I'd never witnessed my parents as livid as they were when I was dragged before them in the entrance hall, kicking and spitting like an alley cat. Dorian and an older man with the same cruel tilt to his mouth looked on from a distance, the pair of them clearly no more pleased than my parents by my antics. But rather than school my behaviour, I redoubled my struggle in an effort to further dissuade my supposed fiancé.

My parents bundled me into the carriage before I could do any more harm to their reputation and I screamed and swore at them the entire ride back. They took my abuse in stoic silence, my father only once barking at me to stop "screaming like a street tart", which only escalated my fury and desperation. Upon arrival, butler Finn was the one who hauled me to my room, seeming to relish his bruising grip on my arms before he tossed me in. My father was the one to turn the key in the lock, not a hint of pity on his face when he slammed the door behind him.

When an entire night of stomping, screaming, and making a general nuisance of myself so the rest of the house couldn't enjoy a peaceful night of slumber didn't earn my freedom, I set to writing. I filled a sheaf of papers with words, intent on recruiting aid from anyone willing to help. I wrote to Xavier, Georgina, Anne, Thomas, and even Edward, my writing hand freezing in place as I commenced my letter to Andrew.

I had no idea where to begin, or even what to say. He'd made it clear enough that he needed time to think, but now that I was locked up with imminent nuptials to a scoundrel, I didn't have the luxury of time. With a sigh, I kept the letter short.

Andrew,

I will spend my dying breath professing my love for you. This was not my doing, nor do I intend to see it through. They've locked me up and when they come for me, I won't go without a fight.

I love you. I always have and I always will. Please don't give up on me.

Libby

My eyes were bloodshot from my sleepless night and all my writing, but I forced myself to remain awake until my door unlocked the next morning. A wide-eyed maid hurried in with a tray and I caught a glimpse of butler Finn hovering just outside the doorway. I pushed myself up from the desk, yawning as I ambled over to peruse the breakfast tray. Using the width of my skirts to conceal my actions, I slid my letters under the china, my stomach vocally protesting what I was about to do as a whiff of the eggs and sausages reached my nose.

"I'm not hungry," I lied, turning away from the tea tray, "Take this pathetic excuse for a breakfast away."

The maid's wide-eyes flitted to Finn, who simply shrugged. She collected the tray and the pair left me alone. I prayed that somehow the maid would do the right thing and post the letters for me, but I knew I was grasping at straws. She had no reason to help me, but in some wild part of my imagination, she would simply shrug upon discovery of my letters and add them to the post pile. Short of throwing a chair out my window and leaping from the second storey, I couldn't think of any other options now that my brain was muddled from lack of sleep. Ignoring my growling stomach, I collapsed onto my bed and fell into a restless sleep.

I was rudely awoken a few hours later by the sharp raps of my mother's knuckles on my door. Shaking my bleary head to clear it, I looked around for a moment to get my bearings, only to realize my mother was snapping something at me from the other side of the door.

"...company! Make yourself presentable at once, I'm seating them in the downstairs drawing room!" she said, before her footsteps faded down the corridor. I looked over at my disheveled self in the mirror, my stomach hardening to stone. I knew who it was and I was not going to make myself presentable, not in the least.

I dragged my fingers through my hair, tugging even more flyaway strands out from the braided bun I'd fallen asleep in. My dress was a sorry wrinkled mess and I debated changing out of it into something even frumpier, but after rummaging through my trunks, I discovered I no longer owned anything remotely frumpy. I was studiously scrunching and sitting on my skirts in an attempt to worsen the wrinkles when butler Finn opened the door.

I didn't wait for the shock of my appearance to register on his face before I bolted out of the room, skidding around the corner towards the stairs. I took the last few steps at a leap, careening towards the front door in desperate hopes that it was unlocked. Sadly, my mother must have expected such a reaction from me and I slammed into a decidedly unmovable, locked door. Banging my head against it in frustration, I turned towards the downstairs drawing room, only to find three pairs of eyes staring back at me.

"What in the bloody hell is this?" I blurted out as my mother rose, her jaw muscle quivering as she advanced towards me.

"I told you to clean yourself up!" she hissed, roughly shoving my hair behind my ears as she blocked my way into the room. Her nostrils flared as she ground her teeth and I felt a dart of pleasure that I'd annoyed her so thoroughly.

"It's quite all right, we're all familiar with Libby's penchant for making an entrance," Prince Thomas said from where he was pacing before the fireplace. Perched on a chintzy loveseat opposite the one my mother had just vacated was none other than Adelaide Winters.

When mother had finally done all she could to remedy my appearance, she gave me a push into the room before her. Thomas gave me the briefest of warning looks before her resumed his ambling steps near the fire.

"It seems your friends here have something they'd like to share with the both of us," my mother said, pulling me down next to her on the other loveseat, her polite smile more of a leering grimace as she gestured for Thomas to sit as well. He refused, instead leaning casually against the mantelpiece.

