Meanwhile, at the Ravenshield estate…
In Lady Irene's room, the atmosphere was as stiff.
Crown Prince Lucius stood frozen at the door, the message still echoing in his mind. Irene lay in bed, half-covered by a silk blanket, a dramatic bandage stretched across her cheek. Her eyes were wide, mirroring his disbelief.
"She married someone else?!" he roared, voice thick with confusion and a building rage.
"Yes, Your Highness," said Caelen Wyncrest, his royal attendant, standing just inside the doorway. His tone was calm, as always, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. "The wedding proceeded without you. Lady Ivy married another."
Caelen had warned him.
From the very start, he'd told Lucius that the plan to humiliate Ivy by leaving her at the altar was a reckless one. Lucius had intended to make a dramatic show—postponing the wedding with some half-baked excuse and eventually reinstating it, pretending it had all been out of his hands. A petty move, designed to avenge Irene. What better way to shame a woman than to leave her standing alone on her wedding day?
But the plan had backfired. Spectacularly.
Worse, one of the prince's spies at the Ravenshield estate had reported that Ivy had struck Lady Irene the night before—left her with a cut across the face, no less. That was the last straw. Lucius had assumed that Ivy, the girl who once threw herself from a balcony and touched a cursed relic just to get his attention, would never walk away from him.
But she had.
And now she was married.
"Was that even legal?" Lucius snapped, pacing, frantic. "How—why—would Father allow it?"
He froze mid-step, realization creeping in like a cold draft.
"Who did she marry?"
Caelen hesitated.
Lucius turned, sharp. "Speak."
"…Prince Tristan," Caelen said, low and careful.
Lucius blinked. "My uncle?!"
Caelen nodded slowly.
"How? Why? He's—he's twelve years older than her!"
There was no response. Caelen knew the question wasn't for him.
On the bed, Irene finally found her voice, schooled into a mask of gentle concern. "Wait… Your uncle? The one with all those rumors around him?" She placed a dainty hand to her chest. "Did she marry such a dangerous man to grab you're attention?"
Lucius exhaled—relieved. That made sense. That had to be it.
"Yes," he nodded, grasping at the lifeline. "That's the only explanation. She knew I would save her."
Irene's expression faltered, just for a moment. But she quickly recovered, offering a soft smile. That was not the response she wanted.
She had been delighted when the news broke. Ivy marrying someone else meant she could become Lucius' wife, not just the woman he loved in secret. Not a whispered affair. A crown. A throne.
"Caelen," Lucius said suddenly, "Is there a way to annul the marriage?"
Caelen's jaw tensed. He didn't speak.
"I said speak, Wyncrest."
"…There is one condition," he said finally. "If the marriage has not yet been consummated, it can be nullified by the king. It would be as though the wedding never happened."
Lucius's lips slowly curled into a smile.
He turned to Irene and kissed the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, my love, but I have to go."
Irene gave a quiet nod, mustering a soft, almost tearful expression. "I understand. You shouldn't have left her, Lucius. It breaks my heart to think of her… standing there, alone at the altar. Couldn't you have just… loved both of us? I feel awful being the only one who has your heart when Ivy loves you so much."
Lucius leaned down, kissing her hand again. "You sweet girl," he murmured. "You're too kind for your own good."
Then, turning to Caelen, his voice returned to command.
"Ready the carriage. We're heading to the palace. We need to annul this marriage—before the wedding banquet is over."
As soon as Lucius left, Irene's face twisted with fury.
"What the fuck!" she hissed. "She already married someone else—what do you mean you want to save her? Bitch couldn't even die in peace. Who the hell survives a fall from that high? She doesn't even have magic!"
---
The banquet hall…
"Announcing: His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Lucius of House Embercrown."
The room fell deathly still. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Then came the whispers.
"That's the Crown Prince..."
"Didn't he ditch his wedding?"
"I heard he went to see Lady Ivy's sister instead."
"He's brave, I'll give him that. If my bride married someone else, I'd crawl into exile."
Lucius stood at the entrance like a statue, jaw tight, eyes sweeping the ballroom until they landed on her.
Ivy.
She stood beside Prince Tristan, her hand comfortably looped through his arm. She was watching him—but not in the way he was used to.
Not with starry-eyed longing. Not with fragile hope.
No, she looked at him the way one might look at a street performer who'd interrupted dinner—mildly annoyed, vaguely disappointed, completely uninvested.
Something in Lucius' chest tightened.
This wasn't right.
He strode across the polished marble floor, ignoring every stare. His boots echoed like warning bells until he came to a stop before them.
Ivy dipped into a slow, graceful curtsy. Tristan gave a courteous nod.
"Your Highness," Ivy said.
Lucius didn't look at Tristan, only muttered a stiff, "Uncle," before turning back to her.
"What's the meaning of this, Ivy?"
She smiled politely. Too politely.
"Princess Ivy Embercrown Iceborne," she corrected, her voice calm, laced with cool amusement. "Princess Ivy for short. And if you're questioning the meaning of my marriage, perhaps His Majesty the King would be a better audience."
Lucius' jaw twitched.
"To think you'd go this far—marrying my uncle—just to get my attention…"
For a moment, Ivy simply blinked at him.
Was he being serious?
She resisted the urge to glance around and make sure this wasn't some elaborate joke.
"…Whatever do you mean, Your Highness?" she asked sweetly.
Lucius gave a sharp laugh, like someone catching their opponent in a trap. "You think I don't see it? You married someone else knowing full well I could annul it. The marriage hasn't been consummated—you still have a way out."
Ivy stared at him like he had grown a second head.
There's no saving this level of delusion. How did his parents let him get this bad? Veyra groaned in her mind, stretching her tiny body across the floor of Ivy's consciousness. Ivy nearly laughed aloud.
Instead, she smiled—not kindly. "Not everything is about you, Lucius. Did you really think I'd just stand there and let you humiliate me? I admit I was a fool once, loving you hopelessly despite all the ways you embarrassed me. Flaunting your feelings for Irene while being engaged to me…"
Honestly, what did the original Ivy see in this man? she thought. He was charming, yes—but shallow, weak. All silk and no steel.
Lucius stepped closer, frantic. "You don't mean that. You love me. You always have. I've already sent Caelen to bring the priest—we'll nullify this right now. You'll be mine again."
Before Ivy could respond, a voice thundered through the hall like the crack of a whip.
"Enough, Lucius!"
All heads turned. At the far end of the ballroom, the King had risen to his feet, his expression unreadable but his voice sharp with authority.
Lucius froze.
The silence that followed was thick with expectation.