Chapter 1

Christian Farnese gripped my chin with his own hands and forced that glass of arsenical wine down my throat.

He hated me for taking what was never mine to take — for taking credit for what my older sister had done, for playing him like a fool for five whole years.

What he didn't know was that the cup of arsenical wine didn't take my life. On the contrary, it used poison to counter poison, curing the five years of mental sluggishness that had left me dull and slow.

The moment my mind cleared, I left without looking back.

And when he realized I was truly gone — Christian lost his mind.

"Drink it."

Christian Farnese's voice was colder than ice in the dead of winter.

His long fingers locked around my chin, squeezing so hard I thought my bones might shatter.

Forced to tilt my head back, I looked up at the man I had depended on for five long years.

His eyes were shot through with red, swirling with undisguised disgust and the desire to kill.

He poured that crimson liquid down my throat without a shred of mercy.

"Urk— ghk—"

I tried to spit it out. Though he clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Swallow it!" he said through gritted teeth. "Charlotte Lacy — you owe me this!"

It felt like I'd swallowed a red-hot blade.

The burning pain exploded from my stomach and tore through every inch of my body.

I convulsed, and tears fell in heavy drops onto the back of his hand.

"Christian… it hurts… it hurts…"

I cried out in a broken voice, the way I had so many times over the past five years, hoping to stir even a flicker of pity in him.

But this time, he didn't pull me into his arms and soothe me like he used to.

He shoved me away — like he was throwing out something filthy — and I crashed hard onto the floor.

"Don't say my name. You don't deserve to."

He stood over me, watching me writhe and curl up on the ground, his eyes as cold as if he were looking at a corpse.

"You stole Margaret's place and lived in the Farnese Palace for five years, draped in luxury."

"You sat back and watched me act like a fool — treating you, the real fool, like you were something precious."

"Charlotte Lacy, you've put me through hell."

The pain was too much for me to speak. All I could do was shake my head over and over.

I never deceived him.

I was dull and slow, and my brain was foggy — with the mind of a five-year-old child.

Five years ago, my older sister Margaret Lacy had carried him — badly wounded — up from the bottom of a cliff on her back. But the effort drained her completely, and the medicine she'd tested on herself left her unconscious.

My parents, desperate to latch onto the powerfu, grabbed my hand and pointed at Christian Farnese lying in the bed. "Remember," they told me, "you're the one who saved him."

I didn't understand what saving someone meant. All I knew was that my sister wouldn't wake up.

When Christian came back to consciousness, my parents pushed me in front of him.

He took my hands that are covered in cuts from the herbs and branches — and promised he would take care of me for the rest of his life.

He brought me back to the royal capital.

He dressed me in the softest silks and fed me the sweetest pastries.

He taught me to write, holding my hand and guiding it stroke by stroke through "Charlotte" and "Christian."

I hated bitter things, and he never once lost patience coaxing me to drink those awful medicines that were supposed to heal my mind.

I thought it would always be like this.

Then, three days ago, my sister Margaret Lacy came to the door.

She had woken up.

She stood at the foot of the Farnese Palace steps in a plain white dress and said only two words: "Your Grace."

Christian trembled. His eyes went red as he rushed toward her.

The truth came out.

And I became the shameless thief who had stolen someone else's place out of greed.

"In your next life," Christian said coldly, tossing the words over his shoulder as he walked away, "don't ever try to lie to anyone again."

The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the last sliver of light.

I lay curled on the cold, damp floor as the pain about to tear my very soul apart.

For five years, Christian had fed me those bitter medicines meant to heal my mind. Now, in this moment, they collided with the poison from the arsenical wine like a thunderbolt splitting open the sky.

The fog that had clouded my thoughts for five years began — through that searing, unbearable pain — to slowly lift.

Blurry, broken memories came rushing in like a tide.

I finally remembered the purple Arisaema flowers at the bottom of that cliff.

I remembered the dark blood my sister coughed up when she tested the medicine to save him.

I remembered the greed on my parents' faces — and the condescending charity in Christian Farnese's eyes.

The pain gradually went numb, replaced by a clarity I had never known before.

I was not dead.

The arsenical wine hadn't killed me. Instead, it had done the opposite — poison fought poison, breaking through the clot that had clouded my mind for years.

I, Charlotte Lacy, was no longer the silly Lottie with the mind of a five-year-old.

I pressed my hands against the ice-cold wall and pulled myself to my feet, unsteady but standing.

Through the gap in the woodshed door, I could see snow falling thick and heavy outside.

This absurd dream that had lasted five years — I had finally woken from it.