Forbidden: An Unspoken Love

A year ago, a sharp young sheriff arrived from the Capital, cutting through corruption and solving cases with an uncanny eye. He brought an older foster sister with him, and everyone whispered about how close they were.

Because the sheriff was strikingly handsome and had once pulled the undersheriff’s granddaughter out of a frozen creek, the girl had developed a fierce crush on him. When she confessed her feelings, he shut her down instantly.

He told her he was already devoted to his foster sister.

The girl refused to believe it. How could a man fall in love with a woman who was four years his senior and possessed no extraordinary beauty? She cornered him, demanding to know if the woman had seduced him.

He had merely offered a slow, lazy smile.

"Between the two of us,"he murmured,"I was the one who did the seducing."

The courtyard erupted in stunned gasps.

Amidst the murmurs, he lifted his glass of watered wine, his dark gaze dropping to his index finger. The faint mark of teeth—left behind when he and his sister had grown too close the night before—was still visible against his skin. A wicked, intoxicating memory pulled at the corners of his mouth as he took a slow sip.

The crowd had nearly fainted just hearing that he chased after his foster sister. If they ever found out she had once been his foster mother, they would probably pass out entirely.

---

Eight years earlier, the thirteenth year of King William's reign in the Capital.

January 24th was noted in the almanac as an exceptionally auspicious day for a wedding.

The Capital streets were packed with onlookers, merchants, and street vendors, all standing on their tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the procession. Amidst the deafening roar of brass and drums, the groom sat proudly atop a magnificent stallion. Behind him came a carriage draped in velvet, followed by a jaw-dropping hundred and eighteen oak chests filled with the bride's dowry.

What made the crowd gasp wasn't gold or silk, however. Every single chest was stuffed to the brim with ancient manuscripts, sparking a wave of buzzing whispers.

"Well, I'll be. Lived sixty years and never seen a dowry made entirely of old books!"

A man nearby scoffed."Shows what you know. The Ashdown family library isn't like ordinary collections. Those are rare manuscripts and priceless historical documents. They're worth a fortune!"

Another voice chimed in from behind."The young king is merciful, at least. Even though the Earl's third son dragged the whole family down with his treason and the estate was subjected to attainder, they still granted a royal pardon to the eldest branch's legitimate daughter, letting her keep the entire library her grandfather spent decades gathering."

The comments set off another ripple of conversation.

"Indeed. If the third branch had simply kept their heads down and stayed out of the Great Rebellion, none of this would have happened."

"Such a pity for the poor girl. Is she fortunate or cursed? On one hand, her uncle ruined her life, leaving her an orphan. On the other, the dowager of Fremont Manor honored an old marriage contract, insisting she take the position of lawful wife. Look at them now, making such a grand spectacle of the wedding for the whole city to see!"

"Well, she certainly has a reputation."

"Wait, what reputation? I just arrived from Westmere. What's so special about her?"

"Her grandfather was Edmund Ashdown, the royal tutor who passed away two years ago. Her parents died in the floods at Westmere when she was a child. The old tutor raised her himself, and she grew up reading the classics. By thirteen, she was already known as wise as any cathedral scholar across the entire Capital! Not to mention her charcoal and paint sketches are worth a small fortune. If her family hadn't fallen from grace, half the noble houses in the city would have broken down her doors to secure her hand!"

"Hmph!"A young maid nearby rolled her eyes."They talk her up like a saint, as if she's the only clever woman in the realm!"

"Well, wise as any cathedral scholar is a title nobody else holds~"

"The late king was just tossing around empty praise!"

"Every high-born lady in the Capital was standing right there when he said it, and he certainly didn't hand that title to anyone else."

The maid choked on her retort for a second, then jutted out her chin defiantly."So what if she's a scholar? She's plain as a fence post! Look at Chancellor Morgan's daughter—just as bright, and an absolute beauty to boot. Beauty and brains beat a plain face any day of the week!"

Someone in the crowd muttered a defense."She isn't that plain..."

"Exactly. I've seen her with my own eyes. She might not have the face of a storybook princess, but she has skin like porcelain and the grace of a Madonna Lily. Back when the Westmere floods brought thousands of refugees to the Capital, she and the old royal tutor set up soup kitchens outside the east gate for weeks. I saw her myself. She was so gentle and compassionate with those ragged refugees, with a face so soft and kind she looked like a living angel."

