “Miss, please don’t listen to the viscount’s nonsense—maybe he was mistaken.”

In Maggie’s eyes, Edward had betrayed me; he was an absolute scumbag, someone not to be trusted.

“I know.”

So I waited for Henry to come back.

But that day he didn’t return.

“Miss, please eat something,” Maggie urged.

I nodded. I couldn’t eat much.

After the dishes were cleared, Maggie came in and found me still on the windowsill. Tentatively she asked, “Miss…have you…fallen for Master Dawson?”

I froze.

Have I fallen for Henry?

I didn’t know. I only knew the hollow ache inside me.

I waited until the next morning. Henry finally returned.

The moment I saw him, I felt strength flood me. Suddenly it was clear: Henry had taken up most of my life these past weeks.

“Why are your eyes so red?” he asked. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Not didn’t sleep well—I hadn’t slept at all.

“Where were you last night?”

We’d always respected each other’s privacy since I married in; I’d never asked him where he’d been. He looked surprised. “I had business to attend to.”

Business—meaning he’d been with Princess Isabella?

“Hungry? I’ll make you something to eat.”

I grabbed Henry’s arm and pulled him back. Hard. He stumbled, nearly falling into me.

“What’s wrong?”

I wanted to seize a moment.

Not just for the baby, but for myself.

I demanded, “Henry—Edward came to see me and said Isabella’s pregnant—”

“Lady Claire?”

My words were cut off when Princess Isabella, wrapped in pale makeup and pink silk, stood in the doorway. I couldn’t say anything else.

She stepped in, bowed, and said, “Aunt Claire. From today on, I’ll be staying here with you.”

Something inside me shattered. I stared at Henry. My face must have been a mask; my features froze. “Staying here—what do you mean?”

“Isabella and Edward have formally separated. She’ll stay at the manor for a few days.”

“Just temporary?” I asked.

Henry nodded. “Temporary.”

I snorted, forcing my voice steady. “Henry, I need to speak with you alone.”

Isabella blinked. “I’ll step out, then.”

The door closed. I asked, “Last night—were you with Princess Isabella?”

“Yes.”

“Edward said the baby is yours.”

I stared straight into his eyes. In that moment I desperately wanted him to deny it.

He didn’t answer.

Did that mean he admitted it?

Tears slipped down my face.

I’d thought that marrying him meant all I had to do was be the dutiful wife. But love isn’t fair: whoever falls first is the one who loses.

I felt ridiculous.

“Claire, what were you about to say?” Henry asked.

“Congratulations!” I blurted out, oddly relieved that Isabella had interrupted me.

I wanted to ask if she was carrying his child. If not—if she wasn’t—could we forget Edward? Could we try to be happy together?

“Henry, let’s divorce.”

He looked at me with a coldness that seemed to freeze the air. “Divorce?”

“Or what?” I snapped. “Does Prince Dawson expect to enjoy both wives’ favors?”

In the capital, nobles took multiple wives and concubines, but my father had only loved my mother. I’d always yearned to be the only woman in my husband’s life.

If I didn’t love Henry, I wouldn’t care how many he took. But I did. I couldn’t accept this.

Henry watched me for a long time, then said abruptly, “Claire—are you jealous?”

He’d hit a nerve with such an embarrassing question.

I laughed then, bitter. “What, are you afraid that without me—your legitimate wife—covering for you as Isabella’s uncle-by-marriage, the world will discover your affair?”

“Do you really think I’d be so stupidly disadvantaged?”

“Other than divorce, I’ll accept anything.”

In the end Henry and I split without closure.

No matter how I provoked him, how cruel I got—nearly calling Isabella shameless—he refused to give me a divorce.

Maggie heard everything from outside.

This was beyond her knowing. She didn’t know how to help, only to cling to my hand and cry like rain. “Miss, don’t be sad—you still have me.”

“Why cry?” I wiped her face. “If he won’t give the divorce, can’t I give it to him?”

Maggie brightened. “Right.”

“Return to the Bennett Estate.”

“Miss—”

Maggie’s face fell. “Master Dawson has ordered you not to leave the yard. He’s posted guards outside.”

Henry.

I grit my teeth. “Find any hole to sneak out through, get to my parents, beg them to come take me away.”

“All right.”

Maggie returned at night.

She was covered in blood, her eyes swollen from crying.

I was terrified. “What happened?”

“Mistress.” She flung herself into my arms and sobbed. “Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Bennett are gone.”

My mind went blank.

“They accused the Bennetts of colluding with the previous court—treason. The house was ransacked. Master Dawson led the seizure himself. Mr. Bennett smashed his head against a wall; Mrs. Bennett killed herself. We have no home.”

For a long moment I was numb, utterly paralyzed.

When I snapped back, I ran. Maggie scrambled after me.

At the manor gates I was stopped.

