The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 441

Bianca’s POV

The carriage rumbled down the road, jostling me back and forth on the velvet bench. Outside, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves against cobblestone echoed through the night air, and I could just barely make out the silhouette of the palace gates in the distance.

Even from here, the palace looked impressive. Tall, white stone walls gleaming in the moonlight. Manicured gardens sprawling as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the royal city, with the impossibly tall spire of the witch’s academy reaching into the night sky like a giant finger.

Aunt Belinda did it. She really did it.

I smoothed my hands over the gown in my lap, careful not to wrinkle the delicate fabric. It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I had probably ever owned in my entire life, which was saying something, because I’d only ever worn the best of the best even when I was nobody.

The bodice was embroidered with gold thread, the skirt a deep sapphire blue that pooled around my feet like water. And sitting on the bench next to me, wrapped in silk, was the tiara.

My tiara.

Needing to see it one more time, I reached out and gently unwrapped it. I picked it up, running my fingers over the jewels. Diamonds and sapphires like a shimmering sea, all set in white gold, the circlet perfectly sized for my head.

It was heavy and substantial. The kind of thing that only royalty wore. And it was all mine.

Aunt Belinda said the King had it specially made just for me. A gift, along with the gown, the carriage, the horses, all of it. Gifts fit for royalty.

“Stop touching it,” my mother hissed from across the carriage. “You’ll smudge the stones.”

I pulled my hand back and shot her a look. “I’m not going to smudge anything.”

Clicking her tongue, she leaned forward, fussing with the hem of my gown. Her fingers tugged at the fabric, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. I could see the sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool night air, and her hands were shaking.

“Mother,” I grumbled. “Relax.”

“I’m just making sure everything is perfect.” She pulled at the neckline, adjusting it slightly. “This is the most important night of your life, Bianca. You have to look the part if you’re going to play it.”

I slapped her hand away. “Then stop fussing. You’ll just ruin everything, just like you always do.”

She jerked back, eyes wide. For a moment, she looked like she might cry. But then she pressed her lips together and sat back on her side of the carriage, folding her hands in her lap.

Rolling my eyes, I looked out the window at the passing landscape. The countryside was dark, dotted with clusters of trees and the occasional farmhouse. We’d been traveling for hours, ever since the King’s messenger had arrived at my mother’s house with the carriage and the gown and the tiara.

When I had first seen the white horses pulling up to the front of the house, I’d thought it was a mistake. Or a dream. But then the footman had stepped down and handed me the letter, sealed with the royal crest, and I’d known.

It was real.

Everything I’d planned, everything I’d worked for, was finally coming together.

My humiliation at school would mean nothing once the news came out. Once I returned with the royal cavalcade, by the King’s side, no one would ever question me again.

And Liora? She would become a laughingstock. Worse than a wolfless nobody—an exiled princess, forced to marry her monstrous cousin and produce monstrous babies. I would make sure everyone knew just how far she had fallen.

The palace was closer now, white towers rising up against the night sky. I could see the lights from the grand hall spilling out into the gardens, and even from down the road, I could hear the faint sound of music drifting through the air.

Finally, the carriage began to slow, and I sat up straighter, smoothing down the front of my gown. My mother leaned forward, peering out the window.

“We’re here,” she breathed, like I couldn’t tell already.

I looked out and saw the palace gates looming ahead. The guards stepped aside as the carriage rolled through, and I caught a glimpse of the grand hall through the open doors. People were dancing, laughing, drinking. They had no idea what was about to happen.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the main entrance, the horses whinnying and nickering softly. I heard the footman jump down from his perch. A moment later, the door opened, and he extended his hand.

I took it, stepping down onto the cobblestone. The night air was cool against my skin. I took a breath, steadying myself.

My mother climbed out behind me, fussing with the train of my gown. “Let me just—”

“I’ve got it.” I pulled the fabric out of her hands and arranged it myself, letting it fan out behind me. Then I reached back into the carriage and picked up the tiara, setting it carefully on my head.

It was heavy, just like I’d imagined. But it felt right.

I turned to face the palace, and for a moment, I just stood there, looking up at the towering structure. The banners. The lights. The music and shadows spilling out into the night.

This was mine now. All of it.

The inheritance. The title. The throne. Finally, after an entire lifetime of being hidden away, I was receiving my inheritance.

And most of all, by the end of the night, Callum would be mine.