The maid spat on the ground."An angel, right. Every lord wants a beauty for a wife, not a stone statue in a church."

With a final sniff, she elbowed her way out of the crowd, clutching a small package to her chest like a shield. She let out a long breath."Thank God the pastries aren't squashed."

Glancing back with a sneer at the group, she hurried away toward Chancellor's Row, where the Chancellor's residence stood.

---

Up on his horse, Sebastian Fremont looked thoroughly miserable. The festive red wedding garments clashed violently with his scowling expression as he let his mount drift lazily through the streets, consumed by dark irritation.

Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions. Too bad he wasn't marrying Rosalind.

Hell, he would rather have ridden off to the western borders with his father!

If his grandmother hadn't threatened to die of grief if he refused, he wouldn't have touched this marriage contract with Elara Ashdown with a ten-foot pole.

Inside the carriage, Elara propped her chin lazily in her hand. The golden fringe dangling from her hood swayed with every bump in the road, but she ignored it, entirely absorbed in the manuscript in her lap.

Brother Hewett's Travels was a fascinating read. If she ever had the chance, she would love to see the green hills and clear rivers the author wrote about, feel the southern breeze, and meet all kinds of interesting people from across the land.

The Capital was suffocatingly dull.

As the townspeople had whispered, she was indeed no great beauty. Yet her features were clean and striking, and her skin possessed an ethereal, translucent pallor.

"Lower—the—carriage!"

Amidst the celebratory firecrackers, the curtain twitched back. They had arrived.

Before stepping down, she rolled the travel manuscript into a tight tube and slid it neatly into the wide sleeve of her gown.

The wedding ceremonies were a dizzying blur of exhaustion. By the time Sebastian finally dismissed the attendants and stumbled into the bedchamber late that night, reeking of wine and bad temper, he was ready for a fight.

He had planned to march right in, tell his new bride that his heart belonged to another, make it clear that he had been forced into this match, and warn her never to expect affection from him. She could sit quietly as a piece of furniture in his house, but she should never dream of touching him.

Instead, he pushed open the door to find... absolutely no blushing, nervous bride.

Elara was lying comfortably on the daybed, fast asleep. A few stray crumbs rested near the corner of her mouth, and her travel manuscript was clutched loosely in one hand.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. The brilliant scholar praised by the whole city, the clever mind lauded by the late king, the paragon of womanhood his grandmother kept gushing about—this was her?

Someone needed to drag half the Capital here just to see what kind of woman she really was!

"Unbelievable,"he muttered, glaring at her pale face. Aside from her clear skin, she was completely unimpressive.

Everything about this marriage was wrong.

He let out a heavy, wine-soaked sigh, trudged over to the bed, kicked off his boots, pulled the heavy duvet over himself, and promptly passed out.

---

Over in the Dowager's Chamber, Matilda Fremont sat before her bronze mirror.

"It's late, my lady. The young master and his bride have settled in. You should rest as well."

Sibyl, the elderly maid, gently unpinned a silver comb from the old woman's hair.

"Sibyl,"Matilda murmured, staring at her reflection."Elara is such a fine girl. If Sebastian doesn't treat her right, I'll have a lot to answer for."

"Don't talk like that, my lady. Affection grows with time. The marriage came together so quickly, and Sebastian has spent most of his life in military camps without ever speaking to her. He's only twenty, and she's just fifteen. They have plenty of years ahead of them."

"Do they?"Matilda looked down at her own wrinkled hands.

Indeed, affection could grow.

Even though Sebastian had been forced into it, Sibyl was right. There was time.

Elara was so bright; eventually, Sebastian would see her worth.

As Sibyl helped her toward the bed, a sudden thought crossed Matilda's mind."By the way, that maid of hers..."

"Don't worry, my lady. Blanche has already been found."Sibyl tucked the blanket around the old woman's shoulders."You have to hand it to the young mistress—she's young, but her mind works fast. The moment she caught wind of the attainder, she had her maid smuggled out of the city just to keep her safe. When my men tracked her down and asked, she agreed to come back and serve without hesitation. She should arrive any day now."

"Elara has a good heart,"Matilda sighed."And Blanche is a loyal girl. Even after Elara granted her freedom, she still came back. That shows how deeply they care for one another."

