The Imperial Opera House glittered like a jewel box that evening, its grand chandeliers casting golden light over the empire's elite as they filed into the vishly decorated hall. Tonight's performance—the premiere of "The Tempest Queen," a dramatic opera chronicling the legendary founder of the empire—had drawn every notable family from the capital and beyond.

  Rosalind arrived fashionably te, ensuring all eyes would be on her as she swept into the royal box where her parents were already seated. Her gown of midnight blue silk was embroidered with silver stars that caught the light with her every movement, creating the impression that she carried the night sky on her shoulders.

  "You've outdone yourself tonight, daughter," Duke Harrington commented as she took her seat. "Though your timing leaves something to be desired. The Imperial family has already arrived."

  "Perfection cannot be rushed, Father," Rosalind replied, discretely scanning the royal box directly across from theirs. Sure enough, there sat the King and Queen, with Prince Adrian beside them. And next to the prince—Rosalind's jaw tightened—sat Lady Sophia in a gown of pale gold that made her look insipidly angelic.

  The Duchess of Harrington followed her daughter's gaze. "Lady Sophia seems to have secured quite a favorable position," she observed neutrally. "Seated with the royal family on such a significant cultural occasion."

  "It's nothing more than a passing fancy," Rosalind insisted. "She cks the breeding and backbone to be a true empress."

  Her father raised an eyebrow. "I would caution against underestimating the Westmere line. They may not funt their power as ostentatiously as some, but they've been quietly influential for generations."

  Rosalind chose not to reply, instead focusing her attention on the orchestra as they began the overture. She would not give her father the satisfaction of witnessing her irritation. Besides, she had more important matters to attend to—namely, keeping an eye on the positioning of her co-conspirators throughout the opera house.

  Beatrice was seated three boxes to the left, while Eleanor had secured a position in the box immediately adjacent to the royal one. Both had acknowledged her with subtle nods upon her entrance. Everything was in pce.

  As the first act unfolded on stage, Rosalind found herself barely registering the dramatic arias and eborate set pieces. Her attention remained fixed on the royal box, where Prince Adrian occasionally leaned close to Lady Sophia, presumably to comment on the performance. Each such intimacy sent a fresh wave of resentment through Rosalind.

  The first intermission arrived, and with it, the traditional promenade when attendees would stretch their legs and engage in social exchanges in the grand foyer. This would be the moment when Rosalind's pn would begin to unfold.

  She made her way to the foyer, stopping frequently to exchange pleasantries with various nobles, always keeping Lady Sophia in her peripheral vision. The shy noblewoman remained close to Prince Adrian's side as they moved through the crowd, accepting congratutions on what many were already treating as an unofficial courtship.

  Rosalind navigated toward them with practiced casualness, timing her approach to intersect with their path just as Beatrice would be passing by with her gss of red wine.

  "Your Highness," Rosalind cursed deeply before the prince. "The first act was magnificent, was it not? The soprano's rendition of the coronation aria brought tears to my eyes."

  "Lady Rosalind," the prince acknowledged with a polite nod. "Yes, Madame Rosetti's performance is quite moving."

  "Lady Sophia," Rosalind continued, turning to her rival with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Your gown is lovely—though perhaps a touch pale? Gold can be so difficult for those with less vibrant complexions."

  Before Sophia could respond, Beatrice—right on cue—stumbled forward, seemingly jostled by the crowd. Her gss of wine arced through the air, its contents spshing across the front of Sophia's gown.

  "Oh!" Beatrice excimed with perfectly rehearsed dismay. "How terribly clumsy of me! Your beautiful gown—I'm so sorry, Lady Sophia!"

  A hush fell over the nearby crowd as ruby red liquid bloomed across the pale gold fabric. Rosalind watched intently, waiting for Lady Sophia's composure to crack—for the tantrum, the tears, or the angry accusations that would reveal her true nature to the prince.

  But Sophia merely blinked in surprise before her expression settled into one of calm acceptance. "These things happen in crowded gatherings," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Please don't distress yourself, Lady Beatrice. It's only fabric."