What did I care now?

Henry had only barred me from leaving; he hadn’t ordered my death. I threatened the guards with my life, and they let me pass.

I found a horse in the stables—Henry’s fastest, finest mount. It was almost laughable that he’d taught me to ride; he never let me fall.

I rode hard for the Bennett Estate and found it a hellscape of flames.

Guards crowded the entrance. Henry, Princess Isabella, and Edward stood outside; at the sound of hoofbeats they turned toward me.

They might have been surprised, but I couldn’t look at them. I had no time.

I vaulted off the horse and ran into the burning courtyard.

Throwing myself into the blaze felt like a moth to flame—but inside burned the people I loved.

“Claire!” Henry shouted, rushing forward and grabbing me so fiercely I couldn’t break free. I bit his arm without thought—anywhere, to make him let go. My mouth was full of blood.

He didn’t loosen his grip.

“Don’t go in. Don’t look.” He whispered in my ear.

My strength left me.

“Lady Claire,” Isabella said softly, pitying me. “Don’t worry. You’re the Dawson wife now—not a Bennett anymore. Your parents’ alleged crimes have nothing to do with you.”

Henry shot her a warning look. Isabella fell silent.

“Let me go,” I begged Henry.

He didn’t move.

“Don’t worry. My vengeance is not done; I won’t surrender myself to despair,” I said coldly.

Henry’s body tensed, then he finally let me go. I asked, “Where are my parents?”

Henry didn’t answer.

Isabella started to speak, but Edward tugged her sleeve, and she fell silent.

I understood then.

They were inside the house. They had been swallowed by the fire.

Grief at its rawest leaves you unable to cry.

I knelt before the Bennett gate and watched guards run back and forth with buckets trying to douse the flames. It felt like mockery. “What’s the point of trying to put it out? They won’t come back.”

The fire burned for a full day and night. I knelt that whole time. Henry seemed to know he couldn’t persuade me, so he didn’t try; he stayed at my side, kneeling in silence.

I didn’t spare him a glance—did that make his guilt any less real?

Why was Edward kneeling, too?

Looking at them all, I wondered what kind of man I had fallen for.

When the flames died, I told Maggie, “Help me up.”

She’d followed me and never left. She moved forward, and Henry’s hand was quicker. I reached for Maggie—but then everything went black and I collapsed.

When I came to, the first face I saw was Henry’s. He didn’t know how long he’d waited; his eyes were rimmed red, stubble darkened his jaw.

I’d never seen him so haggard.

“Claire,” he said.

Henry Dawson leaned in and said softly, "You're showing signs of a miscarriage. You need to rest."

"Why?"

He already knew what I meant. He sat on the edge of the bed, voice worn thin with exhaustion.

"The Bennett Estate is tied to the previous dynasty."

"The previous dynasty?"

I remembered as a child there'd been rumors—people said a remnant of the old royal line still lived, the town was in an uproar, but when they couldn't find anyone it all died down.

I was curious then; I tried to ask about the old dynasty. My gentle parents had snapped at me so fiercely I wasn't allowed to say a single word about it.

People as cautious as my parents—how could they possibly be connected to the old dynasty?

But as soon as I said those two words, Henry grabbed my hand and warned me with dead seriousness, "You must not speak a single word about the old dynasty to anyone."

"If you're afraid I'll drag you down, you could just give me a formal divorce."

He looked at me for a long moment. "I won't give you a divorce. You'll always be Lady Dawson."

I only found that laughable.

"Do you trust me, Claire?" Henry asked.

I didn't answer. I didn't even want to speak to him.

Henry forced a bitter smile. "Just remember one thing: no matter what, never give up on yourself."

He left before he finished and called Maggie in to tend me.

The girl looked even thinner.

"Where are my parents? The Bennetts?"

"Miss, don't worry. Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Bennett's funeral rites have been completed. Once your body is stronger, I'll take you to pay respects."

Who else would dare handle my parents' rites now?

"It was him?"

"It was Master Dawson," Maggie said. "You were unconscious for three days and two nights. Aside from arranging the funerals, Master never left your side. He wouldn't eat or drink."

I honestly couldn't understand Henry.

He could have ordered a raid on the Bennett Estate one moment, then be so kind to me the next?

"Oh—Princess Isabella moved out," Maggie added. "The day you collapsed, Master carried you back. Princess wanted to see you, but Master refused. They seemed to have argued."

"And General Carter came to see you several times, but the prince wouldn't let him in."

"Who is General Carter?" I asked.

"Edward Carter," Maggie sniffed. "He's an orphan of the Carter family, a major contributor who helped Emperor Sinclair found the new dynasty. When his identity became known, the emperor rewarded his grandfather's merits by making him a general."

I knew of Emperor Sinclair.

He'd been the one who overthrew the previous dynasty.

