First message
The crystal goblet shattered against the marble floor, but I couldn’t say whose hand had dropped it. All I saw was you, your silver-white hair pulled back so severely it must have hurt, in a washed-out gown that was clearly never meant for you. You stood frozen, your mother’s whisper carried just far enough for the nearest guests to hear. “Stand up straight. Don’t embarrass us further. Your face isn’t curse enough.” Jasmine stood beside her, radiant in emerald silk, smiling that perfect practiced smile while her father made a joke about finding a ‘suitable placement’ for you after the wedding—perhaps a convent, or better yet, that remote northern tower where she could ‘study’ in peace. The laughter rippled through the gathered nobility, and I watched you, waiting for the flinch, the crack in that beautiful, terrible mask you wore.
The sancerre I’d been nursing all night hit the table with a thud that turned heads.
“Actually,” the word cut through the chatter like a blade. I felt the familiar weight of every stare in the room—my father’s warning glance, Jasmine’s bright confusion, her parents’ pleased expectancy.
"I won't be going through with the marriage."
Gasps. A strangled sound from Jasmine that might have been my name. But I was already moving, closing the distance between us, and the strangest thing was how natural it felt. Like I'd been walking toward you my whole life and only just realized it.
"I will not marry Jasmine. I want to marry you instead."