Why me? Probably because he knew he wasn’t worthy of the prime minister’s legitimate daughter.
I was his second choice.
That I could marry the Crown Prince today was entirely thanks to the villains doing their job well.
They kidnapped the original bride—Hazel Bennett—forced wedding robes onto me, and deposited me in the wedding sedan.
Their intent was to disgrace the Crown Prince and sow discord with the Bennetts.
I was miserable, but I didn’t say a word.
If anyone found out how I felt, they’d call me ungrateful. A low-born girl marrying the Crown Prince—how dare I complain?
But my grievance wasn’t marrying the Crown Prince, nor was it about that young man.
It was my fate.
I, a forever-single woman from the twenty-first century, had transmigrated into a book as a disposable supporting character.
Today, I had to fulfill my role and push the plot forward.
A breeze lifted the sedan curtain and I vaguely saw a figure in black armor, a silver spear in hand, standing in the middle of the road.
A one-man bride rescue—how ridiculous.
“Miss Bennett, I returned alive,” he shouted hoarsely, his voice clear and loud.
The crowd had been silent for a long stretch—either stunned or too afraid to react.
I idly picked at my nails. This guy—so dramatic. If you returned, fine; at least look at the occasion.
Impressive.
“Oh my, General Reed, this is the Crown Prince’s wedding—please don’t make trouble. Move aside,” a high, unplaceable voice cooed, trying to placate him.
Translation: don’t cause a scene. Get lost.
“Miss Bennett, before you leave, I want to see you,” the young man insisted.
He sounded stubborn—definitely immature.
I yawned again, a little sleepy.
Not my business, I told myself.
If it’s my business, I won’t bother either.
After all, I’m just a throwaway character—not worth stealing the spotlight.
The curtain was suddenly whipped aside and I collided headlong with a pair of ink-dark eyes.
Lucas Reed stared at me in shock. “Claire… Bennett? Where’s Miss Hazel?”
In the book, Lucas always loved Hazel Bennett. He’d assumed the sedan carried Hazel, so returning from the battlefield was one thing—he only wanted to see her.
Pitiful and tragic.
A horse whinnied, then a low, magnetic male voice asked, “General Reed, do you still see me as alone?”
Lucas straightened, spear held horizontally. “Claire Bennett is betrothed to me. She must not marry you. If you insist today, Prince, you’ll have to step over my corpse.”
His words were edged with anger, the kind that could unhorse a man.
The Crown Prince in this novel—Edward Hale—was the male lead.
The book didn’t describe Lucas much: a disposable male supporting role with a handful of scenes. After he served his plot purpose, he disappeared.
The Crown Prince, though, was different.
The book painted him like a living painting: elegant as an orchid, smile like a bright moon.
I’m not one to chase wealth or power. I have one obsession I won’t apologize for—beauty.
Curious, I carefully peered through the curtain.
The sunlight was blinding. I could just make out a chestnut steed and a young man in wedding robes; his face was a wash of light, hard to see.
Lucas had already gotten a clearer look—this time he saw everything.
Not bad, I thought.
He had sun-kissed skin, slanted brows, coal-black eyes, a straight nose, and slightly red lips. There was a reckless bravado about him that somehow felt reassuring.
You could tell he wasn’t a schemer.
Seeing me looking, he flashed a grin, showing white teeth. “Claire, don’t be afraid. I’ll take you home.”
…No need, really.
I’m a mellow transmigrator. The Crown Prince must have noticed me too; he dismounted and walked toward us, the sun at his back.
Tall, broad-shouldered and narrow of waist.
As he drew closer, his features sharpened.
I inhaled sharply, nearly screamed.
Oh my God—he’s gorgeous!
He looked like he’d stepped out of a painting.
His long hair was neatly tied high, eyebrows like distant hills, eyes bright as stars, lips pale against the red wedding robes—an air of fragile nobility.
He stopped before the sedan, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hazel? Why are you in the sedan?”
Brother, you are weaponizing your looks.
I deliberately bowed my head and lifted a fan to block his gaze.
According to the plot, the original girl—who secretly loved the Crown Prince—would seize this opportunity, decide to go along with it, and actually marry the Prince. Then, at the wedding ceremony, her identity as a substitute bride would be exposed. The Crown Prince, Edward, would cast her aside.
Out of courtesy the emperor would name the original a Crown Consort.
“I certainly don’t have the nerve to commit such a sin,” I said, swallowing. “Bad people kidnapped Miss Hazel and shoved me into the sedan. I’m helpless, confused, and weak. If you want to use me, go ahead—I’ll cooperate.”
I’d survived school bullying, domestic abuse, and company backstabbing; I knew what resisting fate cost. Enduring may seem weak, but it’s easier than wrestling destiny.
This life, a quiet existence as a consort, didn’t sound so bad.
“Claire Bennett, what did you say? Miss Hazel was kidnapped? Crown Prince, how did you protect her?” Lucas strode over, snatched my fan, and demanded, brow furrowed.
Brother—can this disposable male lead stop making drama?
We’d be fine living quietly under the hero’s halo.
Edward lowered his eyes in thought a moment, flicked his sleeve, and asked me coolly, “I’ll give you one choice: return to Bennett Manor or come to the Crown Palace?”
“Crown Palace.” I didn’t expect Lucas to be so bold. No sooner had the word left my mouth than he scooped me up and ran.
Being chased by the palace guard was adrenaline-inducing.
I wriggled, craned my neck behind Lucas to look at Edward. He stared at me with a depth like an abyss, and I felt ice along my spine.
This Crown Prince was both righteous and dangerous. Follow him and prosper; oppose him and perish.
I swallowed fear and declared my loyalty: “Crown Prince, save me. I want to go to the Crown Palace—I’ll go with you!”
No future in sticking with that expendable supporting lead.
Lucas froze, displeased. “Claire Bennett, have you no shame?”
Dodging a flying hidden blade, he jumped off a roof and kept sprinting. “Miss Hazel likes the Prince—that’s her right. Why compete with her? Am I that inferior? Why won’t you marry me?”
His voice trembled at the end, trying to hide sorrow.