  Rosalind's brow furrowed in disappointment. This wasn't the reaction she had anticipated. Fortunately, there was still the matter of the sabotaged sleeve.

  As if on cue, when Prince Adrian moved to assist Lady Sophia by offering his handkerchief, she raised her arm—and with a distinct tearing sound, the left sleeve of her gown separated at the shoulder seam, hanging awkwardly and exposing more skin than was proper in such formal company.

  A few gasps rose from the gathered nobles. Lady Eleanor, positioned nearby, whispered loudly enough to be heard: "How embarrassing! And in front of the entire court!"

  Now, surely, Lady Sophia would crumble—would reveal the hysterical, common creature hiding beneath her serene facade.

  Instead, Sophia ughed. It was a genuine, musical sound that somehow dispersed the tension gathering in the air.

  "It seems this gown was not destined to survive the evening," she said with remarkable good humor. She turned to the prince. "I do believe I'm creating quite a spectacle, Your Highness. Perhaps I should retire early."

  Before the prince could respond, Rosalind saw her opportunity. "Such a shame," she said, infusing her voice with false sympathy. "But accidents do seem to follow you tely, don't they, Lady Sophia? First the mishap with the ambassador's cat at the Midwinter Feast, then the broken Ming dynasty vase at Countess Eldridge's soiree..."

  She trailed off suggestively. These were complete fabrications, of course, but delivered with enough conviction to pnt seeds of doubt.

  Sophia's brow creased slightly—the first hint of genuine distress she'd shown. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Lady Rosalind. I wasn't present at either of those events."

  "Weren't you? How strange that multiple people mentioned seeing you." Rosalind adopted a concerned expression. "Memory can be so troublesome—especially when one is overwhelmed by new social demands."

  Prince Adrian stepped forward, his expression hardening as he looked at Rosalind. "Lady Harrington, your concern is mispced. Lady Sophia indeed was not present at those events—I know because I wasn't there either, and we have been attending the same functions together."

  Rosalind faltered, caught in her lie. This wasn't going according to pn at all.

  The Prince continued, offering his arm to Sophia. "Allow me to escort you to the pace carriage, Lady Sophia. My mother's dy-in-waiting can assist you with a change of attire, and perhaps you might rejoin us for the final act."

  "You're too kind, Your Highness," Sophia replied, gratefully accepting his arm.

  As they turned to leave, Prince Adrian paused and looked back at Rosalind, his blue eyes cold. "Lady Harrington, spreading falsehoods does not become a dy of your standing."

  The public rebuke hung in the air as the prince led Sophia away, leaving Rosalind standing alone despite the crowd surrounding her. She felt heat rising to her cheeks as whispers erupted around her. This was not humiliation for Sophia—it was humiliation for her.

  Beatrice approached cautiously. "Rosalind, I—"

  "Not now," Rosalind hissed, maintaining her smile through sheer force of will. She needed to salvage what she could of the situation. "Find Eleanor. Tell her we're moving immediately to phase two."

  Phase two, as it turned out, was considerably less subtle than the opera debacle. Over the next week, Rosalind orchestrated a series of increasingly desperate attempts to discredit Lady Sophia. Anonymous letters questioning her lineage mysteriously appeared in court mailboxes. Rumors about secret trysts with foreign diplomats were whispered in tearoom corners. Sophia's dy's maid—having been dismissed after the opera incident and repced by one loyal to the Westmere family—was offered an obscene amount of money to "reveal" damaging secrets about her former mistress.

  None of it worked. In fact, each attack seemed only to strengthen the bond between Prince Adrian and Lady Sophia, as well as to garner sympathy for the quietly dignified dy who never responded to the provocations.

  By the end of the second week, Rosalind found herself growing reckless. Which is how she came to be hiding behind a decorative hedge in the pace gardens, watching Prince Adrian and Lady Sophia stroll along the moonlit path below the terrace.

  "This is beneath you, Rosalind," Eleanor whispered beside her. "If someone sees us—"

  "Quiet," Rosalind ordered. "I need to hear what they're saying."

  The night air carried fragments of conversation to them—something about stars and ancient legends. Then ughter, followed by a silence that made Rosalind crane her neck to see better.

