The Beast Prince and the Girl He Kissed

The candles burned too brightly for a house that pretended nothing was wrong. Gold light danced across crystal and china, across faces I once thought I knew. My hands trembled as I poured wine into goblets, confusion burning in my chest. Why was I serving at my own engagement party? Why did Mother force me into an apron instead of the silk gown hanging in my wardrobe?

“More wine, Lady Thornwick?” I asked, my voice barely steady.

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Lady Thornwick cooed, not bothering to look at me. “Such excellent service tonight.”

Riven sat beside my sister Clarissa at the head table—my place. His eyes met mine for a heartbeat before sliding away like I was nothing more than furniture. Last week, he kissed my fingers and spoke of spring weddings. Tonight, he acted as though we’d never spoken.

“Darling,” Clarissa’s voice rang out sweetly, “tell everyone about the wedding plans.”

My blood froze. Wedding plans?

“The cathedral ceremony will be magnificent,” Riven replied, his voice warm and intimate. “Whatever you desire, my love.”

“How romantic!” Lady Ashford gushed. “When is the blessed day?”

“Next month,” Clarissa laughed, her hand finding Riven’s. “We simply cannot wait any longer.”

The wine bottle slipped in my grasp. Next month? But we—Riven and I—we were supposed to marry in spring. What was happening?

“Smile, Marianne,” Mother hissed, appearing beside me like a vulture. “No one wants to see a sour face while they celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” I whispered desperately. “Mother, what’s going on? Why am I—”

“Serving where you belong,” she cut me off, her grip bruising my wrist. “Don’t make a scene.”

Father rose, champagne flute gleaming. “Let us toast the future Lord and Lady Grellan—may their union bring joy and prosperity to both our houses!”