He loved his heroine; I was here to fulfill my plot.
Since we couldn’t agree, I stopped struggling. Accidents happen, and I couldn’t risk injuring myself.
Safety matters; precaution is key.
Lucas stole a stranger’s horse, rode hard with me, and we put distance between us and our pursuers.
My backside felt like it would break into pieces on the saddle.
After who-knows-how-long, we stopped at a small cottage halfway up a hill.
Green mountains, birdsong, shade beneath a tree—perfect for retiring.
“Under heaven, whose land does this not belong to—” I muttered.
Hiding me here won’t help—I was a tool meant to shine.
“You marrying the Prince would sadden Miss Hazel,” he said without pause.
He carried me into the bamboo cottage.
The room was spare: a table, two chairs, a folding screen, and a small wooden bed. He set me down and rummaged, handing me a plain white robe to change into.
Relieved to ditch the wedding crown and heavy gown, I flopped onto the bed.
“I need to get back to the Crown Palace. Otherwise we’re in danger,” I said. He suddenly flushed and hurried out.
“I—I didn’t see clearly. I didn’t see clearly.”
Looking down at myself, the white robe was loose, slipping off one shoulder, revealing a curve. Barefoot, no stockings—this was practically underwear by ancient standards.
I had no time to care. In this unfamiliar place with the plot tugging at me, the smartest move was to follow the storyline and muddle through a short, prosperous life as a consort.
First priority: fix this mess and find a way to continue toward the Crown Consort path.
Half-asleep, I heard footsteps outside.
The door opened and Edward Hale and my father, Governor Bennett, entered almost at once.
Seeing my disheveled state—hair loose, bare feet—both men jumped to conclusions. My father grew furious; Edward’s face was cold as water.
In a flash, Edward covered me with his outer robe.
“Claire Bennett, you climbed into the Crown Palace sedan in public and now you’ve done this disgraceful thing with Lucas Reed. Tell me—how shall I deal with you?”
I remembered the purity mark used in ancient times and scrambled to prove myself.
I rolled up my sleeve, propped myself up, and showed Edward my arm. “Your Highness, I’m clean.”
His gaze darkened. He said, low and controlled, “Behave.”
“This concerns a woman’s chastity. I must explain.” I leapt up—too abruptly—and the robe slipped, exposing most of my shoulder. To these people, it looked scandalous.
Edward immediately closed me into his arms, shielding me with his broad sleeve.
“Senator, please step outside,” he said.
My father barely processed what had happened before he saw us embrace. His expression twisted.
As soon as my father left, Edward let go of me.
“You’re scheming,” he said, turning his tall, straight back to me. “Why do you want to enter the Crown Palace?”
To live comfortably, I wanted to reply.
“I’m just a miserable person who can’t control her own fate,” I said, half-true, half-performance. “I didn’t mean to ride in the sedan. I didn’t mean to be kidnapped. And confronting you here was not my intention.”
Thinking it through, I hadn’t done anything—but in your eyes I was the schemer, the one who’d done all the awful things. That’s just not fair.
He stiffened, then turned to look at me.
Sunlight slanted through the window, half his face swallowed by shadow, the other half lit up, making it impossible to read his true expression.
"Claire, don’t talk about mastering your own fate next time. For a young lady, it’s better to be a little foolish."
After a long pause, he said that quietly.
I nodded like a puppet.
Transmigrants learn fast: never talk about equality or controlling your destiny. That’s basically poking the people in power.
Next time I had to be careful. Careful, careful, careful.
I managed to follow Edward into the Crown Palace and became a consort to the prince.
On my wedding night I was left alone in the bridal chamber.
Expected, but it still hit me like a sorrowful ache.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get rid of that purity mark. If I couldn’t experience the joys I missed in my previous life, I’d have to make up for it somewhere else.
So I slipped out.
I wandered the vast Royal Garden until I got lost.
The moon was bright, the stars sparse, and a soft breeze moved through the leaves.
I sat next to a rockery, gnawing on a chicken leg I’d stolen from the Imperial Kitchen, muttering about which brand of spiced duck was tastier.
"What are you doing?"
A voice suddenly asked, and I clutched my chicken leg.
My gaze moved up from black boots and froze on an astonishingly handsome face. For a moment I had no idea how to explain my late-night snack theft.
"How can you be so undisciplined? If you want something, have a servant fetch it. Why steal?"
He looked down at me, the moon behind him. He seemed cool and remote as the moon itself—untouchable.
"I’m independent. I like doing things myself."
I forced a laugh. I tried to stand, but my legs were numb. I wobbled, and the chicken leg dropped.
Following the three-second rule, I snatched it back up, blew on it, and was about to take a bite when Edward stopped me.
There was a hint of pity in his gaze and a softer tone in his voice. "It’s dirty."
"Okay."
After a moment’s hesitation I decided to keep my mouth shut and not build any character—be the forgettable side character.
His lips moved but he didn’t speak. He glanced at me, then turned and left.
I waited until he’d nearly gone before finishing the chicken leg, but he turned back. "Not leaving? Still wandering the garden?"
So he’d seen me the whole time.
I trailed behind him.
He led me back to the chamber. Standing at the doorway, he looked at the chicken leg in my hand. "Behave yourself. I won’t mistreat you."
I obediently nodded.
After a silence he said out of the blue, "I think you’re very clever."
I went on guard. First he’d told me a lady should be a little foolish, and now he called me clever. That didn’t seem like a good sign.
The next morning I was barely awake when a sparrow-like voice chirped in my ear, making me grumpy.
"Ten more minutes, please."
I clutched the blanket and begged weakly.
But the voice didn’t relent.
I bolted upright, pounding the mattress. "What’s ten more minutes gonna do? Be reasonable."
"Consort, you must pay respects to the Queen this morning. Don’t be late."
A delicate handmaiden bowed nervously.
I suddenly remembered my new identity and plastered on a fake smile. "Yes, yes, I’ll get up."
After a flurry of dressing, I wore heavy palace robes and a head full of jewels, and followed the handmaidens to the Queen’s Chamber.