Sinclair had been a distant branch of the old royal family working within the court. There'd also been a brave General Carter, who married Sinclair's sister. When Sinclair raised an army, General Carter fought by his side.

But word had it the general was assassinated—he and his wife killed by members of the old royal family. Their son vanished.

"So Edward Carter must hate the old dynasty too. Was he involved in the Bennett affair?" I asked.

Maggie shook her head. "I don't know."

I closed my eyes.

"Has the Bennett case been judged? What exactly was the connection?"

"Master sealed all information. The whole estate hasn't spoken."

"Help me up."

I was going to see Henry.

He was in his study. At the door I heard him coughing. I pushed it open and saw crimson staining his handkerchief.

He looked surprised, quickly tucked the cloth away, and rose to help me. "Why are you here?"

"What verdict did the High Court announce?"

"Treason."

"What evidence?"

"They found some old relics of the former royal family in the Bennett Estate."

Henry turned to the desk. On it sat a small box.

I walked over and opened it. Hairpins. Jade pendants. "Isn't this my mother's box?"

I'd seen it once before and loved it, but mother had refused to give it to me—said to wait for the right time. There was no chance now.

Even so—so many lives for just these things?

"I'll send you home."

I didn't refuse.

In the days after, Henry seemed to suddenly have all the time in the world. He stayed with me constantly, and I stopped resisting.

If I left Dawson Manor, I was nothing. I couldn't avenge them. And Maggie was fiercely loyal—she was the only real family I had. I couldn't drag her down.

Life slipped back into old rhythms. I was still Lady Dawson; Henry came every day.

At night, when he lay beside me, more than once I reached for a dagger, only to set it aside helplessly.

One day Maggie came with me to pay respects. On the way we passed Princess Isabella's carriage.

After the ceremony I ran into Edward Carter. I couldn't hide my impatience.

"Claire, are you all right?" he asked.

"Thanks to General Carter, I'm fine," I said coolly.

"I'm sorry about the Bennett matter," he offered.

I looked at him. "Apologize? Really?"

"Yes."

"Then go kill yourself and apologize to my parents in the underworld," I snapped, then climbed into the carriage.

Suddenly a frightened horse bolted toward us. It came so fast I couldn't avoid it. Edward lunged to catch me, and I recoiled in disgust—until I landed in a familiar embrace.

"Are you hurt?" Henry asked.

It was Henry Dawson. He shot Edward a hard look and brought me back to the manor. His face was dark with displeasure.

Since my parents' deaths, I had become oddly indifferent about many things. "You're acting like Edward and I had sordid dealings," I said. "Henry, you wouldn't follow that with 'I love you,' would you?"

"And if I did?" Henry's gaze fixed on me.

There was a depth in his eyes that for a heartbeat made me think he might truly love me.

"Ironically, you've been playing this part long enough," I told him. "You married me because I resemble Princess Isabella. In your heart I'm just a substitute. Can you ever love a substitute?"

Henry's face went ugly.

"Surprised? You're a substitute, too."

I half-lounged on the couch and said lazily to him.

His face went darker than charcoal. He tightened his grip on the teacup until it cracked in his palm. Blood mixed with tea and dripped. His pale robe bloomed red.

He looked at me, words cold as ice. "So? Do you think that means I'll hand you a divorce?"

I shrugged without care. "If not, fine. Find your favorite mistress, I'll find my perfect memory—no interference, okay?"

Henry stared as if he could pierce me alive.

I thought a moment. "Don't worry. To the outside we'll still be a devoted married couple. Dawson Manor won't be overrun with rumors."

He laughed, like he'd been pricked. "Claire Bennett, I really underestimated you."

He slammed his sleeve and stormed out, slamming the expensive rosewood door.

I scoffed. Be angry all you want, but you slammed the door—on highly prized rosewood, not shabby cheap wood.

After that, Henry didn't come around for a long time.

Two weeks later he returned—this time with a divorce document.

I left the capital with Maggie, boarding a carriage. Maggie counted the coins Henry had given—he was generous with money; he always had been. I didn't care. I had been doing things behind the scenes, too.

Despite my scatterbrained ways, I'd always had a knack—a certain sixth sense. I had Maggie discreetly dig up information about the Bennett case.

What I discovered shocked me: I wasn't my parents' biological daughter.

In fact, my existence had been the reason my parents died.

I was a remnant of the old royal line.

At first I doubted it, but I found letters in the Bennett house the High Court missed. My birth mother had been under suspicion. She'd left me with my adoptive parents when she couldn't protect us any longer.

She hadn't hidden my identity. My parents hadn't rejected me for it.

I used to think regime change only hurt the people. But unless the blade cuts you, you don't know the pain.

I didn't want to change dynasties—I wanted revenge. Blood for blood.

