Deviating from the original plot

Chapter sixty-three

By the time she reached her chambers, Celeste's composure had cracked. She shut the door firmly and leaned against it, her throat tight, her breaths uneven.

Her gaze fell on Victoria's handkerchief resting neatly on the vanity. Slowly, she crossed the room, picked it up, and let her fingers trace the delicate embroidery.

Then—a knock. Soft. Hesitant.

"Lady Celeste?" Clara's voice came through before the door creaked open.

"You're here," Celeste murmured, not looking up.

"My lady... Are you alright?" Clara asked gently.

"No." Celeste gave a bitter laugh. "My foolish father commanded me not to leave the estate until I've 'reflected on my actions.'"

"Oh... was it because of the broken engagement?"

"Yes," Celeste replied flatly.

"His Highness was cruel, ending things in such a public, important moment," Clara said carefully. "And when you didn't return last night, the Duchess came looking for you."

"I know." Celeste sighed. "I couldn't bear to stay here. I went to a friend's estate for the night."

Clara tilted her head. "The young lady you often speak of. Lady Valenford?"

"Don't make me sound so pitiful," Celeste muttered, rolling her eyes.

"My apologies, my lady. I only wondered... Are you truly alright? You cared for the prince once, didn't you?"

Celeste gave a soft scoff, her gaze dropping to the handkerchief in her hands. "Strangely enough, I don't feel much at all. It seems it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy."

"So you no longer harbour feelings for him?"

"No. I don't," Celeste admitted, surprising herself with the sense of relief in the words.

Clara hesitated, then spoke quietly. "Is that because... you're in love with Lady Valenford?"

"...What did you just say?" Celeste blinked, caught off guard.

"I—I misspoke," Clara stammered quickly, bowing her head. "Please forgive me, my lady."

"No, what... "What do you mean by that?" Celeste pressed, her voice sharper now.

Clara wrung her hands nervously. "It's only... You seem liveliest when you talk about her. Happiest when you're with her and you always seek her out. It reminded me of how one might act when experiencing... a crush."

Celeste blinked, the words lodging in her chest like a stone. "A... crush?" she repeated, almost choking on the word. "Don't be ridiculous."

Clara lowered her gaze, wringing the hem of her apron. "Forgive me, my lady. I spoke out of turn."

But Celeste didn't let it go. Her pulse quickened as she clutched the handkerchief tighter. "That's absurd. I... I only value her friendship. Nothing more."

Clara risked a glance upward. "Of course, my lady."

Yet the maid's tone suggested she didn't quite believe it.

Celeste turned away, staring at the handkerchief as if it might answer her turmoil. Her heart gave a traitorous flutter.

She shook her head quickly, as though trying to fling the thought away. "It isn't like that," she muttered.

Clara's tone remained gentle, careful. "Sometimes our hearts make choices long before our minds are ready to accept them, my lady."

"I do not!" Celeste snapped, her voice sharp with panic more than anger. "Do you even realise how dangerous it is to say such things aloud? If my father heard—he already despises the notion of having friendships. But this? This would be far worse..." Her breath came unevenly, her hands trembling as she clutched the handkerchief. "I don't. So stop. Stop insinuating such nonsense!"

Clara flinched at the force of her words but bowed her head. "Forgive me, Lady Celeste. I only spoke what I saw. It will never pass my lips again."

Celeste exhaled shakily.

"Leave me," she whispered, frayed with exhaustion.

"Yes, my lady." Clara retreated, her steps fading into silence as she closed the door.

Alone, Celeste sank onto the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands. Shame, fear, and something else are already mixing up in her mind.

✦ ✦

For the next few days, Celeste kept herself hidden away in the garden. She busied her hands with watering, pruning, and even pulling weeds that barely existed. Her dress was smudged with soil, her gloves damp, but she pressed on with determination. Each snip of the shears, each tug at a stubborn root, felt like a way to silence her thoughts.

The maids passing by exchanged confused glances—they had never seen their lady labour so intently in the dirt. Celeste ignored their stares, focusing instead on the plants.

By midday, sweat clung to her brow. Celeste finally straightened, chest rising and falling as she studied the row of flowers now trimmed and aligned in flawless order. 

"Finished already, my lady?" Clara's voice called gently.

"Not yet!" Celeste shot back, grabbing the watering can. Without waiting for a reply, she hurried off toward the fountain to refill it.

Clara exhaled softly as she watched her mistress's figure retreat across the garden. Guilt pricked at her—she couldn't shake the feeling that she had driven Lady Celeste into this restless frenzy. All she could do now was wait until it passed.

Hours later, Celeste finally set down her tools and collapsed onto a bench, brushing the damp strands of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Finished at last, my lady?" Clara asked gently.

"I am," Celeste breathed out with a weary sigh.

✦ ✦

After a long, soothing bath, Celeste stepped out wrapped in a robe. The warmth had eased some of the tension in her body, though her chest remained heavy. Her gaze drifted toward the folded handkerchief resting neatly at the corner.

She picked it up, tracing the embroidery with her fingertip.

"My lady," Clara's voice came softly as she entered the room. "Dinner is being served."

Celeste quickly set the handkerchief aside, like a child being caught stealing. "I'll be there shortly."

Clara lingered, concern flickering in her eyes. "Shall I assist you?"

"No, I'm fine," Celeste said too quickly.

Clara nodded, bowed, and slipped out.

Celeste exhaled, a quiet sigh escaping her lips, before dressing in a simple gown and pulling her hair back with minimal effort.

✦ ✦ ✦

The dining hall was as cold and rigid as always. Her father sat at the head of the table, his expression carved from stone.

At last, his voice broke the silence. "The Imperial Family has called for a court meeting tomorrow."

Celeste did not even lift her gaze, calmly continuing with her meal.

"You appear entirely unbothered," her father remarked, his tone sharp.

"I'm done with the Imperial Family," Celeste muttered.

"Celeste, don't say such things," her mother interjected softly.

"But what difference does it make?" Celeste said bitterly. "You've already put me under house arrest, Father. Even if I wanted to act, I couldn't."

"I will speak with the Queen," her mother said quickly. "She will know what to do."

Her husband's glare snapped toward her, cold and dangerous. "You will do no such thing."

Celeste's mother stiffened, falling silent.

Celeste's lips pressed into a thin line. The urge to defend her mother burnt at her tongue, but she swallowed it down, lowering her gaze to her plate.

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A/N: What do you all think? Is Celeste wrong and They are just friends ... or?