At the palace gate we passed Lucas Reed kneeling stiffly in the morning light, whipping rods stacked behind him.
Yesterday he’d acted like a conqueror; now he was mortifying himself. The palace really was a dangerous place. I needed to stay alert.
"Hey, didn’t you see me?"
Lucas called as we brushed past. His eyes were wide with annoyance—so teenage, so dramatic. If you’re resigning yourself to punishment, at least don’t look upset about it.
"General Reed, this is the prince’s consort. You should show proper etiquette," the handmaiden who’d woken me said indignantly.
"Consort?" Lucas straightened and stared at me. "You’d rather be the side piece than my legitimate wife?"
I couldn’t help it—people like him will be undone by their mouths.
"General, you can’t compare yourself to the prince—" I started to advise, meaning to caution him that a minister can’t be equated with a monarch, but he misread me as flattering the powerful.
He scoffed like he’d swallowed a lemon. "I’ll wait and see this consort’s glory days, ha." He dragged out the word “consort” like an insult, as if accusing me of being a homewrecker.
So dramatic, so deeply misguided. I said nothing and walked on.
The Queen’s chamber was packed with the court ladies. My legs trembled.
Women are experts at making other women miserable; palace women are masters. Luckily, I had learned court etiquette while at Bennett Manor, so they couldn’t find many faults.
After some perfunctory remarks, the Queen dismissed the others, leaving only me, shaking with nerves.
"My son once said he wanted a lifelong, one-and-only partner…" Her eyes narrowed as she scanned me. "You’ve entered the Crown Palace and ruined that thought. I’m pleased. Don’t be afraid of me."
I bowed carefully. "Claire thanks Her Majesty for her favor."
The Queen’s brow twitched. "Not favor—if you want to win my favor, make the prince come to your room soon."
That was a problem. I was a consort destined to be left alone—part of the book’s plot, part of fate.
Seeing my hesitation, the Queen sighed like a disappointed craftsman. "I’ll help you."
That evening, not long after the moon rose, Edward was carried to my bed by two major-domos.
I blinked, spooning bird’s nest soup the Queen had sent, as the major-domos winked at me. My brain went blank.
"Consort, it’s time."
A pale, polite pageboy took my porcelain bowl and pointed to the bed. Suddenly it clicked: this must be the Queen’s help.
I gulped the remaining soup, put on a determined smile, and thanked the major-domos.
They left satisfied.
Once the door clicked shut, I wiped my smile away and nibbled on pastries from the table. Not having additives took some getting used to.
After two bites, there was a knock. A tiny, high voice drifted through the door. "Consort, is everything okay? Need help?"
The Girl Who Stole His Wedding
I almost choked. The Queen had even arranged a listening servant. Thorough to the last detail.
I stood at the bed and looked down at Edward. He slept with wine still painted on his face; his lips were vivid, eyes fluttering behind long lashes. His brows furrowed slightly—he wasn’t sleeping peacefully.
He murmured a name in his sleep: "Hazel."
The voice was so tender it made my chest ache. I felt a twinge of jealousy—what a heap of romantic nonsense.
I sat on the floor and started rocking the bed with a practiced rhythm.
A drunk man needs, what, three or four minutes? The creaks of the bed and my gentle humming eventually satisfied the listening servant.
Once the shadow outside the window disappeared, I turned to rest my aching hands—and suddenly our eyes met.
He’d opened his eyes without me noticing and fixed me with a direct, probing stare.
My face blazed with embarrassment. "What’s your name?" he asked.
He propped himself up lazily, fingers drumming on his thigh.
I croaked, looking at the candlelight. "Claire Ben—Claire Bennett."
It sounded awful, but I couldn’t say I was calling out to…the bed.
He hummed, the tone drawn out and faintly teasing.
I felt struck dumb, blinking like an idiot. Was this social suicide?
And Edward—he didn’t seem drunk at all; he’d been pretending, watching me the whole time.
He sat up slowly, legs apart, hair falling to shadow his face, revealing only a strong nose.
For a long moment he looked at me, his eyes sparkling like a galaxy. "You’re very clever."
Clever again.
I wasn’t clever—I was timid, awkward, and panicked.
"I was pretending to be drunk. You saw through it. The Queen’s show must go on," he said, tossing a white silk across the bed to me. "You know what to do."
I awkwardly caught the silk and nodded like a wind-up doll.
It wasn’t just about a dropped bloodstain or a pinprick—there were rituals to follow.
Edward leaned so close his nose nearly touched my cheek. "Next time you meet Lucas Reed, remember to speak less."
In this palace, every word, every gesture, every tiny thing is watched. How awful.
I nodded and eased back.
"Yes, Your Highness."
He suddenly lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I, the prince, cannot afford an errant step. Since you’re one of mine, you must be united with me in purpose."
Having read plenty of palace intrigue, I knew this one: he cared for beauty, but loved power more. He’d tell the Queen about lifelong devotion while letting me into the Crown Palace—everything was calculated.
I bowed earnestly. "Yes."
He knitted his brows in an expression that seemed conflicted, then said nothing and walked away.
I lay back, limbs splayed, swinging my feet. Ignore the palace scheming for a moment—life is still good: fine clothes, abundant food, wealth and status. What else could I want?
In my last life, I never got to taste bird’s nest soup.
I was mapping out tomorrow’s menu in my head when someone suddenly flipped in through the window.
“Hey—did you and the Crown Prince…you know…do it?”
Lucas Reed pulled the black cloth off his face, cheeks flushed crimson.
From his shame and anger, I guessed he’d been eavesdropping outside.
“You really aren’t afraid of dying,” I muttered, turned over, and shut my eyes like I was dozing.
But this reckless idiot didn’t leave it at that. He lunged forward, towering over me, pressing my shoulder down and glaring through bloodshot eyes. “Claire Bennett, you’re awful. The Crown Prince doesn’t love you. He loves Miss Bennett. What you did hurt her and degraded yourself.”
I sneered but stayed silent.
By that logic, when Edward Hale came to see me, should I have kicked him out in a panic?