So I began secretly recruiting forces.

Funny thing—Henry still funded much of it. He never denied me necessities; with my dowry and his money I had saved a considerable sum.

"Miss," Maggie gasped. "Thirty million taels of gold—Master… Prince Henry is that rich?"

I frowned. Such a generous separation payment? Was he not afraid Princess Isabella would cause trouble?

For some reason, I felt uneasy. The child in my womb was six months along, usually very calm, but today restless.

Maggie and I stayed at an inn for the night. We ordered food and sat in the main hall.

"Have you heard?" one voice murmured. "Prince Henry rebelled—he tried to assassinate the emperor, failed, and was imprisoned. Word is he's to be executed."

"Why would Prince Henry rebel?" another asked.

"You don't know? Princess Isabella is a fake. She's actually the daughter stolen months ago by the traitor Lin Qingshan—taken in by the emperor by chance. Prince Henry acted for love."

Maggie bit into a bun like she was biting at injustice. "Serves him right!"

"We're going back," I decided.

Back in the city, signs of upheaval were everywhere. Guards searched for Dawson loyalists.

Before leaving I had Maggie secure a small courtyard to serve as a base. I called my people together—we were ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Maggie had been unusually excited, sharpening knives whenever she had a spare minute.

My informants brought news. When Henry pressed his coup, he had stabbed the elderly emperor. The old man lingered, kept alive by medicine. Such news couldn't be public, so they claimed he only suffered a fright.

Strangely, Henry had had the chance to take the throne but ended up imprisoned—odd, given the opportunity.

The new regime was run by the second prince as regent—a man utterly useless, fond of pleasures, leaving state affairs in shambles. Thankfully he listened to advice, and nothing catastrophic had happened yet.

That night I found Princess Isabella. She no longer carried herself like a highborn princess—she'd disguised herself among commoners.

She stared at me, shocked. "Claire Bennett? I thought you'd already left. Why are you back?"

I didn't answer. I had my people take her away to be watched.

"Claire, Henry never loved you, and Edward only used you to get revenge," she called after me.

I still didn’t speak. Maggie efficiently clapped a hand over her mouth and tossed her into the wood shed.

Three days later, word came out of the palace.

Henry Dawson was to be executed.

Edward Carter would personally supervise the beheading.

My people and I mixed with the crowd. I stared at Henry in his prisoner’s clothes. The light in his eyes was gone—he looked like nothing mattered anymore.

I saw the killing intent in Edward’s gaze. He really planned to kill Henry.

“The hour has come. Carry out the sentence!”

“Wait.”

I stepped out from the crowd.

The Second Prince flinched, clearly ready to order my arrest, but Edward whispered something in his ear and the prince didn’t move.

“Why did you come back?” Henry asked me, incredulous. His eyes went red in an instant, tears held so tightly they were about to spill.

“We were married. You’re about to die. I came to escort you.”

My voice was flat.

“All right,” he said after a long pause.

He smiled; in his eyes I saw a tiny reflection of myself.

Maggie handed me a cup of wine. I took it and moved forward. Edward tried to stop me, alarmed: “Claire, don’t—”

I glanced at him and walked on. He must have known he couldn’t hold me; the guards only closed in a little more.

When had Prince Henry ever looked so undone?

Even like this, his presence wasn’t diminished. This man had a way of being the focus of every room.

“Henry Dawson, is there anything you want to say to me?”

Henry looked steadily at me. After a long moment his gaze dropped. “Are you and the baby all right?”

“We’re fine,” I said. “Anything else? Really nothing you want to say?”

He shook his head slightly. “You coming to see me off on the road to the underworld—that’s enough for me.”

I snorted. I met his eyes and said slowly, each word measured, “Henry, this is the last time I’ll ask you. Are you truly sure you have nothing to say to me? If you don’t speak now, don’t regret it later.”

He went still. Something complicated flashed through his eyes, but in the end he only said, “I have nothing more to say.”

“Very well.”

I bit my finger, pressed blood to his brow to blot the tracks of tears under his eyes. “Next life—let’s never meet.”

His expression faltered, an unspoken grief twisting him, but he still nodded. “All right.”

He drank the wine I offered.

I rose briskly and took another cup—this one I handed to Edward. “General Carter. For the acquaintance between us, I honor you with this cup.”

Edward didn’t take it.

I smiled. “Are you afraid I poisoned it?”

I plunged a silver pin into the rim, probing the liquid; nothing altered. Edward took the cup. “That’s not what I meant.”

He lifted his head and drank. “Claire, once Henry is dealt with, I will come to you and make amends,” he said, guilt heavy in his eyes.

I no longer cared. I turned away and said coldly, “Too bad—you won’t get the chance.”

Before Edward could react, his legs buckled. He stumbled and half-kneeling, stared at me, unbelieving.

