Trust Is a Gamble (Book 2)

Night sat over the Rosenfeld palace like a lid. The courtyard stones held the day’s heat and gave it back slowly, so that even the cool air felt heavy on Charlotte’s skin. She stood near the fountain where torches made everything too bright, too public—where whispers traveled faster than guards could pretend they didn’t hear. Weeks had passed since Adrian’s vow, since Europe had turned their broken engagement into entertainment, and still her name moved through mouths like a rumor that wouldn’t die.

“No title,” a lady in pale blue said, just loud enough for Charlotte to catch it. “No influence.” The words were wrapped in sympathy, the kind that still counted you as a problem. Another woman laughed softly, eyes fixed on Charlotte’s hands as if she expected them to shake. Charlotte kept her fingers still. She had learned that stillness made people underestimate you, and underestimate people made it easier to survive.

But tonight the stillness didn’t feel like safety. It felt like waiting for the world to decide she deserved punishment for Adrian’s choice. The elation she had worn after the vow—like bright silk against her ribs—had been eaten away by every week Adrian’s supporters defected and every threat spoken with a polite smile. She had been told, again and again, that she had no power. Now she understood the deeper meaning: she was supposed to be grateful for whatever protection came her way, because her consent would always be treated as optional.