CHAPTER 1 𖤐 THE WITHERED SWORD

There once lived a lady of unparalleled renown. Wealthy, beautiful, and educated—she was Sylvette Virelle, eldest daughter of Duke Argus Virelle and Duchess Claudia Virelle, the former first princess of the empire.

But her name was not known for her titles or gowns–It was remembered with a sigh, headache, or a prayer.

“FATHER!!!”

The shrill cry rang across the halls, sharp and wild.

Dressed in a crimson gown far too daring for a girl yet to come of age, Sylvette Virelle burst into the room with reckless excitement.

Despite his obvious disappointment, the Duke greeted his daughter with a wide smile. He opened his arms, and she darted into them without hesitation, wrapping herself in his embrace.

Maids glanced at each other and shook their heads. The scene may have looked like a tender family moment, but to the staff, it spelled chaos.

“Have you invited Sir Avian to my birthday?!” she asked eagerly, her voice bubbling with anticipation.

The Duke sighed softly. “Yes, dear. It was about time we connected him to our family.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“Does that mean...” she said with a sly grin, though her excitement was barely contained.

Ever since she was a child, Sylvette had adored Sir Leon Avian—captain of the White Knights, famed for his strength and beauty. The perfect gentleman for marriage, and just five years her senior.

She never forgot the day she first saw him in the garden, when she was only seven. He stood among the flowers she loved so dearly, like a vision from a dream. That day, she made a vow.

She would marry him.

And now, it seemed her wish was coming true.

***

“Lowen! Have you heard?!”

Sylvette barged into her younger sister’s chamber, paying no heed to the fact that Elowen was mid-change. She leapt onto the bed, kicking her feet and squealing with joy.

Elowen did not flinch. Such behavior was routine.

“Yes, I have. Father has arranged your engagement to Sir Avian, hasn’t he?” Elowen said, her voice soft and even.

She was grace incarnate—elegant, composed, the opposite of her unruly elder sister.

“So you do care about my affairs after all! And here I thought you weren’t interested in me,” Sylvette teased, curling into the pillows.

Elowen shook her head.

“I’m not. The maids were gossiping. It was impossible not to hear. You made a huge fuss about it.”

Sylvette got up and took a comb, gently brushing through her sister’s long, orange-colored hair.

In the mirror, the sisters exchanged subtle smiles.

Despite her reputation for being brash and improper, Sylvette always treated Elowen with warmth and tenderness.

“You’re truly beautiful, Lowen. I’m sure Lord Ethan will fall for you all over again when he sees you like this,” Sylvette said proudly.

But Elowen's smile faltered.

“Is something wrong?”

Elowen hesitated. “Father... he’s arranged my marriage to another. As soon as he found out about Ethan and me.” She gave a bitter smile.

Sylvette's heart sank. Words deserted her. Their parents had always favored Sylvette—the golden-haired heir, the perfect daughter. Elowen, by contrast, was neglected for her modest looks and unremarkable academic performance.

“I wish I were like you, sister. You have Mother’s blonde hair, and your eyes... they’re like the sea. Mine are just plain brown,” Elowen murmured, on the verge of tears.

Sylvette paused.

Brown eyes. A mark of diluted nobility. Neither the Duke’s blue nor the Duchess’ green.

A disgrace in noble society.

“You look down on yourself too much, Lowen... you’re beautiful too,” Sylvette whispered.

Elowen let out a soft laugh. “Ethan used to say that. But I know he was just trying to make me feel better.”

“When someone falls in love, they see perfection, flaws and all. So be confident. Lord Ethan sees you that way, I’m sure of it,” Sylvette replied with a smile.

Elowen turned to face her.

“I’m meeting my fiancé today. Will you come with me, sister?” she asked, holding her hand.

Sylvette nodded without hesitation.

If her sister needed her, she would be there.

The two of them stepped out of the mansion. A luxurious carriage awaited them at the entrance.

As the door opened, Sylvette’s breath caught in her throat.

A man stepped out. Hair as black as night, eyes the color of blood. Towering, composed, breathtaking.

In that instant, Sylvette understood something she never believed in.

Love at first sight.

And that...

Was how the novel, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥, that I had read, began.

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