  The prince and Lady Sophia had stopped by the central fountain. They stood facing each other, their expressions serious in the moonlight. Adrian took Sophia's hands in his, and though Rosalind couldn't hear his words, the intimacy of the gesture was unmistakable.

  "He's going to propose," she breathed, her chest constricting painfully. "No, this can't be happening. Not yet."

  Without thinking through the consequences, Rosalind burst from her hiding pce and strode toward the couple, ignoring Eleanor's frantic whisper to stop.

  "Your Highness!" she called, forcing brightness into her voice. "What a delightful coincidence! I was just taking an evening constitutional to clear my head after so many hours in the library."

  The prince and Lady Sophia turned, both looking startled and then—Rosalind noticed with a sinking heart—resigned, as if her interruption was an irritation they had come to expect.

  "Lady Harrington," Prince Adrian acknowledged stiffly. "You're out rather te."

  "As are you both," she countered with a pointed look at their csped hands, which they promptly released. "The gardens are lovely by moonlight, aren't they? Almost romantic enough to make one forget propriety."

  Lady Sophia's cheeks colored, but she held Rosalind's gaze steadily. "We have a chaperone, Lady Rosalind. My dy's maid is seated just there." She gestured to a bench some distance away, where indeed a figure sat watching them.

  "Of course," Rosalind said quickly. "I never suggested otherwise. I merely meant that the beauty of the night might inspire... poetic sentiments." She turned to Prince Adrian with what she hoped was a becoming smile. "Your Highness, I've been meaning to show you my father's new collection of Eastnd manuscripts. They contain fascinating accounts of your ancestor's diplomatic missions. Perhaps tomorrow—"

  "Lady Harrington," the prince interrupted, his patience visibly wearing thin. "I apologize, but I must be direct. Your persistent attempts to secure my attention have become uncomfortable for both me and those around me. While I value the Harrington family's service to the empire, I must ask you to respect my personal boundaries."

  Rosalind stared at him in shock. Never had she been so publicly rejected—and in front of Lady Sophia, no less. Humiliation burned through her, quickly transforming into anger.

  "I see," she said, her voice turning brittle. "You prefer the company of those who ck the courage to speak above a whisper or form an original thought. How disappointing that the future emperor has such... limited tastes."

  The prince's expression hardened. "You've overstepped, Lady Harrington."

  "Have I?" Fury and hurt propelled her words forward. "Or am I simply the only person willing to tell you the truth? That this—" she gestured dismissively at Sophia, "this mouse in dy's clothing is pying a role to capture your crown? That her apparent perfection is nothing but a carefully constructed facade?"

  "Rosalind," Sophia spoke softly, a note of genuine concern in her voice. "Please, you're upset. Perhaps we should all retire for the evening and—"

  "Don't you dare pretend to care about my feelings!" Rosalind snapped. "You've orchestrated this entire situation, haven't you? Worming your way into the prince's confidence, pying the sweet, helpless girl who needs protection. It's pathetic! At least I'm honest about my ambitions!"

  Prince Adrian stepped forward, pcing himself slightly in front of Sophia. "That's enough. You will apologize to Lady Sophia immediately."

  "I will not," Rosalind replied, beyond caution now. "And you're a fool if you can't see what she's doing. Everyone at court is ughing behind your back at how easily you've been maniputed by a pretty face and a demure manner."

  The prince's face had gone pale with anger. "Lady Harrington, you forget yourself. Your behavior is unworthy of your station and your family name."

  "Adrian," Sophia pced a gentle hand on his arm. "It's alright. She's upset—"

  "Stop defending her!" Rosalind nearly shouted. In a sudden, impulsive movement born of pure frustration, she reached out and shoved Sophia, who, caught off guard, stumbled backward toward the fountain.

  What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Sophia teetered on the fountain's edge, arms filing as she tried to regain her bance. Prince Adrian lunged forward to catch her, but too te—with a spsh, Lady Sophia fell backward into the shallow water.

  For a moment, everyone froze in shock. Then Prince Adrian quickly waded into the fountain, helping a drenched and sputtering Sophia to her feet. Her golden hair hung in wet ropes around her face, her expensive gown completely ruined.