The corner of Lucas’s eye reddened. He let go, slumping to the ground, staring blankly at the snake-like scar on the back of his hand.
People who love and can’t be loved back are the saddest sight.
I couldn’t help the sympathy swelling in me and patted his shoulder. “Big brother, here’s a truth: if you love yourself, you won’t be disappointed.”
He twitched after a long moment, looking at me like I was an idiot. “So becoming a concubine is your idea of loving yourself?”
Before I could answer, he stood with huffs and grunts and gave me a giant, dramatic eye-roll. “If it weren’t for the Queen playing tricks, Edward wouldn’t have ended up in your bed.”
Oh, wonderful—blaming the Queen, and saying the Crown Prince’s name outright…what a time to be alive.
“What kind of look is that?” he demanded.
I dropped my eyes and shrugged. “I think you might be right.”
He froze for a second, then forced a laugh that was more like a pained cough. “No—no—no… that’s okay. Men and women’s business isn’t that important anyway, right?”
“Right.”
I glanced at him with my head down. He flushed deeply, like he’d suddenly realized what he’d said, then bolted out the window like he was fleeing.
After the bedroom incident, the Queen’s gaze toward me had softened a bit, and the palace staff treated me with more respect.
But Edward Hale never set foot in my chamber again.
He was busy marrying the woman he’d been dreaming of: Miss Bennett.
I was perfectly content with the extra free time. I spent it in the Imperial Kitchen, hovering around the cooks.
They assumed I wanted to learn cooking to please the Crown Prince, so they taught me industriously.
In my previous life I loved tinkering with recipes and had a decent foundation. Mixing that with local methods now, I dared to innovate—and within days I’d earned a reputation as a culinary marvel.
My spiced duck necks and spiced duck feet were a hit with the palace staff.
Fame is a dangerous thing. And not only did I become famous, I also got a little rounder.
Worse, this body hadn’t eaten much spicy food growing up. It couldn’t handle my Sichuan-style creations.
So on the day Hazel Bennett married into the Crown Palace, I showed up with a face full of pimples and became everyone’s joke.
I didn’t care—after all, I was just a supporting role.
But Lucas thought we were kindred spirits. That night he snuck into my chamber again and brought two jars of wine.
“Drink. If you get drunk, you won’t feel so sad.”
He dragged me up into the old sycamore in the courtyard.
I didn’t dare climb down, or breathe too loud. The moon hung like a jade plate, pouring silk-light that stirred unexpected melancholy.
I blinked back the sudden tide of tears and took a small sip.
“Claire, you should marry me.”
Lucas gulped down a gulp. “It’d be… freer. I’m a good man—what a pity.”
“Lucas, do you believe in fate?” I asked, watching his strong profile. “If the ending’s already set, why struggle? I’m not young and reckless anymore.”
In my past life I’d chased freedom and love, smashed into walls and never turned back. What did I get? A heart stomped into pieces, family snickering at my dreams, friends walking away.
“Look at you—so miserable. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back, stuck alive but not really living.” I bumped his shoulder with the wine jar. I’d been like that once, alive but not living.
He gave a bitter smile, then drank again. “You’re worse off than me.”
This wasn’t some contest—what was there to win?
What a childish man.
He drank almost both jars himself.
I worried he’d cause trouble drunk, but instead he sat obediently, looking at me with watery eyes. “It’s inconvenient for me to leave the palace, so I’ll find a corner to sleep. You go to bed early—don’t live in fear. With me winning battles, I’ll protect you and Miss Bennett.”
His words warmed me and I nodded.
He looped an arm around my waist and leapt down. I lost my footing and grabbed his sleeve; he protected the back of my head quickly. A stone on the ground scratched his hand, but he barely noticed—he got up and mocked me for being clumsy.
Before leaving he jumped up on the wall, turned away, and called back in a faint voice, “Claire, don’t bully Miss Bennett.”
I let out a breath and leaned against the tree trunk, watching him go, stunned.
If someone loved me like that, I’d probably collapse under it. Too bad.
On my way back, I passed the small kitchen and heard a rustle. I tiptoed in and nearly died of fright.
Edward Hale, in his undershirt, was perched on the stove with his legs kicked up, happily gnawing on a duck neck.
He sprang up at the noise, hands clasped behind his back in mock formality, looking at me with arrogant nonchalance. “I heard you’re talented in the kitchen. I just had to try.”
I bowed my head, playing considerate. “Your Highness, you worked hard tonight. You should replenish yourself. There are duck kidneys in the braise—please eat more.”
After that, I fled with a racing heart.
The next morning I hadn’t even gotten up before Miss Bennett—Hazel—came to fetch me to pay respects to the Queen. Edward was there too.
“Please, Anna, let me sleep a little longer,” I mumbled, thinking it was the handmaiden pestering me. I hugged the covers.
“Claire, I’m your sister,” Hazel’s gentle voice said at my ear, making me jerk upright.
She was the female lead—the one the story revolved around.
“I’ll wait outside while you dress. Don’t be afraid.” She smiled and took Edward’s hand, moving away with grace that made everyone envious.
I blinked, half asleep, my mind slow to reboot.
After Hazel moved into the palace, my first act of sabotage had been at the welcome-back banquet. My family fussed over Hazel and neglected me. One of the house boys who’d grown up with me couldn’t stand it and tried to push Hazel into the pond as a prank. In the scramble I got shoved in—and I, quick as I was, grabbed Hazel and dragged her down with me.
She stayed ill for a long time after that. Everyone blamed me, but Hazel—gentle, generous—never complained.
While she convalesced, Edward doted on her endlessly. My reputation was in tatters and nobody visited.
“Get up, Your Highness,” Anna reminded softly.
I sighed. Once this assistance was done, I thought, things would calm down for a while.
After we’d finished our formal greetings to the Queen, I slipped away. I left Hazel and Edward to wander the court at leisure.
A few steps later I overheard Edward to Hazel, “Your sister is clever.”
Back in the quarters, I decided to go on a diet. I’d put on weight and couldn’t let it go unchecked.
I was jogging around the courtyard, sweat pouring, when Lucas scaled the wall and dropped in with a bloodied rabbit in hand.
