Playing Hard To Get?

The grand hall instantly erupted into a chaotic wave of disbelief. The stunned silence shattered, replaced by harsh whispers and murmurs of outright ridicule that crashed around Oriana from every corner of the vast room. Courtiers leaned in close to one another, eyes wide with shock, exchanging frantic gossip behind raised goblets and silk fans.

"The Duke of Grimwood? Is she out of her mind?"

"She wants to marry a dying man over the Crown Prince?"

"Does she even understand he might never wake up?"

The overlapping voices surged like a rising tide, sharp with mockery. Oriana heard every single word. The biting remarks echoed off the high vaulted ceilings, meant to shame her into submission. Yet, not a single flicker of emotion crossed her face. She stood poised, her posture unshakable, as if the raging storm of public scrutiny had nothing to do with her.

On the throne, the King shifted his weight. The grand, unprecedented request clearly troubled him. He leaned forward, attempting to smooth over the sudden, suffocating tension that gripped his banquet.

"That would be a difficult match for you, child," the King said. His tone remained gentle, though a heavy hesitation weighed down his words. "The Duke’s current condition is unfortunate. Perhaps I should select another viable candidate from the royal family. We have many fine, healthy young men who would be honored to take your hand."

Oriana refused to retreat a single step. She met the King’s gaze with a steady, unwavering focus.

"Your Majesty," she said, her clear voice slicing right through the rising murmurs of the nobility. "I am deeply grateful for your profound kindness. You honor the Thorne family."

She took a slow breath, letting the heavy anticipation settle over the room.

"However, I have already sworn an unbreakable vow before the Holy Mother. In this life, I will marry no one but the Duke of Grimwood."

To solidify her iron resolve, Oriana sank into a deep, flawless curtsy. Her skirts pooled gracefully across the polished marble floor.

"I humbly ask for your royal blessing."

She kept her head bowed and refused to rise. Her rigid posture laid her determination bare for the entire court to witness. She would not back down.

The object of her shocking declaration, Gideon Belmont, was no ordinary nobleman. He was the legendary Duke of Grimwood, the King's own younger brother, and the ninth-born son of the royal family. Years ago, when the King still fought his bloody, uncertain path toward the throne, Gideon had stood beside him. He was the King’s most loyal blade, an unyielding force who pulled his brother back from the brink of death time and time again.

After securing the crown, Gideon did not rest. He led brutal campaigns to the north and east, crushing rebellions and vastly expanding the kingdom's borders. His name became a legend, a symbol of military might known by every citizen in Valdoris.

That was, until one year ago.

While stationed in the Iron Reaches during a grueling winter campaign, the mighty Duke collapsed without warning. His soldiers carried him back to Grimwood Manor, where he slipped into an unending coma. Royal physicians poured in and out of his estate, trying every known remedy, but none could offer a cure. Whispers spread through the capital that the great warrior might never open his eyes again.

Yet, kneeling on the cold floor of the Great Hall, Oriana harbored a crucial secret from her past life. She knew with absolute certainty that Gideon would wake.

In her previous timeline, Gideon opened his eyes during the third year of her marriage. That year had been one of the darkest periods she had ever endured. Trapped in a cold, miserable union with Evander, she remained childless and isolated. The Queen eventually arranged for Evander to take a consort. That woman was cherished—doted on by Evander, adored by the servants, and celebrated by the entire Crown Prince's Wing. Oriana, meanwhile, was treated like a ghost haunting her own home.

When Gideon finally awoke from his coma, Evander brought both women to Grimwood Manor to pay their respects. But when it was time to leave, the favored consort deliberately departed early in the royal carriage. She left Oriana behind. Alone.

Oriana hadn't even known the winding roads back to the palace. She lingered in the freezing courtyard, hoping someone might offer her a seat in a passing wagon. But the servants knew the Crown Prince despised his wife. No one dared to extend a helping hand, fearing Evander’s wrath. As the sun dipped below the horizon, emptying the world of light and warmth, utter despair began to close in around her.

Then, she heard a voice. Weak, but surprisingly steady.

"There is a carriage ready. Come."

She had turned around, stunned. Gideon sat in a wheelchair just a few paces away, his frame draped in a dark, loose robe. The once-fearsome warrior looked thin and gaunt, his face pale from years of slumber. But when he looked at her, he smiled. It was a soft, gentle expression.

"Would you care to stay for supper at Grimwood Manor?" he asked.

She meant to refuse. She tried to maintain her rigid, aristocratic composure. But the moment she opened her mouth, her voice broke. Tears spilled down her cheeks without warning. She wept for her dead brothers, for the kingdom that forgot her family's sacrifice, and for the agonizing neglect she suffered every single day. The pain she had buried so deeply finally broke loose in relentless, heaving sobs.

The legendary Duke didn't offer empty platitudes. He didn't ask probing questions. He simply sighed softly, pulled out a clean handkerchief, and offered it to her. Then, he remained silently by her side while she cried until her chest ached.

Now, returning to the present, Oriana intended to repay that profound, life-altering kindness.

