And my schemes had unfolded flawlessly—until Carolina had managed to get herself betrothed to a Malcosian prince. In Celestia, I had everyone’s support; the nobility shared my disdain for her, recognizing her as the disgrace she was. But in a foreign land? My influence could not extend so far.
In Malcosias, she had found acceptance. Love, even. At this rate, she might no longer think herself wretched, might perhaps even dare to hope for happiness. That was unacceptable to me. As I lay in my infirmary bed, restless and tormented, hatred contorted my tear-swollen face. I gripped the sheets tightly, my teeth grinding in silent fury.
If I could no longer ensure her misery, I would at least thwart her happiness. I could not bear the thought of her standing triumphant, looking down upon me.
“I will strip that girl of her future, no matter the cost,” I muttered ominously to myself.
Kill her. I was going to kill that girl. What did I have left to lose? The moment my father had discovered my machinations, my fate was sealed. It was too late for redemption. “Nothing else matters,” I spat, staring blankly at the palms of my hands. If I dared to attack an imperial princess, successfully or not, I knew that my own survival would no longer be assured. But that no longer frightened me. Bereft of anything else to live for (be my fate life imprisonment or even death), I was unafraid.
“The end is near, Carolina. Soon enough, everything between us—our hatred, our history—will be settled, once and for all.”
I clenched my hands tight, holding desperately to the red-hot embers of revenge that yet smoldered within.