(5) A Fiancée In My Carriage.

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"........,"  

"My my, am I that pretty, darling?"

A woman, dressed elegantly in a lavish dress that accentuated her hourglass figure, climbed aboard the carriage with a smile on her lips. 

Although she was beautiful causing me to stare – there was something... off about her; something that sent shivers down my spine. 

This had to be Roxana Agriche, the Grand Duke's fiancée. 

The memories flickered through my mind – a political marriage, arranged since childhood, and not exactly one built on love.

It was a smart move asking about my love status in one of the interviews.

Her long, golden locks cascaded down gracefully over her shoulders, framing her striking features perfectly. 

Her crimson eyes locked onto mine briefly before she sat down across from me, setting her fan down gracefully on her lap.

"Your Grace,"

She spoke softly, practically purring the words out.

"I apologize for being late. My carriage had an unexpected breakdown outside town."

Her hands fluttered delicately, tracing invisible patterns on the fabric of her dress.

Her voice was melodic, like a songbird singing softly to lull you into a dazed state.

"No, no worries,"

I replied curtly, trying to keep my voice devoid of any emotion.

"We still have plenty of time to reach the Royal Palace."

Despite my attempts at maintaining composure, there was an underlying unease growing within me. 

Something about this woman, this supposed fiancée, didn't sit right with me. 

As if she knew exactly how I felt, her gaze lingered on my face for a moment longer than necessary before she quickly averted her gaze. 

Roxana Agriche. 

Talking to me so casually, so… familiarly. 

It irritated me.

"May I offer you some refreshment? You seem quite… flustered,"

She suggested, reaching into her bag and pulling out a delicate silver bottle filled with an amber liquid.

My brow furrowed in suspicion, but curiosity, got the better of me.
 
"Alcohol?"

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