It nearly made me lose my breath.
He seemed pleased as punch and shoved the rabbit at me. “Fat, right? I heard you cook well—brought this for you.”
I steadied myself, took the rabbit—it did weigh a bit. “Nice. Go skin it. I’m full now, back to the diet.”
“Diet?” Lucas frowned at me. “You still aiming for favor?”
“Why can’t I lose weight for myself?” I snapped, frowning, and at that moment Edward appeared from around the corner. He looked at me oddly—maybe with displeasure tucked into his gaze.
“General Reed—private rendezvous with a consort is a grave offense,” he said.
I looked away and kept staring at the rabbit in my hands, not wanting to get involved.
A pair of dark boots came into view, and a long, strong arm wrapped around my waist.
“Ale, aren’t you going to beg for mercy?” Edward asked.
I shook my head without hesitation.
We each have our fate; what right do we ants have to interfere? Besides, in the book, Lucas didn’t die here.
Edward’s mood lightened strangely. He let go and walked to the small kitchen. “Ale, let me see how your famed spicy rabbit head is made.”
The spicy rabbit head had been my secret comfort. One day a handmaiden cried out when she saw us in the corner nibbling a rabbit head—“Oh! It’s so cute, you’re eating its head!”—and the clamor attracted another lady who loved meat. Before I knew it, the trend spread; half the court was eating rabbit head. Rabbits got scarce. And since then I hadn’t enjoyed a proper rabbit head myself.
Lucas’s timing was perfect.
After showing him how to dress the rabbit, I chopped off the head in one clean cut and a spray of meat dotted Edward’s face. He made a displeased sound but didn’t leave—he simply moved to another spot and kept watching me.
I made the head with salt and pepper and the body into spicy rabbit cubes.
Amid the smoke and steam, the scent lifted my spirits and I found myself humming as I worked. I cleaned up the kitchen as I went, and when the meal was ready the space was neat. That gave me a small triumphal buzz.
Then I met the two pairs of eyes—Edward’s and Lucas’s—probing me with curiosity. My excitement cooled and my waist instinctively bent a little.
Meals are all about the right atmosphere. Sandwiched between Edward and Lucas, I lost my appetite entirely.
But clearly, Edward Hale and Lucas Reed were totally unfazed. The two of them treated it like a contest to see who could eat faster, their lips swollen from the spice, stubbornly refusing to drink water first as if that would be admitting defeat.
I finally understood what childishness in men really looked like.
It took forever for the two gods to be ready to leave, and then Hazel showed up.
"F—Future Crown Consort."
Lucas Reed bowed respectfully, eyes lowered, his face unreadable.
"General Reed? What are you doing here?"
Hazel naturally positioned herself at Edward's side, smiling warm as spring. "Your Highness, why are your lips so red? They even look a little swollen—go fetch the imperial physician."
I stifled a laugh and cut her off, "Hazel, she just ate something spicy. She'll be fine soon."
Edward glanced at me, "General Reed, I haven't sparred with you in a long time."
Lucas kept his head bowed the whole time, not letting anyone really see him, but he nodded and took the lead walking out.
Hazel sighed and patted Edward's shoulder, murmuring consolation, "He's just blunt, not fond of the politicking. Please be patient, Your Highness."
Edward looked at me in a meaningful way and gave a faint, "Hmm."
After the two men left, Hazel linked her arm through mine, eyes sweeping up and down me.
"Claire, you…"
She pinched her brows and puckered her lips like she was troubled.
I worriedly looked at her. What now?
After a long moment, she shook her head gravely. "You've put on weight."
My expression nearly betrayed me; inside I was screaming, "I'm losing it, really—"
"Claire, on the day of your formal return, you might suffer some slights. People at home are sycophants and climbers; they won't change overnight."
True to the heroine role, I nodded very seriously.
"Claire," she said, pulling me toward the chamber, "love in a royal family is always scarce. I don't have much to spare. I can't give you any more."
I stopped and bowed formally. "Claire understands. I only seek a peaceful life now, don't worry."
She patted my shoulder and didn't say more.
Hazel left late; her figure looked a bit thin in the night despite the crowd around her—there was a sadness to it.
I leaned against the palace wall, thinking about Hazel's every smile and frown. She was gentle and clear-eyed; when she smiled, it was like a breeze sweeping across the hills.
"Anna, I'm so sad. Once again I was the rabbit who didn't get the carrot."
Anna tilted her head, examining me. "Your Highness, are you crying?"
I turned my face away. "There's a bug."
A shadow leapt down from the wall, urgent—"Let me look, don't move—"
Anna was about to shout when I clapped my hand over her mouth and spun to glare at the newcomer.
I was about to scold him, but seeing the bruise on his face stole the words from my throat.
"Lucas Reed, who hit you so hard? The Crown Prince?"
I lamented—if that mark scarred, it'd be a shame.
Lucas spun away quickly, voice muffled, "My foster father ordered me. In a match with the Prince, I had to lose."
The foster father he meant was my father, Governor Bennett.
"Then why didn't your foster father forbid you from coming near the Consort's chamber?"
I tugged Anna inside.
"Claire, I'm sorry. I used to be biased against you."
Lucas grabbed my sleeve. "I always thought you'd bully Missy, but lately—you're… not bad."
I was already annoyed; hearing that made me even more so.
"Lucas Reed, I don't care what you think of me. I'm an oddity—I don't need you all to try so hard to understand me."
Saying that, I strode away, shut the door, and turned my anger into action—polishing off an entire platter of pastries.
My mood didn't improve for days. On the day of the formal homecoming, I was listless; Hazel spent the whole time comforting me.
Even Edward, who rarely spoke, tossed out a kind word or two.
I was overwhelmed and plastered on a fake smile.
Everything played out like the book, except for the pond scene.
It should've been both Hazel and me falling into the pond together, but Hazel alone slipped in.
Without thinking, I dove after her.
After gulping down several mouthfuls of water, it hit me how stupid that was.
Jumping in to pull Hazel under is not the same motive as jumping in to save her.
