One week.
Seven whole days since I had publicly announced my annulment, accused my sister of trying to murder me with cursed jewelry, and watched the imperial court implode like a badly written soap opera.
The fallout? Chef's kiss. Absolute chaos.
The nobles were divided into approximately seventeen different factions, each with increasingly ridiculous names. There was "Team Legitimate Heir" (Arabella's supporters), "Team Fire Princess" (my people, apparently), "Team Let's Just Pretend This Never Happened," and my personal favorite, "Team We Should Probably Flee Before This Turns Into A Civil War."
My reputation? Shredded. Absolutely decimated. I had gone from "mysterious illegitimate princess" to "unhinged fire hazard who frames her sister and breaks engagements at formal balls" in record time.
But the most notable development of the week?
Duke Lucien Asterion had vanished.