“Claire—”

Henry’s face tightened. He tried to stand but slumped back, too weak.

The Second Prince was stunned—he had no idea I had returned for revenge, not a farewell. He couldn’t imagine I’d dare drug someone outright.

My soft tendon concoction had been smeared along the bowl’s rim; a hundred silver pins wouldn’t reveal it.

“Seize her!”

Too late. Arrows whistled through the air and one struck above the Second Prince’s head—he fell silent as if a hand had clapped over his mouth.

Commoners flooded forward and clashed with the guards.

My people overpowered the Second Prince.

To be precise, my people drew swords and the prince immediately dropped to his knees, stuttering, “Claire… Claire Lin… don’t kill me. I’ll give you anything. The ones who killed your parents were my father the emperor—he acted alone. I knew nothing.”

“Nothing?” I sneered. “My father, my mother, my imperial grandparents, my parents—did they all not die at your hands? And you tell me it’s nothing to do with you?”

The prince’s voice shook. “You’re the lost descendant the old emperor’s been trying to find…”

I slapped him down with one palm. “A remnant of the previous dynasty.”

“My father will—”

“Kill me?” I snapped. “Or throw me in prison? The old emperor is dying—do you really think he still has power?”

He was speechless.

“Ever heard of catching the ringleader first?” I asked.

My men dragged the Second Prince away.

This whole uprising required little effort. The timing, the place, the people—I had them all. I had captured the prince and used him to command the court. I even had the old emperor carried into the main hall, where I publicly read his crimes, seized his jade seal, and made the historian ink the record in bold strokes.

The old emperor apparently didn’t expect such disgrace; he seethed with indignation and died in fury.

I knew the ministers hated me for it. I didn’t care.

There were attempts to root me out, but I moved faster. A few of the court were loyalists of the former dynasty; with inside help, the royal family was under my control. Anyone who acted would be signing their death warrant.

I was busy those days.

All those who betrayed the Bennett family or took advantage of our misfortune—I spared none. They were sent to their graves.

I don’t believe in fate or curses. I only believe in myself: what’s owed to me will be repaid.

But there were three people I didn’t touch—yet.

Three days later I went to see Isabella.

She’d lost her old pride. Her eyes were hollowed out.

“Claire Bennett,” she spat, “even if you have everything now, you still have nothing. Edward Carter doesn’t love you. Henry Dawson doesn’t love you. You’ll never beat me.”

“Is that so?” I said lightly. “But in the end, my parents protected me.”

Murder is more than killing—it’s about crushing the heart.

Isabella broke down.

She screamed and cursed and smashed things, exhausting herself in the fit. I let her. When she was spent, I had a poignant portrait delivered—an image meant to remind her of deep attachment. The light left her eyes.

I didn’t kill her. Sometimes death is a mercy.

But I’d discovered Isabella’s hand in the massacre at the Bennetts’. How could I let her live comfortably?

“Miss, General Carter requests an audience.”

“Bring him in.”

Edward came. He didn’t beg for mercy or offer penance; he told me many things.

He said he’d known I was the remnant of the previous dynasty all along. The so-called heroic rescue had been arranged. What he wanted was revenge.

Honestly, when both of us seek vengeance, it’s a tangled thing. But my royal lineage of the old dynasty was blameless; because of the reckless ambition of a few, we suffered. His family’s betrayal of the previous dynasty led to their downfall—serves them right.

“That night the Bennett household was slaughtered—I did it alone. Henry Dawson had nothing to do with it.”

“He had actually tried to save people. But Dawson Manor’s influence was too strong. Prince Henry had long suspected the old emperor. I and the old emperor colluded to drag him in.”

Edward smiled then. “He knew it was a trap. He still came. He knew that once he appeared, he could never wash the stain in your eyes. Yet he came without hesitation.”

Edward talked a long while. I listened.

When he finished, he looked at my impassive face and stammered, “You… you knew all this? Yet you still detained Henry Dawson.”

“My affairs with him need no explanation to you.”

There was loneliness in Edward’s gaze. “In the end I still lost you.”

“You’re wrong,” I said, looking at him. “Between you and me there was only calculation. Don’t speak of possession.”

“Indeed—only calculation,” he replied with a mocking smile.

They led him away.

The next day news came: Edward had poisoned himself.

I had them follow procedure and be done with it. Maggie relaxed only when she saw I wasn’t shaken.

Two weeks later, a new emperor ascended.

He was thirteen.

Perhaps the old emperor’s wickedness bore fruit—few of his children were fit. The one capable child had been banished to the cold palace; the seventh prince was sent away at a year old and never saw his father. He suffered humiliation and watched his mother die.

I won’t pretend I didn’t have personal motives. I wanted the old emperor punished beyond death.

But the boy was the only one who could shoulder the realm’s weight.