"Naturally. A girl raised by the royal tutor was bound to be exceptional—kind and brilliant both."

Matilda nodded slowly in agreement.

Years ago, Edmund Ashdown had placed among the top scholars in the imperial examinations, stunning the court with his treatise On Good Governance. What a commanding figure he had been back then. Countless women in the Capital had lost their hearts to him. Though Matilda had already been betrothed to a military officer at the time, she had always admired men of letters like him.

She had known back then that Edmund was destined for greatness.

Sure enough, favored by the king, he had climbed steadily through the ranks until he became the royal tutor, standing at the pinnacle of power for decades.

A man like that would never raise a foolish son, and his granddaughter was proof of that wisdom.

Seeing that Matilda had closed her eyes, Sibyl lowered her voice."A girl like that is a perfect match for the young master. You mustn't let those petty arguments from the past few days weigh on your heart, my lady. He'll understand your intentions soon enough."

Matilda offered a soft murmur of agreement, letting sleep take her."Get some rest, Sibyl."

"Goodnight, my lady."

---

Two months later.

Late spring brought warm sunshine and a gentle breeze that swept away the winter chill. The flowers in the private gardens were blooming in a riot of color, magnificent to behold.

The only exception was the Madonna Lily they had bought the month before. Despite following the flower merchant's instructions to the letter, it had withered and died during the late frost.

Elara was lying on a recliner beneath the shade of a large oak tree, reading a book while killing time, when Blanche squatted down beside her, holding the dead plant with a miserable expression."My lady, this thing is impossible to keep alive!"

Elara glanced at the pot."Don't blame the plant. The climate here simply isn't right for it."

"It wasn't this delicate when it was at the nursery! We fussed over it morning and night, and it still died. So ungrateful!"Blanche grumbled, searching for stronger words."Just completely ungrateful!"

Elara chuckled at the girl's dramatics, reaching out to pinch Blanche's sulking cheek without a word.

Nurserymen knew every trick to keep exotic plants thriving in foreign soil, but she was no botanist. Some things simply couldn't be forced.

If it wouldn't grow here, there was no point in torturing it.

If she ever had the chance, she wanted to travel to Westmere. Books said it was the natural home of the Madonna Lily, especially around Sandringham. According to the travel manuscripts, the locals there adored the flowers, planting them in every garden until the entire town smelled of them.

The thought made her heart ache with longing.

She thought of distant Westmere, then looked around the Capital—the only city she had ever known from birth to adulthood. A quiet sigh slipped out, ruining her concentration. She couldn't focus on her reading anymore.

Pushing herself up from the chair, she asked Blanche to fetch her charcoal and paint.

"Are you going to sketch, my lady?"

She nodded. It had been a while, and her hands felt restless.

Half an hour later, Blanche stared at the blank white wall beside the window, which had suddenly been transformed by a lifelike sketch of a Madonna Lily. The blossoms looked as though they were swaying in a real breeze, impossibly vibrant and detailed.

"My lady, your hand is getting even better!"

Back in her grandfather's courtyard, she used to sketch on every available surface—her own windows, her grandfather's study, even the library walls.

Elara washed her ink-stained fingers, returned to the recliner under the oak tree, and picked up a cup of warm tea from the small side table. She took a sip and let out a long breath of contentment.

True contentment. For the first time in the two years since her grandfather's death, she felt truly at peace.

The fall of the Ashdown family hadn't left deep scars on her spirit. All the relatives she actually cared for were gone, and the ones left behind had never offered her genuine warmth.

When her grandfather was alive, they had treated her like precious porcelain. The moment he passed away, their true colors showed. Her uncles grew cold and distant, while her aunts loved to pick her apart with endless criticism. Her second aunt, in particular, never missed a chance to sneer at her, parading her two daughters around just to make catty remarks. That same aunt had even tried to unilaterally cancel her marriage contract with Fremont Manor under the guise of acting as head of the household, claiming she wanted to find Elara a"better match."

Those so-called better matches were either ruined rakes, men with houses full of mistresses, or aging widowers old enough to be her grandfather.

If she hadn't repeatedly stalled by using the traditional period of mourning for her grandfather as an excuse, she would have been married off to some miserable household long ago.

She felt zero attachment to that family.