There were two splashes. Edward dived in and pulled Hazel out; Lucas dived in and pulled me out.
Chaos ensued. I lay on the ground while Lucas pressed down on my chest repeatedly.
Some of the ladies thought it improper and tried to pull him away, but he stubbornly refused, wordlessly continuing the compressions until I coughed up two mouthfuls of water. Only then did he release me.
"You're terrible at swimming. Why jump in to save someone?" he snapped, eyes rimmed red.
I didn't know how to explain, so I just stared at him in silence.
He spun and ran off, leaving a trail of wet footprints. He didn't show up again until I returned to the palace.
That night I ran a high fever; drowsily, I heard Edward's voice, "Quick, fetch the imperial physician."
Crap. The plot had been altered.
This illness should've struck Hazel, not me.
A bitter scent filled my nose, then a low, tender voice by my ear. "Claire, open up. Drink this medicine."
I felt terrible and was grouchy, flailing around with my eyes closed. "I won't. Go away. It's just a cold."
Silence for a while, then something warm and damp touched my lips—someone pressed a spoon of tonic to my mouth.
I shot my eyes open and found the man at my bedside, cheeks slightly flushed.
Edward held the bowl of medicine, playing it cool. "Do you want more?"
I shrank back toward the pillows. He leaned in and brushed the hair off my forehead. "Don't be afraid of me."
"I'll drink it myself."
My voice was hoarse and tight with nerves.
He looked disappointed, helped me sit up, and put the bowl in my hands. "Fine. I won't say anything more."
"Could you… leave?"
I gulped down the medicine and asked carefully.
He frowned at me; his eyes were dark and fathomless. "I don't like playing hard to get, Claire Bennett."
With that, he left in long strides.
Anna hurried to my bedside, peppering me with questions—hungry? Thirsty? Pain?
Illness makes you fragile; her earnest worry almost made me cry.
She dampened a cloth to cool my forehead. "Your Highness, you usually hate meddling. Why did you jump in to save the Crown Consort? She has plenty of people to help her. Don't be foolish next time."
This girl had less and less sense of tact. Saving a person isn't foolish—that's an honor, I wanted to tell her.
Just as I sighed, warm water splashed on my arm.
Anna choked up. "Your Highness, I know I'm out of line, but seeing you like this hurts me more than missing spiced duck neck, or chopped fish head, or spicy chicken."
I couldn't help laughing, weakly. I pushed her with my aching hand. "I know. Thank you."
She was so startled by my thanks she nearly dropped to her knees in courtesy, so I came up with an excuse to send her away.
I was exhausted and fell asleep soon after.
In my dream, someone stroked my face and a cool breeze brushed my hot skin. It was so soothing. I felt weightless, rocking gently as if floating on clouds.
I don't know how long I slept. When I woke, I was in Lucas Reed's arms.
Seeing him so close, I couldn't tell dream from reality.
"Claire, you're awake. Still feeling bad?"
He helped me sit up, wincing—his arm must have gone numb holding me so long.
I pinched my thigh hard to wake myself, took in my surroundings, and croaked, "Where are we? What are you doing?"
We were in a carriage. It wasn't moving fast; there were rhythmic hoofbeats and footsteps behind us. Plenty of attendants must be following.
"Running away," he said, pulling out some delicate pastries and offering them. "Eat. You've been out for three days."
Three days? Me? I couldn't have been asleep for three days—just a little cold, how could that be?
"Lucas Reed, you damned—did you drug me?" I blurted.
He calmly handed me a leather water skins to drink. My temper flared; I yanked his hand away and staggered to get out.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and hauled me back into his lap.
"Claire, the Emperor has sent me to the frontier to wipe out bandits. I probably won't return for a year or more. I can't leave you here."
His breathing was ragged. He kept an ostensible distance from my chest but never loosened his hold on my waist.
I sneered. "This is just another stunt to keep me from bothering your Missy, right?"
He choked, then when he spoke again his voice trembled, "Claire, far from the court, I want to build a life with you. A lifetime for just the two of us—wouldn't that be better than being trapped in a gilded cage?"
It took me a second to process that. I wasn't expecting it.
"Lucas, you just want to clear obstacles for Missy. There was no need to invent this lie. I don't want titles or power. I just want to live quietly and finish my role…"
Maybe then I could go home.
I'd read transmigration novels—if the heroine completes her arc she sometimes returns. I didn't know if that could be me, but I hadn't given up hope.
And even if I couldn't go back, offending the Crown Prince was something we ordinary people couldn't survive.
"Do you like Edward?"
Lucas suddenly grabbed my shoulders hard, forcing me to look him in the eye.
I nearly suffocated from the shock. Why did he act like the whole world contained only the two of them? As if I had to pick one of them.
Patiently, I pried it out of him. The thread of events unfolded.
Lucas had drugged me while I was feverish and muddled, knocked me out, and carried me away. He'd even conspired with Hazel to set a fire in my quarters.
I couldn't imagine how he convinced Hazel.
Now everyone believed I, the Crown Consort, had died in the inferno—and my body was gone.
By the time the plot had reached this point, my brain really didn't want to figure out how to spin it back into place.
Lucas Reed took the chance to tempt me. "The border garrison is full of people from everywhere, with all kinds of food. My family has plenty of resources. Once we're there, I'll hand everything over to you. Spend it however you want. Eat whatever you want."
Oh, really?
I smiled like I was swooning.
A mixed population, and it's the frontier—if I ran off with the money, wouldn't the whole world be open to me?
"Lucas, you're such a good man."
I praised him sincerely.
His face heated; maybe he was embarrassed. His hands lost a little control and he shoved, accidentally pushing me to the other side.
I pressed against the carriage wall, grinning foolishly as I turned back. "You've got a lot of strength in you."
When we reached the border camp, a sudden pouring rain began.
I sat in the carriage watching the dark mass of soldiers and felt a little intimidated.
That reckless Lucas stood under the downpour and flashed me a grin as the rain drummed over his face.
The next moment he looped his arm around my knees, hoisted me up, and sprinted toward the tents.