He would make a wise ruler.

Maybe because I avenged his mother, maybe because I pulled him from the dark cold palace, the boy grew oddly attached to me.

When I left the palace, he clutched my sleeve, eyes wet. “Claire Bennett, please don’t go.”

I smiled. “Stay and support me then—feed me.”

“I will,” the boy said earnestly. “Empress Dowager, Empress, Princess—pick whatever title you want.”

“Will you give me the throne?” I teased.

“Yes,” he said, sincere and shining.

I left anyway.

The little boy chased after the carriage in tears like the world was ending; I thought I’d never see him again. I planned to restore the Bennett Estate.

The next day, he summoned the Ministry of Rites and ordered them to repair the estate.

He dropped by every few days to eat at my table and bring the pastries I loved.

One evening he sent word, mysteriously saying he wanted to take me somewhere and had sent a carriage. I wasn’t able to go—I went into labor.

I was in terrible pain, half-lost to the world, when I saw Henry.

He rushed in, grabbed my hand, panic in his eyes.

I didn’t have the strength to ask how he’d gotten in or why he’d come.

After I gave birth, I collapsed from weakness.

When I woke it was noon the next day, sunlight spilling through the window. Henry slept in a chair by the bed, peaceful.

I moved slightly and he woke.

He glanced at me—first stunned, then ecstatic, then helpless. “Are you uncomfortable? Hungry? Do you want anything to eat?” He rattled off questions until I said nothing, and he visibly panicked. “Summon the Royal Physician—”

“Henry.” I called him back. “Do you remember what I said to you at the execution ground?”

He shuddered.

“I told you—do not regret.”

Henry couldn’t speak for a long time. I ignored him.

Maggie carried the baby in.

A tiny bundle, perfect as carved jade.

“Miss,” she said, “he refuses the wet nurse’s milk.”

Maggie was helpless. They’d tried three different wet nurses—little Master barely glanced at any of them.

“I’ll take him,” I said.

I picked him up.

Henry’s expression tightened, a little awkward. “I’ll step out for a bit.”

The little guy had eaten his fill and dozed off, content. Maggie passed him to the wet nurse, then came back in and told me Henry had been waiting at the door the whole time. I hadn’t barred him from seeing the child—if he wanted to look, to hold him, that was his choice.

I was just cold to him.

Henry had come midday, with Emperor Alden in tow—Alden, who used to be Prince Alden, now the reigning sovereign.

The moment the two men entered, I understood why Henry—who’d been absent for months—had suddenly shown up when I gave birth.

It turned out Alden’s life in the cold palace had been hell. Henry had secretly helped him the whole time; otherwise Alden would’ve been doomed long ago.

“Um, I’ll go see the baby,” Alden said, looking guilty, and slipped out.

It was just Henry and me then.

“When did you find out?” he asked.

He’d figured I knew everything—if I hadn’t, Edward Carter would’ve had no chance to get away. Where could he have run to?

“When you and I divorced—when I left the capital,” I said. I didn’t hide it.

Before I got pregnant, Henry had me oversee Dawson Manor’s finances. I’d seen the ledgers; I knew how much silver the manor had. What he gave me covered everything.

I knew he and Isabella had been pure as driven snow.

I knew the child Isabella carried wasn’t his.

I knew he’d quietly planned everything for me after our divorce.

I knew he hadn’t been part of the Bennett family’s case—he’d gone to save someone.

I knew all of it.

What I couldn’t forgive was how little he understood me. If I loved someone, I’d run through fire and ice with him. I wouldn’t want him hiding things from me, doing everything behind my back.

“Henry, you’ll never know how I felt—when I finally summoned the courage to tell you I wanted a future with you, and you brought her back, tacitly accepted that the child was yours.”

It felt like standing under the summer sun and having a bucket of ice dumped over me—every limb chilled to the bone.

“You…” Henry stared at me, unbelieving. His eyes were stunned.

I said no more. That was enough.

After that day, Henry didn’t pester me, but he started coming by often. At first I thought he was coming for me, but he wouldn’t stay long—he was careful with distance. Instead, he spent whole days with our son; sometimes he’d stay late and sleep beside him.

Our son—Song… our child—Arthur. Henry had named him, Songling—“Precious Arthur.” I had no objections.

One morning I’d just woken when Henry unexpectedly came in. He was visibly shaken, holding himself back—something I rarely saw.

He looked at me straight on, his eyes deep as ink. “Claire,” he said, “there’s something I don’t think I ever told you.”

I had a bad feeling.

“I love you. I’ve wanted to say that for a long time.”

Henry… loved me?

I barely trusted the words. I’d always thought the one he cared for was Isabella.

I blurted out, “You married me because Isabella and I have similar eyes, didn’t you?”

I regretted it the moment it left my mouth.

