Chapter 7: The Scandal That Wasn't Yet (But Definitely Had a Goat)
Elaine had always imagined that if she ever caused a royal scandal, it would involve dramatic rooftop duels, flaming curtains, or possibly someone's pants catching fire.
She never imagined it would involve an engagement ring, a forged royal proclamation, and a goat named Petunia.
But here she was, in the middle of the palace's east corridor, being congratulated on her impending nuptials by a cluster of noblewomen who were already debating color swatches for the wedding procession to Lior.
"Darling," Lady Virella gushed, linking arms with her like a particularly aggressive aunt. "Your engagement has brought so much joy to the court. After last month's... goat debacle, we needed something wholesome."
Elaine blinked. "The what debacle?"
"Oh, you know. That unfortunate misunderstanding involving the ambassador's ceremonial goat, a runaway carriage, and Lord Pembroke's trousers."
Elaine did not, in fact, know. But her concern deepened when a squire burst in, red-faced and out of breath, holding up a scroll with the royal seal.
"Lady Elaine!" he shouted. "Urgent correspondence for you. It was circulated this morning!"
She unrolled it—and nearly choked.
It was a formal proclamation.
Announcing her betrothal to Commander Lior Caelum.
Signed in sweeping ink by the king (who, by the way, was currently vacationing in the southern isles and extremely unreachable), and sealed with the Raven Lily crest. There were official witnesses listed. Her name. Lior's. Even the phrase "a union blessed by fate and well-matched in spirit and strategy."
"Oh no," she whispered. "This is very well forged."
Lady Virella peered at it. "It's beautiful! I wept at the phrase 'shared valor in battle and biscuit.'"
"I'm going to die," Elaine muttered. "Death by bureaucracy."
Right on cue, Lior appeared.
He took in the crowd, the scroll, the goat gently grazing in the hallway (how??), and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Ah. So that's where the forged letter went."
"You KNEW?" she hissed.
"I flagged it two days ago. Meant to follow up. Got distracted by the poison cake incident."
"You can't let forged royal documents fester in a drawer like old receipts!"
"I wasn't worried," he said. "Figured the truth would come out eventually."
"It DID. Through a goat."
He blinked. "I missed that part."
Elaine clutched the scroll. "We are fixing this. Now. I'm not going down in royal history as the woman who got betrothed over baked goods and farm animals."
"But you did share a tart with me," he teased.
"Lior. Focus."
She dragged him by the arm to the central court chamber—where all public announcements were posted—and marched straight up to the gilded board.
"Are you... planning to stage a coup?" Lior asked as she tore the parchment down.
"Not a coup," she said grimly. "A correction."
She flipped the scroll over, pulled a charcoal pencil from her sleeve, and scribbled across the back:
> Retraction:
The engagement between Lady Elaine and Commander Lior Caelis was announced in error.
No tarts were harmed in the making of this misunderstanding.
A goat may have been involved.
Please direct all wedding gift returns to the south gate.
– Lady Elaine, extremely un-betrothed
Then she slapped it right back on the board.
Silence.
Then a faint cough from a steward, followed by a ripple of laughter.
"I think you just started a new kind of scandal," Lior murmured.
"Good. Maybe this one doesn't involve livestock."
He looked at her, bemused and amused all at once. "You really rewrote the narrative."
Elaine turned to him, serious now. "That's what I'm trying to do, Lior. I'm not here to play a part someone else wrote. I want to choose—where the story goes. Who I am in it."
His gaze softened. "And who you're with?"
The question lingered in the air. Heavy. Warm. Unspoken things pressing between them like a held breath.
But Elaine, ever the escape artist, smirked. "You? Please. I'd rather marry the goat."
Lior chuckled. "You'd make a lovely duchess of bleating."
They turned, walking side by side toward the hallway.
And as they passed Petunia, who was now inexplicably wearing a tiara, Elaine muttered, "Next time someone forges a proclamation, I'm framing them. Not the parchment."
"You're learning," Lior said.
But Elaine's smile faltered.
Because as she walked beside the man she wasn't supposed to fall for, in a court she wasn't supposed to influence, she wondered:
What else could she change—before the story reversed so far that none of this had ever happened?