"Did you speak to Andrew?" I asked, heedless of the others in the room with us as I fixed Thomas with a questioning look. My mother harrumphed, scolding me for addressing a royal so impudently, but I ignored her. One of Thomas' eyes twitched in the hint of a wink, but he inclined his head towards Adelaide.

"There's something you should hear from Lady Winters," he said, turning his gaze towards where Adelaide had demurely dropped her eyes to her tea at my mention of Andrew.

"I don't want to hear anything from Adelaide, I want to hear from Andrew!" I protested, jumping to my feet. My mother was beside me in an instant, her cold fingers a vice around my arm.

"I'm terribly sorry, but all this excitement isn't good for her, you see. Perhaps you can call some other time," my mother apologized, attempting to steer me from the room. I wrenched free from her with a hiss while Adelaide continued to politely ignore us as she sipped her tea.

"Excitement my rear end!" I shouted, rounding on Thomas, "Let me out of here to speak to Andrew!"

"Elizabeth Marks-Whelan, you will not-" my mother started, her voice rising shrilly before Thomas seized me by the shoulders.

"He knows," he hissed quickly, before adding so the others could hear, "You need to sit yourself down and listen or so help me, I'll leave you to your fate!"

He pushed me down and I sat, glaring at him. My mother looked between the pair of us, clearly still livid.

"If you would, Lady Marks-Whelan," Thomas said, gesturing for her to sit, "I believe you ought to hear Adelaide out as well. Her tale is a cautionary one."

Adelaide's lips pursed before she hid them behind her teacup. The room hung suspended in silence before she set her cup down and looked over at me.

"You cannot marry Dorian Fletcher," she said flatly. I snorted before I could stop myself, my mother's head tilting with suspicion beside me.

"Is this some sort of joke?" she demanded, shooting a wary look towards the prince. Thomas, once again leaning casually against the mantlepiece, shook his head solemnly.

"It isn't, Lady Marks-Whelan, and I'm sorry to trouble you like this," Adelaide said, drawing my mother's attention again, "But I couldn't sit idly by any longer, not when I heard of Elizabeth's engagement."

"Don't tell me you're in love with him," I scoffed, only for Thomas to roll his eyes and lift his eyebrows, unimpressed with me. Annoyed that I was being ignored, I returned his glare. What were they up to?

"No, I'm not in love with him," Adelaide said, a rueful smile curving her lips, "But I was."

She had both mine and my mother's attention now.

"I know that for all intents and purposes, he's quite the catch for a husband, but you must believe me when I say that a marriage to him will mean nothing but sorrow and pain," she continued. It was my mother's turn to huff, crossing her arms.

"I will not sit here and listen to such nonsense! Dorian is-" she started, only for Thomas to push off from the mantelpiece and stalk to the seat next to Adelaide.

"You will sit and you will listen and that is a royal command. Unless, of course, you'd prefer for me to tell my father that you disobeyed me?" he said, leaning forward onto his elbows to fix my mother with that icy-eyed glare of his. She swallowed and I made a mental note to learn to glare like that in case I should ever need it in the future.

"Do you know what became of Lady Fletcher?" Adelaide asked gently, breaking the tension between the prince and my mother. She wasn't looking at me so I didn't bother to answer, even though I already knew.

"Did you come here simply to spread more vicious gossip about poor Lord Fletcher's misfortune?" my mother demanded, rounding on her.

"We came here to tell you exactly what kind of monster you've sold your daughter to," Thomas said coldly, "Now hold your tongue and listen."

"My mother was dear friends with the late Lady Fletcher," Adelaide said, undeterred by my mother's disbelief, "What the rumours say is true, that she threw herself from a ship to escape her husband. She did it when she discovered there was no hope of saving her son from growing up to be a man like his father."

"You can't possibly know such things," my mother scoffed.

"I can because she left my mother a letter. She felt the need to warn her not only because they were friends, but also because it was no secret that I was besotted with Dorian. I had been since we were young and, until they received the posthumous letter, my parents had approved. As I'm sure you can guess, once I reached my rebellious adolescent years, the forbidden Dorian Fletcher seemed to be even more of an ideal husband to me. He was handsome, charming, and rich; what more could I hope for?"

I snorted at the thought of Adelaide calling herself rebellious and she hesitated, shooting a skeptical glance at Thomas. He nodded once and she opened her mouth to speak, only to close it, blow out a quick sigh, and start again.

"I know you've heard Thomas tease me about the gallery before," she said to me after having collected her thoughts, "It was Dorian's doing. We were all at the queen's birthday ball and Dorian, the great flirt, had convinced me to sneak off with him. When he took me to the royal gallery, I was certain he was about to propose, having brought me there to use it as a more romantic backdrop."

She stopped then, swallowing and turning her hands over before she clenched them into a pair of fists.

"He did make a proposal, but it wasn't for marriage. When I attempted to flee, he stopped me and pinned me against the wall, saying that he'd tell the world of the licentious Adelaide Winters if I didn't let him go through with it," she said, pausing to squeeze her eyes closed, no doubt fighting the memory, "Thomas interrupted us, stumbling back from raiding his father's cellar. He chased Dorian off before any real harm could be done, but I knew that my reputation had been ruined."

