Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 276 - Two Hundred And Seventy Five

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the high stone walls of the capital, casting long, distorted shadows across the grounds of Prince Liam’s private residence.

The sky was a bruised purple, the color of a healing wound, and the air was cooling rapidly.

Ashlyn stood at the heavy iron gates. She wore a dark, heavy cloak over her dress, the hood pulled up deep to hide her face from prying eyes. She did not want to be recognized. She did not want people to whisper that the Second Lady of the Thompson estate was knocking on the Prince’s door alone.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her hands, hidden in the folds of her cloak, were shaking. But her face, beneath the shadow of the hood, was set in a mask of cold, brittle determination.

She had left Carlos kneeling on the floor of their ruined room, holding a whip he was too weak to endure its strike. She was done with weak men. She was done with men who promised the world and delivered only ashes. If she was going to survive this life, if she was going to beat Marissa, she needed a weapon that wouldn’t break in her hand.

She approached the guard stationed at the gate.

"I am here to see His Highness," Ashlyn said. Her voice was low but steady.

The guard looked her up and down. He was a large man in black armor. He recognized her from the night before, when she had been delivered in a trunk, though she looked different now—sharper, harder, more dangerous. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of her presence, and opened the small side gate with a heavy creak of iron.

Ashlyn walked through the courtyard.

Inside the residence, the air was different. It didn’t smell of flowers. It was thick with the sharp, chemical scent of oil paint and turpentine.

She followed the servant down the long, silent corridor. They reached the door to the solar.

"Your Highness," the guard announced, bowing low at the entrance. "She is here."

Prince Liam stood by a large easel near the tall window, his back to the door. He had removed his heavy outer coat. He was in his fine white shirt sleeves, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He held a long, thin brush in his hand.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t acknowledge her entry. He just stared at the canvas in front of him.

"Dismissed," Liam said. His voice was bored, lazy, the voice of a man who considered everyone around him to be an interruption.

"Yes, Your Highness." The guard bowed again and left, closing the heavy door softly behind him.

The click of the latch was loud in the quiet room.

Liam dipped his brush into a pot of red paint. The crimson liquid coated the bristles. He spoke to the air, assuming he knew why she was there.

"Carlos sent you here?" Liam asked. He sighed, a sound of deep, weary disappointment. "He is too impatient. He is a child who cannot wait for his treat. He is already demanding rewards for a gift I only just unwrapped."

Ashlyn stood on the other side of a sheer silk curtain that divided the room, separating the entrance from the artist’s space. She could see his silhouette through the gauze, the graceful, fluid movement of his arm as he applied paint to the canvas.

She took a deep breath. She had to be perfect.

"No, Your Highness," Ashlyn replied. Her voice was steady, clearer than it had been in years. It was the voice of a woman who had nothing left to lose. "I came to see you of my own will."

Liam paused. The brush hovered over the canvas, dripping a single drop of red paint.

He chuckled. It was a low, dark sound that vibrated in the room.

"Intriguing," Liam said.

He turned his head slightly, trying to see her through the haze of the curtain. His blue eyes glinted in the dim light.

"Explain yourself," he commanded.

Ashlyn took a deep breath. She stepped closer to the curtain, her hands clenched into fists at her sides to stop them from trembling. She needed to sell this. She needed to sell herself, not as a victim, not as a wife, but as a weapon.

"Carlos is cowardly," Ashlyn said. Her voice dripped with disdain. It felt good to say it out loud. "He is incompetent. He breaks under pressure. He crashes out when he loses. He is useless for great deeds. He thinks small. He thinks about coins when he should be thinking about crowns."

She paused, letting the insult sink in. She waited for Liam to defend his new spy, but there was only silence.

"Though I am a woman," Ashlyn continued, her voice gaining strength, "I understand how to assess circumstances. I know when a ship is sinking. And I know how to swim."

She reached out and touched the fabric of the curtain. It was cool and smooth under her fingers.

"If Your Highness favors me," she promised, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I shall not just be a warm body in your bed. I shall be your sharp blade. I will be always at your command. I can go where men cannot. I can hear what men do not say. I can see what they hide."