Henry seemed to realize something. He looked at me and shot back, “Claire Bennett, do you really think I would marry someone at random and treat her like that?”

No—absolutely not.

There were many maidservants at the Dawsons’ residence. After I married in, one maid apparently thought her master had finally woken up and brazenly climbed into his bed—Henry had the maid executed that very day.

“I didn’t love her,” he said.

“And I never saw you as a substitute. It was always you from the start.”

“But you still—”

I stopped halfway, tugged at the blanket, eyes flickering. “I’m sleepy. I want to sleep.”

I’d just woken—of course Henry didn’t buy my lame excuse, but he didn’t call me out. “I’ll be with Arthur,” he said.

I couldn’t sleep.

My emotions were a mess. Maggie came in several times to find me hugging the quilt and staring into space.

“Miss, you still love Master Dawson, don’t you?” she asked.

I said nothing.

“Miss, follow your heart. Don’t leave yourself with regrets. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

Regrets. I didn’t know.

After my confinement month, I took the baby to pay respects to my parents’ graves. Henry came with me.

On the way back, Arthur giggled in Henry’s arms. The man beside me looked so gentle I almost felt stunned.

The carriage stopped and Henry lifted the baby down first, then turned to help me out. I hesitated, then put my hand on his. “There’s something I want to say to you.”

He looked surprised but nodded, voice soft. “Okay.”

Maggie, clever, took Arthur inside and shot me a little wink as she passed.

“Henry, the divorce paper you gave me is wrong. Your name isn’t on it. You need to add it.”

I took the papers from my bosom and handed them over.

Henry went pale, lowered his head, and after a long moment muttered, “All right.”

“Add it right now. And about the silver you gave me—you can’t take that back.”

“I won’t.”

There wasn’t a pen on hand, so Henry cut his finger and wrote his name with his blood. I accepted it carefully. “What will you do next?”

“I don’t know.”

“Whatever you plan, stay in the capital a few more days. At least we know each other. If I’m getting married, please come to my wedding and have a drink.”

Henry looked up, stunned. His eyes were rimmed red; feelings nearly burst through but he swallowed them. He tried to speak but couldn’t. After a long time he asked, “Is he good to you?”

“Yes,” I said. “At least he won’t hide everything from me like you did.”

“Oh. Don’t worry. He’s good to our son too. We’re not unreasonable—Arthur is still your son. Whenever you want to see him, come.”

I added, “But no—”

Henry sounded rough. “You…take care of yourself.”

He didn’t come inside.

After I told him I was marrying, he came less and less often; when he did, it was only to see Arthur.

Time flew. Before I knew it, it was my wedding day.

I’d moved back to the Bennett Estate. The house had been restored to how it’d been, only my parents were gone. I walked Arthur around the courtyard when Maggie hustled me back in—today was an auspicious day; I had to dress properly. She fussed and shoved me toward the inner chamber.

Maggie was proud now; everyone in the house called her “Auntie.” The little maid pretended to be forlorn about being promoted and called “old.”

I changed into my gown and sat by the cradle to play with Arthur when Maggie burst in, trembling. “Miss—he’s here.”

Before she finished, a shadow darted through the doorway—frantic, stumbling—stopping two steps away from me.

It was Henry.

Maggie, knowing, took Arthur out.

I looked up. “What are you doing here?”

Henry looked awkward, then steadied and asked, determined: “Do I still have a chance?”

“To marry you?” My chest tightened. I said flatly, “What if I said no?”

The light in his eyes dimmed. He didn’t answer.

After a beat, he looked up at me; his ink-dark eyes were wet at the edges, full of grievance and helplessness. “I don’t want to force you, but I can’t let you go.”

Before I could ask what he intended, he blurted, “I’m not leaving. What if he treats you badly?”

I showed no expression, but I knew the truth: I, Claire Bennett, couldn’t get him out of my heart.

This whole wedding was meant to test him—could he really walk away? He came back, almost humbling himself; I ached for him, but I couldn't get past my hurt.

I bit down hard on my gums. “Come here.”

Henry looked bewildered by my tone but came anyway.

“Clai—”

Before he finished, I grabbed his arm and shoved him forward. With a thud, he landed on his back on the floor.

He was stunned. It took him a long moment to collect himself. When he rose, he searched my eyes as if trying to read my soul. Suddenly he smiled. “Vent your anger?”

“No.”

“Again?”

“Can’t throw you anymore.”

“Then bite?”

He put his arm out—an open invitation. I showed no mercy. We tasted iron on our lips. He held back without protest.

My fury evaporated. I pushed his arm away. “Save it for later.”

“Later?” His voice trembled, a suppressed light in his eyes. “You—”

“Henry, I don’t like being lied to. But you lied first.”

I said it boldly, then looked down; my eyes were wet. I wasn’t ashamed.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

I turned my face away. “If you hadn’t come back today, I’d really have let you go.”