Luckily I reacted fast and bit my lip so hard I didn't end up blurting out anything embarrassing about his family.
Flattened across his back, a strange, familiar feeling surged in me.
On the day he kidnapped me for marriage, he carried me off the same awkward way, in front of everyone.
After he set me down inside the tent, he quickly wrapped me in blankets until only my eyes showed.
"You're not fully well yet. This place isn't like the capital—it's rougher. Claire, I promise I'll take care of you."
He spoke earnestly; his eyes were soft as a galaxy.
Only now did he mention the rough conditions. On the carriage he hadn't sounded like this at all.
I asked if the border winds were fierce; he said they weren't, that it was picturesque.
I asked if the sun was harsh; he said it wasn't, the air was invigorating.
I asked if the frontier men were fierce; he said no—they weren't a patch on him.
Within days, Lucas' reputation as a henpecked husband spread through the camp, eclipsing even his fame as a victorious general.
I truly did nothing. It was all Lucas volunteering.
He picked bones out of my fish, skimmed off my tea foam, always wiped the chair before I sat, insisted on carrying me across muddy paths. When I felt embarrassed, he'd make me step on the soles of his boots like climbing a ladder… "Oh my, General Reed is just the perfect man," the cook would say as she chewed sunflower seeds and nodded toward Lucas at the river washing my clothes.
"Yao Yao"—the new name Lucas gave me—was a little silly. Afraid the camp women would wash poorly and that I would think it unmanly for a grown man to wash a woman's clothes, he snuck down to the river in the middle of the night to do it for me.
If the cook hadn't wanted to try something fresh and dragged me down there, I'd have been none the wiser.
"Big Mother, Lucas is going off to war soon. Let's go get a talisman for his safety," she suggested.
Moonlight scattered across the water, making it glitter. His shoulders trembled with each movement; his silhouette etched itself into my memory.
A sharp ripping sound broke the night. Lucas slapped the water hard, annoyed. "Is this cloth paper? Fine—let's go to town early and buy another. Yao Yao likes this pattern."
"I should've listened before and kept some savings instead of giving everything to Yao Yao. Ugh… it's so hard. Now I have to make up an excuse to borrow from my brothers."
The cook nudged my shoulder, gesturing for me to go on, then walked away in fits of hesitation, glancing back every few steps.
I hesitated, then decided not to intrude.
Some relationships sour when they get too close. We're not from the same world, Lucas. What you see isn't all of me, and I won't let love entangle me in this strange place.
I don't have that fearless bravery you do. I'm cowardly and selfish.
That night I couldn't sleep. I kept rifling through the small wooden chest—deeds, house certificates, silver notes.
It was everything Lucas had.
He'd handed it all to me the day he arrived at the border.
At dawn I wrote an IOU, hid it under my pillow, then tucked it beneath the mattress. Then I went to find the cook.
When Lucas heard I was going to the temple for a safety talisman, he suddenly grew bashful.
He assigned four trusted soldiers to escort me and gave detailed instructions before letting me leave the camp.
"Lucas, I used to live in a noisy, shallow world where I burned up all my passion, hope, innocence, and courage… basically the things you possess that I lost," I said.
As I turned, I grabbed his hand, tiptoed, and brushed a hand across his face. "You're a bright young man. I'm lucky to have met you."
The worst thing that old world did to me was take away my ability to trust. I'm sorry, Lucas.
Arm-in-arm with the cook, I left with a bouncy, happy step.
People around us laughed, assuming the lines were a woman's confession to a man.
At the temple I prayed to the Buddha for Lucas' safety and health.
The cook told me to draw a fortune slip. I shook it once—bad luck. Twice—bad luck again. Third time—same terrible slip. I fumed, nearly swore aloud.
The cook hurriedly dragged me out of the hall. "Let's try the taoist shrine."
Change the place, change your luck. I wasn't about to let that rubbish slip be the final word.
On the way, someone rode wildly through the market, the crowd panicking. A child's life was almost trampled, and the soldiers nearest me rushed to pull the kid out.
It was the perfect chance to run. I darted into a narrow alley and sprinted.
After winding through streets, someone in exotic clothing suddenly dropped in front of me. A glancing blow from a hand cut at my neck.
Before I closed my eyes, I cursed my luck—what a terrible day.
When I awoke I was in a pitch-black room, my limbs bound with rough ropes. A few struggles left my skin raw.
My calls for help dried in my throat; no one answered. Regret and sorrow overwhelmed me.
I should have stayed quietly with Lucas—stupid for stirring trouble.
The room had no windows; I couldn't tell day from night. This close confinement ate at my mind.
I broke down and screamed; then I ran out of voice and regretted it.
Time blurred. When the door finally opened I felt half my life drained away.
The men who came in wore foreign garb—the same as the one who’d knocked me out before. Three or four of them hauled me out without a word.
Blinded by daylight, tears stung my eyes.
They tied my hands and dragged me behind a horse. My back scraped sand and rock, cutting and burning me. I strained to keep my chin up, terrified of losing skin from my scalp.
Despite my care, I wound up like this.
All of Lucas' kindness rushed back to me in a flood.
The horses halted. I saw Lucas not far off, riding a chestnut steed, soldiers in neat ranks behind him.
"A man's quarrel—why drag a woman into it? If you want my life, take it," he thundered, charging forward on his own.
A man on a horse tossed a short dagger at him. "You killed my twelve brothers—show some remorse."
The sun beat down; the sand shimmered hot. Desperate, I watched that reckless boy.
Without hesitation I leapt from the dragged line, snatched up the dagger, and plunged it into my own thigh.
Blood poured. He dropped to one knee, smiling brilliantly. "Yao Yao, do you believe me now? I never thought I'd love like this. I'm brave enough to love you."
I crawled toward him like a madwoman, my mouth and nose full of grit.
The man on horseback began to tease—every two steps I crawled, he would slowly ride ahead two steps. Watching me dragged back, he was delighted.
I had no strength left and sobbed, "Lucas, you idiot."
Lucas exploded with anger. "Scum—if you dare come at me, come at me. Hands off my woman."
