Tangled Lies

The first light of dawn crept into Windsor Manor, casting golden streaks across the ornate tapestries that adorned the walls. Victoria stirred awake on the chaise in her private sitting room. The soft embers of the dying fire crackled faintly in the hearth. She blinked, the events of the night before rushing back to her in vivid detail-James's hands on her, the taste of his kiss, the fire that had consumed them both.

She turned her head, expecting to see him still there, but the room was empty. Her silk dressing gown clung to her skin, wrinkled and slightly askew. She rose slowly, her heart a whirlwind of emotions-desire, guilt, and something dangerously close to regret.

A soft knock at the door startled her. She rushed to adjust her gown, smoothing her hair before calling out, "Enter."

Lady Catherine Markham stepped inside, her sharp blue eyes taking in the scene with unsettling precision. "You look positively ravaged, my dear," she remarked, closing the door behind her.

Victoria forced a laugh, moving toward the vanity to busy herself. "A restless night, that's all."

Catherine arched a brow, stepping closer. "Restless, indeed. Your hair is as tangled as my curiosity. Care to enlighten me?"

"There's nothing to tell," Victoria said quickly, avoiding her friend's gaze.

"Victoria." Catherine's voice dropped, tinged with concern. "I know you far too well. Something happened last night. And don't even think of lying to me."

Victoria hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the vanity. "Catherine, I can't..."

"Can't or won't?" Catherine pressed, folding her arms.

Before Victoria could answer, the door swung open again, and Lord Thomas Windsor strode in, his expression dark and forbidding. "Leave us, Lady Catherine."

Catherine looked between the two of them, her lips pressing into a thin line. "As you wish, Your Grace," she said, casting Victoria a worried glance before leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and the tension in the air grew suffocating.

"Thomas," Victoria began, but he cut her off.

"Spare me the pleasantries," he said coldly, his blue eyes piercing. "I've heard the whispers, Victoria. About you and a certain servant."

Her heart froze, but she forced herself to remain composed. "Whispers are just that-idle gossip meant to entertain the bored and the bitter."

He stepped closer, his presence looming. "Do you think me a fool? I've seen the way he looks at you. The way you linger when he's near."

"Thomas, this is absurd," she said, her voice trembling. "You have no proof of anything."

His jaw tightened, and he slammed a hand against the vanity, making her flinch. "You're my wife, Victoria. The Duchess of Sussex. Do you have any idea what damage even the hint of impropriety could do to our family name?"

"I've done nothing to shame this family," she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

Thomas's eyes narrowed. "For your sake, I hope that's true. Because if I find out otherwise..." He let the threat hang in the air before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The moment he was gone, Victoria sank into the chair by her vanity, her hands trembling. The walls of her carefully constructed life were closing in on her, and she could feel the cracks beginning to form.

---

Later that afternoon, Victoria found herself in the gardens, seeking solace among the manicured hedges and blooming roses. The crisp winter air stung her cheeks, but she welcomed the cold, hoping it might numb the chaos swirling inside her.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see James approaching, his expression guarded.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I needed to see you," he replied, his gray eyes searching hers. "After last night..."

"Last night was a mistake," she interrupted, her voice firm though her heart ached at the words. "It can't happen again."

He stepped closer, his presence both comforting and dangerous. "Do you truly believe that?"

"Yes," she said, though her resolve wavered under his gaze. "If anyone were to find out..."

"They'd ruin you," he finished for her, his voice heavy with regret. "But, Victoria, do you honestly think I'd let that happen?"

She looked away, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "It doesn't matter what you'd allow, James. The world we live in is cruel and unforgiving. And I can't risk losing everything I've built."

His hand reached for hers, his touch warm despite the cold air. "You've built a gilded cage, Victoria. And I think you're desperate to escape it."

She pulled her hand away, her voice trembling. "You don't understand. You can't understand."

"Then make me understand," he said, stepping even closer.

Before she could respond, the sound of laughter carried across the gardens. They both turned to see Lord Alexander Windsor and Lady Elizabeth Fanshawe strolling along the path, their heads close in conspiratorial conversation.

"Damn it," Victoria muttered, stepping back from James. "You need to go. Now."

James hesitated, his jaw tightening before he nodded and disappeared into the hedges.

---

That evening, the Windsor household hosted a small gathering of close acquaintances. The drawing room was filled with the hum of polite conversation and the clinking of glasses. Victoria stood near the fireplace, a glass of wine in her hand, her mask of composure firmly in place.

Lady Elizabeth approached, her scarlet gown as bold as the smirk on her lips. "My dear Duchess, you look positively radiant tonight."

"Thank you, Lady Elizabeth," Victoria replied, her tone cool. "And you look... striking, as always."

Elizabeth's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Tell me, how do you manage it? Keeping all the men in your orbit so thoroughly captivated?"

"I wouldn't know what you mean," Victoria said, her smile tight.

"Oh, I think you do," Elizabeth said, leaning in closer. "But don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me. For now."

Victoria's grip on her wine glass tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Enjoy the evening, Lady Elizabeth," she said, turning away.

As she moved through the room, she felt a hand brush against hers. She turned to see Alexander standing beside her, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

"Not here," she replied, glancing around to ensure no one was watching.

He nodded and led her to the library, closing the door behind them.

"Victoria," he began, his voice low, "I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm worried."

"There's nothing to worry about," she said, crossing her arms.

"Don't lie to me," he said, his tone sharper. "I can see it in your eyes. You're unraveling."

She laughed bitterly. "How perceptive of you, Alexander. Perhaps you should write a letter to my husband and share your insights."

"Damn it, Victoria, I'm trying to help you," he said, stepping closer.

"I don't need your help," she snapped.

He reached for her, his hand brushing her arm. "Yes, you do. Whatever you're caught up in, it's going to destroy you."

She pulled away, her voice trembling. "You don't know anything about me, Alexander. Not anymore."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I know enough to see that you're in trouble. And I won't stand by and watch you fall."

The intensity in his gaze unnerved her, and she turned away, unable to meet his eyes. "You should go."

"Victoria-"

"Please, Alexander," she said, her voice breaking. "Just go."

He hesitated, but finally nodded and left the room, leaving her alone in the flickering candlelight.

As the door clicked shut, Victoria sank into a nearby chair, her he

ad in her hands. The walls were closing in, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep them from collapsing completely.