Liam turned fully around. He held a rag in his hand. He wiped his fingers, staining the white cloth with red paint that looked disturbingly like fresh blood.

"Fascinating," Liam murmured.

He walked toward the curtain. He reached out and pulled it aside with a dramatic, sweeping motion.

The barrier was gone.

He looked at her. He saw the fire in her eyes, the dark ambition that matched his own. He saw a woman who had been broken and had put herself back together with sharp edges.

"All these years," Liam said, stepping closer, his voice thoughtful, "you are the first woman who sought me for herself. Usually, they are sent by fathers who want land, or husbands who want promotions, or they come begging for money to pay debts. You... you come begging for power."

He smiled. It was a thin, appreciative smile. "Remarkable."

He turned back to the easel. He gestured to it with his brush. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"Come," Liam said. "Look."

Ashlyn hesitated. Her heart beat faster. She walked past him, her dress rustling. She approached the canvas.

She froze.

The painting was large, dominating the room. It was a portrait of a woman. The background was dark, a velvet black that seemed to swallow the light. The woman in the center was bathed in a golden, ethereal glow.

She was beautiful. She had long, flowing dark hair that tumbled over her shoulders in wild waves. She was looking back over her shoulder, her lips parted in a sensual, inviting expression.

And she was completely naked.

Ashlyn felt her breath catch in her throat. She gripped the fabric of her dress to keep her hands from shaking. She knew that face. She knew those eyes. She knew the curve of that jaw.

It was Marissa.

It was her sister. The Grand Duchess. The woman who was supposed to be pure, untouchable, and loyal to Derek.

Liam had painted her in a provocative pose, her skin glowing, her curves exaggerated. It was not a respectful portrait. It was a masterpiece of desire and obsession. It was a painting of a woman owned.

Ashlyn stared at it. Her mind raced, confusion warring with shock. Why? Why Marissa? Why does the Prince paint my sister naked?

Liam walked up behind her. He stood close, his chest almost touching her back. She could feel his body heat. She could smell the paint and the expensive musk of his cologne.

His breath ghosted over her neck.

"Does this portrait look familiar?" Liam whispered.

Ashlyn swallowed hard. Her throat felt tight. She forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t show weakness. Not now. Not when she was so close to the center of the web.

"Your Highness," Ashlyn spoke, her voice tight and controlled. "Your brushwork is masterful. The likeness is... uncanny."

Liam sighed. It was a sound of deep, twisted longing. He looked at the painted Marissa with a hunger that terrified Ashlyn. It was the look of a starving man looking at a feast he could not touch.

"She is perfection," Liam murmured to the canvas. "Cold. Distant. Unobtainable. That is what makes her so delicious. She resists. She fights."

He turned his attention from the canvas to Ashlyn.

He reached out and took her hands. His fingers were cold, stained with red and ochre paint.

"I heard the Austen sisters married into the same household," Liam said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather. "A tragedy of fate, they say. Two flowers in one garden."

He let go of her hands. His hand moved up. It landed on the back of her neck. He gripped it, his thumb pressing into the sensitive spot at the base of her skull. It wasn’t a caress. It was a hold.

"Derek’s wife..." Liam said softly.

He pulled her closer. Ashlyn was forced to step in, her body pressing against his. She looked up at him. She saw the color of his eyes, bright and manic. She saw the madness lurking there.

Fear, cold and sharp, became visible in Ashlyn’s eyes. She couldn’t hide it. She realized she was in the presence of something far more dangerous than Carlos.

"...is your elder sister, right?" Liam completed the sentence.

Ashlyn couldn’t breathe. The trap was closing. She realized suddenly that she wasn’t the player. She wasn’t the blade. She was just another piece on the board, another way to get to the Queen.

"Yes," Ashlyn stammered. "She is."

"Good," Liam said.

He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of a wolf that had just cornered a rabbit in its burrow.

"What..." Ashlyn whispered, her voice trembling. "What does His Highness want?"

Liam smiles.