And it would cost my entire family their lives.
A marriage that ended in execution and ruin was one I could not afford.
And no longer wanted.
I hadn't even made it back to the residence yet.
The news of my broken engagement with Lester Vance had already swept through Aurelia.
The visitors lined up outside the Black residence, waiting to pay their respects to my father, were the first to catch the scent of it.
One by one, they picked up their gifts and left.
"Does the eldest Miss Black still think the Blacks are the Boling Blacks of old? Marrying into House Vance was already above her station!"
"I only wanted to get close to General Vance through the Black family. Otherwise, who'd bother warming up to a house this cold?"
"Who does Norma Black think she is? All she has is a reputation as the capital's top literary lady. Other women would kill to marry General Vance, and she's been sitting on that betrothal for years. Now she breaks it off in public? Who is she trying to impress?"
"General Vance earned his glory young. A noble title is right around the corner. The Blacks are going to regret this until their guts turn green!"
...
I listened to all of it. My heart was still as dead water.
Gemma's little face flushed scarlet with rage. "They look down on you, Sister. They look down on our whole family..."
I patted her head. "Gemma, what other people think doesn't matter. What matters is that our family stays together, safe and sound."
Gemma sniffled.
Then her eyes lit up.
"Father!"
She threw herself into our father's arms the moment he stepped through the gate, still in his court robes.
The complaints poured out of her in a torrent: everything that happened at the city gate with Lester, every snide remark from every fair-weather visitor who'd turned tail and left.
I clutched the edge of my sleeve, unable to meet my father's eyes.
Not until I heard him ask, "Why don't you want to marry him?"
His tone was gentle. He didn't seem angry.
Only then did I dare speak. "I don't have feelings for him anymore."
It was the most straightforward reason I could think of.
I could hardly tell my father that I had married Lester Vance twice before.
That the first time, I fell from a cliff and died. That the second time, I lost my head on the executioner's block.
And that I had dragged the entire Black family down with me, every last one put to the sword.
He wouldn't believe me even if I told him. Better to say nothing.
My father studied me, brow furrowed. "Norma, you have never been reckless."
"There must be another reason."
"Since you won't say, I won't press."
"But let me remind you of one thing. Lester has been by your side since childhood. He has always adored you. A match like that is rare. Don't do something you'll regret."
A rare match?
I used to believe that too. That Lester Vance was everything I could hope for.
We were promised to each other before we were born. We grew up side by side.
From the first stirrings of young love, I dreamed of growing old with him. I held that dream for ten years.
Every letter he sent from the front, I smoothed flat beneath a paperweight and tucked carefully into a box, layer upon layer.
During the worst of the fighting, when word came that he was dead, I carved both our names into a plaque of pear blossom wood. Even if he was gone, I would marry his spirit tablet.
That was how much I loved him.
And Lester?
To pave the way for Scarlett's entry into the Eastern Palace, he surrendered his command and laid down his armor.
He told me, "Norma, you've always been so understanding. I know you'll support my decision."
He asked me to give up my noble standing and follow him to the countryside to live in poverty.
When I was carrying his child, he turned around and marched back to the capital, all to prop up Scarlett's position.
I tried to stop him.
He said I had changed.
"The Norma I knew would never be this unreasonable."
I stood there, frozen.
Something cracked open in my chest, and the cold wind howled straight through.
Three years of marriage. Three years in that countryside, choking down porridge made from wild greens.
Hands that once held embroidery needles split open at the knuckles from chopping firewood.
When the kindling was too damp to catch, I got on my hands and knees and blew into the stove until tears streamed down my face.
I never once complained.
And in the end, because Scarlett whispered one word of grievance,
he blamed me.
I ran after their carriage.
I just wanted to ask what I had done wrong.
I lost my footing at the cliff's edge. Two lives gone in an instant: mine, and my unborn child's.