The man on horseback sneered, "He's the undefeated general, Miss—such a good man and you want to run?"
I was shaking so hard I could barely make a sound.
If I hadn't run, Lucas wouldn't have ended up like this.
I'd already fallen for him in all those little ways—why hesitate now? Why not gamble everything?
Why didn't I have even a fraction of Lucas' courage?
"Yao Yao," he said, "when I was young I admired the lady, but that was respect, gratitude. Meeting you taught me what love really is—it's you and no one else, life and death. Believe me, will you?"
His words were earnest, his eyes rimmed with tears. Then he drove the blade into his own thigh.
I couldn't think of anything else. I frantically nodded. "I believe. I believe… when you gave me all your money, I believed."
In my old life, giving that kind of blind trust was impossible.
Suddenly an arrow came from nowhere, tearing through the sky and burying itself in the chest of the man on the horse.
Then more arrows rained down.
The battle fractured in an instant. Hoofbeats pounded.
At the brightest moment of sunlight, someone on a towering horse barreled toward us.
I didn't get a clear look before Lucas pulled me tight into his arms.
"Yao Yao, loving yourself may not change anything, but if you love me, I won't disappoint you. Will you believe me?"
"Yes…"
I must have been overwhelmed these past days; I kept dreaming of Lucas' brutal death. I finally jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.
"Lucas…" I breathed.
Someone wrapped their arms around me. I clung to their waist without thinking, burying myself in the embrace. "Lucas, I'm so scared. This place is so frightening—murder seems lawless here."
"It's against the law," a low, rough male voice said after a long moment.
Not Lucas. I sprang away, but the stranger tightened his hold, long arms constricting like they'd lock me into bone.
"Claire, come back with me," he said.
"Your Highness, General Reed is a talent—he'll be your right hand, stabilizing your foundation," another voice offered.
Once I calmed down I whispered, "Your Highness, you can lay all the blame on me—clearing your conscience."
"Claire, you really are clever."
He lifted his chin, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he sighed softly. "Once upon a time, I watched the cold pity in your eyes and thought—there was no man in this world who could win you over."
He seemed to have such a deep misunderstanding about me… I was obviously terrified of him.
Come to think of it, if not for his sudden arrival that turned the tide, Lucas and I would have surely died at the hands of the raiders.
"Your Highness—"
Before I finished, he let go of me. He rolled up his wide sleeve, revealing an arm covered in ugly, jagged scars, and a sardonic smile tugged at his mouth. "When you planned your escape from me, I wanted to rush into the flames to save you."
I bowed my head in shame.
"Lucas loves you dearly. I'm worried—do you think he might do something rash and treacherous? Perhaps I should use you to test his loyalty. See which way he'll choose."
He stood and walked to the candlelight. Half his face melted into shadow, leaving his expression hard to read.
I scrambled off the bed, knelt on the ground, and slammed my forehead to the floor. "Hearts don't hold up to being tested, Your Highness. Please, think twice."
A single suspicion could cost a life—hasn't history taught that lesson enough?
He turned back to me, looking down from above, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
"Claire Bennett," he said—"Hazel was right. My curiosity about you is nothing special. When you kneel like everyone else and submit to me, you're just the same."
Edward crouched, staring into my eyes.
When our eyes met, I noticed his pupils were glossy black, the outer corners lifting, thick lashes framing each eye—every detail was exquisite.
But in that pair of eyes there was a bottomless depth, and not a trace of real feeling.
Suddenly he tilted his head and grazed my lips with the lightest of kisses. "An emperor can have feelings, but never deep ones. I'll use this small affection—born of curiosity—to set you free."
He tipped my chin up and smiled faintly. "You're clever—how is it that you go dumb when you're with Lucas? My letting you go will be a debt that binds Lucas for life."
It clicked for me. So that's how moral blackmail works. This man—his first love is indeed the throne.
"Rulers are the most heartless," he murmured. "Hazel was right. Keeping you by my side would only bring trouble…"
He let go and rose, speaking as if to himself and to me both.
No sooner had he left than I ran out of the tent to find Lucas.
Lucas was being punished—fifty lashes with the military rod, ordered by the Crown Prince. When I pushed through the crowd, he had already taken over forty. His face was deathly pale, sweat soaking him, his backside slick with blood.
The cut on his leg had split open again.
Everyone around us had red-rimmed eyes and clenched fists, as if they wished they could take his blows for him.
Who would dare stop the prince from venting his wrath? The emperor's anger could spill rivers of blood; the prince's wrath amounted to only fifty strikes—yet that, too, was considered mercy.
I crouched by his side. He saw me and forced a smile with all his strength, unable to speak; his lips formed the word as if to comfort me: "It's okay."
"Lucas," I said, "I've always said I'm not someone who takes risks. But today, I want to stake my whole life on you. Will you take the gamble with me?"
His bloodshot eyes shimmered with tears and he nodded heavily.
After the punishment, I moved into Lucas's tent by choice and tended to him without leaving his side.
"Your Highness took such a risk—coming to the frontier. It shows you mean more to him than ordinary. Don't you regret it?" Lucas asked as soon as he had enough strength to speak, taking my hand.
Before, I kept a low profile to avoid being loved. That was over. Now was the time to show who I was.
"Money is dirt; benevolence is worth a thousand fortunes," I said with feeling.
"Then why did you try to take my money and run?" Lucas asked, pulling the IOU I’d left from his pocket.
A small scene—no time to panic.
"I set the house rules: your money is my money; my money is still mine, understood?" I snatched the IOU and tore it to pieces. "Stick with me and you'll eat nine meals a day."
He watched me with a gentle, steady look that made me blush. Warmth draped across my chest in little waves.
"Yao Yao—" he started, then stopped, smiling. "Thank you for choosing me. I won't let you lose. The frontier is harsh, but at least it's free. Be yourself. Even when I don't understand you, I know you're bound by some pressure. From now on, don't be afraid of anything. If you make a mistake, it'll be mine to bear."
"You'll take the blame? How bold of you. Get your backside healed and do something useful."
"Like what?"
"The useful thing of making children."
(End)