There was a gamble in that, but I relished the sting.

“Also, I hate love that uses secrecy as an excuse. Do you think you’re noble? Or that I couldn’t share the burden? I was ready to be honest with you, and you kept everything from me.”

“I should have made you call Arthur someone else’s father and driven you mad,” I added bitterly.

Henry’s eyes reddened. He was barely holding himself together. He came closer, tugged my sleeve. When I didn’t pull away, he drew me into his arms.

“Sorry,” he said again.

I let the tears come, letting all the pent-up grievances out. Henry didn’t stop me; he just tenderly wiped my face.

When I was done, he asked, “Claire, can I read you storybooks for the rest of my life? Will you forgive me?”

I looked at him—my sleeve damp with tears—and asked, oddly, “When did you start liking me?”

It was a strange question, but Henry understood. A flicker of awkwardness crossed his face. “Three years ago—at the Mid-Autumn feast. Do you remember you walked into the wrong privy?”

Of course I remembered. It was so dark I hadn’t seen properly. I had stormed in and seen a man with his pants undone. I’d thought my reputation would be ruined and kicked him—boots and all—right back out.

My gaze toward Henry changed a little.

Henry gave a helpless laugh. "I almost laughed, almost cried. I didn't actually kick you in—well, I nearly did… cough, cough… Anyway, that's when I remembered you. I had people look into it and found out you were Miss Bennett. Then I was sent out of the capital. When I came back, I visited the Bennett Estate once, but you weren't there. After that… the whole thing with you and Edward happened."

He sounded disappointed as he said it.

"What about that rumor that you knelt for three days and nights to win Isabella's hand?" I asked.

"He was going to give me a marriage by imperial decree," he said. "I refused. I begged him to rescind the edict."

I understood.

"You left your men with me. Weren't you afraid I wouldn't come back to save you?"

"That was worth it."

Henry said.

I sighed, a little wistful. "I thought I was such a rallying figure—so quick to start a rebellion and succeed. Turns out you planned most of it behind the scenes."

"My Claire is still impressive," Henry murmured. "I was only adding the finishing touches."

"You thought of everything, but how did you miss yourself?"

Henry's dark eyes dimmed. After a long moment he said, "I didn't expect you to have feelings for me."

"Neither did I expect you to have feelings for me," I replied.

"Henry, whatever happened before doesn't count."

"As you wish. It doesn't count."

"But I already had your child. I want to marry you again. It's humiliating for me."

"Then I'll tell the whole world it was me, Henry Dawson, pestering and pleading—I must marry her again. Miss Bennett took pity on my lonely state and reluctantly accepted this poor man."

"That's more like it."

I looked up at him and smiled. I looped my arm through his and rose onto my toes. Henry seemed to know what I was about to do; he leaned down, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lowered himself over me.

In the end, we were together.

He hid things from me—so did I.

Some things became clear. He had, several times, tested my feelings on purpose or by accident, but I never let anything slip. So whenever I wanted to speak up, fate always put us off course.

Henry and I became man and wife again.

He was now the Regent; I became his regent consort.

On our wedding night, he came back to the room early. We drank the wedding wine together. Candlelight cast soft shadows over his face—very handsome.

"Henry, that time before—couldn't you have pushed me away?" I asked, smiling.

The claim that I drunkenly slept with him was absolute nonsense.

Henry cleared his throat; his eyes shone. Bold as ever, he said, "I couldn't push you away. Want to try again, my lady?"

He pinned me beneath him and murmured at my ear, "May I have one honest heart."

That night of joy carried on well into the next day.

Being his consort was exhausting, so I decisively moved in with Aiden.

One afternoon I woke and Aiden wasn't there. A maid said he'd gone off to his father's study to bother him, and Maggie had gone after him.

When I reached the study it had been tidied. As I was leaving, I noticed a stack of paper on the desk—a pile of sketches.

Curious, I walked over. The drawings showed a girl with smiling eyes and delicate brows. Wasn't that me?

I flipped through the pages. All of them were of me.

There I was climbing over the estate wall, there I was being punished by Father on my knees, there I was sighing at the window, there I was feeding fish at the lotus pond.

I hadn't known I looked so alive in his eyes.

The paper was a little yellowed with age. Apart from the little handprint of some immature boy who'd pressed his palm there, there were no stains. They'd been well preserved.

So even before I knew it, he had loved me for so long.

"What are you looking at?" Henry came in from outside. He glanced at the drawings in my hands and cleared his throat. "Just doodles."

"Doodles you doodled this much?"

He only smiled, said nothing.

I turned and looped my arm around his waist. "Henry, there's something I don't think I've ever told you."

"What?"

"You were never anyone's substitute."

You are you—one and only, Henry Dawson.