CHAPTER 94: BROKEN BOWL

The courtyard fell into a tense silence, broken only by Charlotte’s sharp voice.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you!?" she snapped, eyes blazing.

Viktor turned to face her, his gaze narrowing. "What’s wrong with you?"

"Clearly, nothing," she shot back. "I was having a nice day with a friend before you showed up and ruined everything—including my mood. What are you doing, Viktor?"

Viktor scoffed. "Friend? We both know the Viscount is not friend of yours."

"You have no right to question who I choose to be friends with, Viktor. You’ve driven away yet another friend of mine. How long do you plan to keep doing this?" She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"I actually do have a right to be concerned—because you have good sense when it comes to choosing the people you surround yourself with. If you made an effort to find good, reputable company, maybe I wouldn’t have to keep stepping in."

"Kieran and I are just friends. I’m not stupid, Viktor. I’m not going to jump into bed with him. Please give me more credit than that—I don’t even think of him as a romantic partner." Charlotte frowned, clearly frustrated.

"I know you’re not stupid, Lucy. I know you wouldn’t let him into your bed. But I do think it’s foolish to bring him so close and risk your reputation, especially as a lord’s daughter and an unmarried woman."

"Why do you care so much about my reputation? It’s not like it would affect my father or his dukedom. He already has the perfect son to uphold his name. I should be free to do what I want, see whoever I please. Why can’t you understand that?" Charlotte’s voice cracked with exasperation.

"Don’t say that, Lucy. You’ve always been allowed to be reckless, but tarnishing your reputation isn’t freedom, it’s foolishness. You’re not a child anymore. Stop acting like one."

Charlotte sighed heavily. "I’m going to my room. You’re honestly starting to give me a headache." She pressed her fingers to her temples and turned to leave, but Viktor reached out and grabbed her arm.

A startled gasp escaped her lips as she tried to pull free, but his grip didn’t loosen.

"Let me go, Viktor. I don’t want to talk to you."

"Stay away from the Viscount," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don’t even think of seeing him behind my back, because I will find out. And when I do, I swear he’ll be needing a wheelchair."

"Is that a threat?" Charlotte asked, glaring.

"No, Lucy," Viktor replied coolly. "It’s a statement. And you’ll decide whether it stays that way or not. If you’re so bored, find another gentleman, one who won’t ruin your name."

He finally let go of her arm, and she stepped away, glaring at him.

"I will find another gentleman. In fact, I’m doing so now—you annoying fool." Her voice was thick with irritation as she turned on her heel, stomping away. She kicked a pile of snow in her path before disappearing from the courtyard.

Viktor let out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. He sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

~~~

The sight of the prince, Viktor, Lucian, Charlotte, and Kathryn gathered around the dining table made Lilith’s grip tighten around the bowl in her hands. Her pulse quickened. She forced herself to breathe, to steady the tremble threatening to rise in her fingers. As she stepped into the room, she felt eyes turn to her, watching but not his. Not the prince’s. She wasn’t sure if she felt relief or disappointment. Perhaps both.

She made her way toward him, her steps careful, almost hesitant. But just as she reached the prince’s side, Lucian—seated beside him—suddenly pushed his chair back, as if preparing to stand. The unexpected movement startled her. Her foot caught the edge of her dress. She tried to stop herself—but it was too late.

She fell.

The bowl slipped from her hands and shattered against the marble floor, the rich, fragrant soup splashing in all directions, staining the pristine white tiles.

For a breathless moment, there was only silence.

The clatter echoed in her ears. Time froze.

Lilith lay motionless, dazed on the cold floor, eyes wide. Then she slowly looked up—to find the prince watching her. His gaze was unreadable, but the weight of it sent her heart into a frantic rhythm.

"Oh, you clumsy fool! What have you done?" Kathryn’s shrill words shattered the silence like glass. She swept around the table with a storm in her eyes, fists clenched, lips curled in fury.

"I—I’m so sorry," Lilith stammered, her voice trembling as much as her hands. Her heart thundered in her chest as she reached for the broken pieces, ignoring the sharp sting of porcelain slicing into her palm. Blood bloomed against her skin, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She had to fix it. She had to make it right.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

Then, a hand wrapped gently around her arm and pulled her to her feet. She turned—Lucian. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes.

"That was my fault," he said quietly. "I shouldn’t have moved the chair so suddenly. It’s just soup. The cook can make more."

She offered him a small, grateful smile, her lips trembling. Her eyes flicked toward the prince, whose gaze hadn’t wavered. It pinned her in place. She quickly dropped her eyes.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she whispered, voice cracking. "I didn’t mean to."

Then she turned and fled.

She didn’t stop until she reached her chamber. Her breath came in harsh, shallow gasps, her hands shaking as she slammed the door shut behind her. Blood still coated her palm, trickling from the gash where porcelain had bit into her skin. She grabbed a napkin and pressed it tightly, tears now flowing freely, dropping from her chin and soaking into the fabric.

With a frustrated sob, she threw the bloodied napkin to the floor.

She stared down at her hands, expecting to see them healed as they usually did—but the wound remained. The skin hadn’t healed.

Her breath hitched. She wiped at her cheeks furiously, ashamed of herself, ashamed that a small moment could unravel her like this.

But it wasn’t just today.

It was the past.

That moment in the dining room had pulled her backward—years ago, to Eryndor. She’d only been twelve. Asked to serve her stepfather and his guests. She remembered the scent of roasted meat, the heavy tray in her hands... and the doll. Her stepsister’s doll in the middle of the hallway. She had tripped—just like today—and crashed to the ground. The food had flown. The room had gone quiet, then erupted in laughter.

Then came the punishment.

Her stepfather’s wrath.

She blinked hard, trying to push it down.

But the tears kept falling.

She hated how easily the memories came back. How fragile her mask still was.

And most of all, she hated feeling powerless again.

Her stepfather had been so furious that the moment the guests left the house, he pounced on her. His fists landed wherever they pleased, her face, her arms, her back, her ribs. Lilith had pleaded with him, sobbing, telling him over and over that she was sorry. But he hadn’t listened. He had been blinded by pure rage and hatred.

That night, she had been left covered in bruises and blood. Her left eye was swollen shut, her lip split open, a rib broken. A jagged cut slashed across her lower back, he had done that with one of the pieces of the broken plate.

He had forbidden her mother from tending to her wounds. And so Lilith cried through the night, unable to sleep as the searing pain gripped every inch of her body.

A voice cut through the memory.

"Are you hurt?"

Lilith jumped, spinning around so fast her breath caught in her throat. There, by the door, stood the prince.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" she asked, her voice trembling with shock. She hadn’t even heard the door open.

"Why are you crying? Are you hurt?" he asked again, his eyes flicking from her hands back to her tear-streaked face. In two strides, he was standing before her.

"I... I’m sorry about the food," she stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I must have tripped on my dress. I didn’t mean to. I should’ve—"

"It’s just food," Hades interrupted gently. "I could have a thousand more made if I wished."

Then his hand moved to the back of her head, guiding her forward until her forehead rested against his chest.

That was all it took.

A sob broke from Lilith’s throat, raw and helpless. Her body shook as the weight of it all crashed into her all at once.

Hades held her tighter, his hand smoothing her hair, grounding her. She clutched at his coat, fists trembling as she cried—deep, aching cries that had lived too long inside her without release.

And still, he held her.