  Rosalind stood paralyzed, suddenly aware of what she had done. This was no clever scheme or calcuted move—it was a childish act of aggression that had crossed every line of acceptable behavior.

  "How dare you?" Prince Adrian's voice was low and dangerous as he helped Sophia onto dry ground. "To physically assault a dy of the court—the emperor will hear of this immediately."

  Rosalind took a step back, the magnitude of her actions beginning to sink in. "I didn't mean—it was an accident—"

  "It was no accident," came a stern voice from behind her.

  Rosalind turned to find the Emperor himself standing on the garden path, accompanied by two imperial guards and—to her horror—her own father. They must have been taking an evening walk and heard the commotion.

  "Your Imperial Majesty," she cursed low, panic rising in her throat. "I can expin—"

  "I witnessed enough, Lady Harrington," the Emperor said coldly. "As did your father."

  Duke Harrington's face was a mask of controlled fury and deep disappointment as he looked at his daughter. "Rosalind, you have disgraced our family name with this behavior."

  "Father, please—"

  "Silence," he commanded. "You will return to the carriage immediately and await me there."

  As one of the imperial guards led a shivering Sophia away to find dry clothes, the Emperor turned to Prince Adrian. "Are you injured, my son?"

  "No, Father. But Lady Sophia—"

  "Will be attended to," the Emperor assured him before turning his attention to Duke Harrington. "Your Grace, we have been friends for many years, and I have always held your family in the highest esteem. However, this incident cannot be overlooked."

  "I understand completely, Your Majesty," the Duke replied gravely. "And I assure you, appropriate consequences will follow."

  Rosalind felt the world shrinking around her as the two powerful men discussed her fate as if she weren't present. This couldn't be happening. One moment of lost control couldn't possibly undo all her careful pnning, all her birthright and privilege.

  "Father," she tried again, her voice small.

  He silenced her with a look before addressing the Emperor once more. "With Your Majesty's permission, I believe a period of reflection away from court would be beneficial for my daughter. She has clearly lost sight of the values and conduct befitting our name."

  "I agree," the Emperor nodded. "The countryside air might clear her mind and remind her of her duties and responsibilities."

  Countryside? Rosalind felt a wave of dizziness. They couldn't possibly mean to send her away from the capital, from society—from civilization itself!

  "Thank you for your understanding, Your Majesty," Duke Harrington bowed. "I will make the arrangements immediately."

  The Emperor gave a final stern look at Rosalind before departing with Prince Adrian, who didn't spare her a single gnce.

  Left alone with her father in the garden, Rosalind finally found her voice again. "Father, you can't seriously mean to send me away. It was a momentary pse—I'll apologize to Lady Sophia, to the prince, to everyone!"

  "It's far too te for apologies, Rosalind," her father replied, his usual indulgent tone repced by one of iron. "I've overlooked your schemes and maniputions for years, attributing them to youthful high spirits. But this—physically assaulting a dy of good standing in the presence of the royal family—this I cannot ignore."

  "But—"

  "Tomorrow morning, you will depart for our northern estate in Thornfield," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Not as a visiting duchess, but as a common ward pced in the care of Mrs. Hawthorn."

  "Mrs. Hawthorn? My old nursemaid?" Rosalind felt tears of indignation building. "Father, I am not a child to be sent to the nursery for punishment!"

  "No," her father agreed coldly. "A child might be forgiven such behavior. You are a grown woman who has deliberately chosen to disgrace our family name. Now come—your mother is waiting, and we have much to discuss before your departure."

  As he turned and strode away, expecting her to follow, Rosalind remained rooted to the spot, staring at the fountain where her future had drowned alongside Lady Sophia's dignity. How had everything gone so terribly wrong? And what horrors awaited her in the rustic wastend of Thornfield?

  One thing was certain—this was not the end. Exile or not, she was still a Harrington. And Harringtons always found a way to triumph in the end.

  With that cold comfort, she lifted her chin and followed her father from the garden, leaving behind the glittering world of the imperial court—and unknowingly walking toward a future that would transform her in ways she could never have imagined.