In her past life, terrible neglect and poor medical care left Gideon permanently paralyzed. He remained confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his days. This time, she resolved to personally care for him. She would oversee his treatment, help him fully recover, and ensure he walked again. Furthermore, his current unconscious state provided the precious, uninterrupted time she desperately needed. She could use this quiet period to plan her own moves and take full control of her future. Once he finally woke, she would ask for a quiet divorce. He wouldn't want a forced marriage anyway.

The tense, suffocating silence in the Great Hall stretched on. The King rubbed his temples, looking incredibly weary beneath his heavy gold crown. He seemed at a loss for words.

Breaking the quiet, the Queen calmly intervened. She leaned toward her husband, her voice measured and pragmatic. "If she is truly determined to marry Gideon," the Queen suggested, "then perhaps we should honor the girl's undeniable sincerity."

The King glanced at his wife, then back down at Oriana’s bowed figure. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Very well," the King decreed, the finality of his words echoing off the stone walls. "You have no family left to guide you, and Gideon is still unwell. The palace will oversee all marriage arrangements."

Oriana lifted her head, a genuine glimmer of relief shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Across the hall, Evander sat rigid in his seat. An unexplainable, gnawing irritation built within his chest. His sharp gaze locked onto Oriana. He didn't blink.

Kalliope leaned closer to him, her lips curling into a sneer. "She wants to marry Gideon?" Kalliope muttered under her breath. "Oriana really is the dumbest girl alive. Evander, I would bet anything she will regret this in less than a week."

Evander maintained his cold facade. A faint, arrogant smile touched his lips. "Her impending, inevitable regret will have nothing to do with me."

Later that night, the banquet concluded. Oriana returned to the empty Thorne Manor. She walked through the quiet, overgrown garden, stepping past the silent shadows of her childhood home, and entered her long-abandoned room.

The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut, her rigid posture melted. She collapsed onto her soft bed, finally shedding the crushing weight of the evening. She didn't have to brace herself for Evander's cold glances anymore. She didn't have to navigate his silent humiliations. The oppressive atmosphere of the Crown Prince's Wing was gone.

For the first time in countless years, Oriana closed her eyes and fell into a deep, genuinely peaceful sleep.

Several days passed. The crushing exhaustion of her rebirth slowly began to fade.

Then, the Queen's trusted attendant, Irma, arrived at Thorne Manor. Irma greeted Oriana with a warm, formal smile, holding a sealed invitation.

"His Majesty entrusted your wedding arrangements to Her Majesty," Irma explained kindly. "The Queen has been preparing everything herself. Today, she plans to select an auspicious wedding date, and she hopes you will come to the palace to assist."

Oriana hesitated slightly. "I am not very good with such matters," she admitted. "Her Majesty may choose any date she deems suitable. I have no objections."

Irma let out a soft, gentle laugh. "Even common families consult the bride after the groom's side chooses a date," she said. "You should come, my lady. The Queen mentioned she hasn’t seen you in quite some time, and she wishes for a private word."

A private word?

Oriana paused. She knew full well the Queen never actually liked her in her past life. They were never close. But Irma's tone was sincere, and refusing a direct invitation from the royal family would cause unnecessary friction. She found herself unable to decline the request.

By the time Oriana arrived at the palace, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grounds. Golden light spilled across the beautiful cobblestone paths, warm and soft. Oriana walked quietly, keeping her gaze respectfully lowered as she followed the palace servants toward the central wing.

"Your Highness."

Irma's respectful greeting suddenly rang out, breaking the quiet air.

Oriana froze in her tracks.

She slowly lifted her head. Standing directly before them on the path was Evander.

He looked tall and impeccably dressed in his dark royal tunic. His sharp, intense gaze fixed on her, filled with unmistakable scrutiny. The sudden encounter made her chest tighten with old, painful instincts, but she quickly pushed the feeling down.

Oriana took a deliberate step back, putting distance between them. She lowered her eyes and offered a stiff, formal bow. She didn't speak.

Evander's frown deepened significantly. He scanned her appearance. In the past, whenever she visited the Queen, she always timed it perfectly to intercept his daily walk. She would rush up to him, wearing desperate, hopeful smiles. Her hands would always be full of homemade pastries or intricate embroidered pouches she spent nights crafting. He never ate the food. He always threw it away or gave it to the guards.

Today, she stood empty-handed. No pastry box. No bright, fawning smile. Just a cold, distant bow.

He immediately formed a conclusion. Her grand, shocking declaration at the banquet was nothing but a calculated ploy. A desperate tactic to grab his attention because her usual methods failed. At the banquet, she boldly claimed she felt nothing for him. Now here she was, wandering the palace paths, clearly regretting her words but pretending she had moved on.

Evander let out a low, deeply mocking chuckle. He stepped closer, casting a tall shadow over her smaller frame.

"Really, Oriana?" he asked, his voice edged with sharp ridicule. "Is this your idea of playing hard to get?"

His gaze sharpened into a hard glare as he casually dismissed her supposed act.

"Honestly… it's kind of boring."