"This is prepos-" my mother started, but Thomas silenced her with a slice of her hand.

"Hear her out," he snapped. For the first time since I'd met her, Adelaide's veneer of perfection had cracked. Her bright blue eyes were wide with remembered horror, but she continued when Thomas lay an encouraging hand on her shoulder.

"Thomas offered me a drink of his father's brandy and, broken hearted and shamed as I was, I accepted. The pair of us got thoroughly drunk on the floor of the art gallery, where Andrew found us the next morning. Despite both princes backing my story, Dorian never had to answer for his actions. We tried to tell the king, but he would hear nothing of it. The Fletchers are too rich and powerful to ever have to answer for their crimes, no matter how heinous."

She paused, seeming to steel herself before she looked up at me.

"He's a monster, Libby. There is no good in his soul," she said, tears pooling in her eyes before she turned them to my mother, "No woman deserves to be married to a man like him."

I could hear my heart thundering in my chest, not daring to look at my mother. I wasn't the one that needed convincing, but Adelaide's warning had only served to galvanize my decision to run instead of marry Dorian. I sent up another prayer that my letter to Xavier reached him, though now that Thomas was here, I wasn't about to let him leave without me.

The sound of my mother's laughter tore me from my thoughts, my stomach plummeting.

"Oh what a splendid show, my dear," she chuckled, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, "But I've met Dorian Fletcher and he is not at all the sort of man who would compromise a lady! Nor is his father a murderer, as you seem to be suggesting!"

Thomas stood suddenly, his jaw set as he offered a hand up for Adelaide.

"I fear that you, madam, have been duped," the prince said frostily, "And if you are willing to turn your cheek and sell your daughter to the devil for riches, then you are a most despicable creature. Come, Adelaide."

"You can't leave!" I said, leaping to my feet to follow as the pair of them hurried out the door. My mother wasn't quick enough when she reached out to grab me and I slipped out the door into the entrance hall.

"Thomas, please!" I begged, seizing a handful of his jacket to stop him. Adelaide didn't spare a backwards glance as she threw open the front door and hurried down to the waiting carriage.

"I can't bring you back with me, not yet," the prince said, quickly, eyeing my approaching mother behind my back, "You need to trust me and you need to stay here until I come for you."

"But what if-" I started, panic mounting within me.

"Trust me!" he hissed, backing away from me before my mother grabbed my shoulders. I watched him go, the door clanging shut behind him as that sense of impending doom loomed even larger.

"Well that was certainly a spectacle," my mother huffed, eyeing the door, "You needn't believe a word they said. It's all heinous gossip, really. Dorian will make a fine husb-"

"He's a fiend and I refuse to marry him," I snapped, wrenching myself free from her to lunge for the door. Her shout followed me out as I staggered down the steps into the street. The carriage had already pulled away and I watched it go, delicate flakes of the first snow settling on my dress as my skin rose with goosebumps.

"Get back inside before you catch your death!" my mother shrieked, hurrying out after me, "Finn! Finn, where are you? She's gotten out!"

I can't bring you back with me, not yet...

What had he meant? Did Andrew not want me back? What had happened at the palace since I'd been unceremoniously dragged home? I stood in the street, immobilized by my doubts. Should I run after them? Run to Xavier? To India?

You need to stay here until I come for you...

My eyes were still on the carriage when butler Finn picked me up and hauled me back into the house.

Instead of chucking me back into my room, the ham-fisted stevedore of a butler deposited me in my mother's study, her clucking and scolding following us all the way down the hallway.

"...a display like that! I wasn't planning to lock you in your room again, but now it seems I have no choice!" she prattled on, closing the study door behind her. I advanced towards her, the suddenness of my motion surprising her enough that she cowered back.

"Let me out of here or so help me I will claw my way through you," I said through gritted teeth. She stared me down before she gave that bitter little laugh again.

"Goodness, I don't know what he sees in you," she said, pushing roughly past me, "Though I'll be glad when he takes you off my hands."

"I will slit my own throat before I say 'I do' to Dorian Fletcher," I said, hounding her steps.

"Yes, you said as much in that letter to your brother, didn't you?" she asked, lifting a stack of envelopes from the papers on her desk.

My letters.

I cursed that bloody maid so foully my mother slammed the stack of letters down on the desk to recapture my attention.

"I did not believe for a moment that you could possibly be Andrew's favourite, but having his brother appear here this morning, making a clumsy play for your freedom almost had me convinced," she said cruelly, "This letter, however, was far more convincing. Begging the crown prince to not give up on you does not suggest that he was about to propose."

"He would have if you hadn't ruined everything!" I screamed, lunging for her. She backed out of my way, chucking the bundle of letters into the fire.

"You will marry Dorian, Elizabeth, and that is all there is to it!" she barked, catching my shoulders when I dove for the hearth. I screamed at her as she shouted for Finn, the edges of my letter to Andrew curling into burning, blackened nothing.