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Amaranthe's fingers twitched slightly, curling into her palms as she steadied herself.
Who else is there to match up to the name Ianthe?
The question gnawed at her, more unsettling than she cared to admit.
She and Kayer had built up that name from nothing, carefully crafting its reputation. Every step, every choice, had been deliberate. Ianthe had become more than a name; it was a symbol, a shield, and a beacon.
Saint-like in personality, helpful, nurturing, wise, talented— she had meticulously cultivated these qualities to create a figure that would command awe and respect.
It wasn't just for her reputation, but also for Kayer's sake; it was to protect him from the shadows lurking in the court, to scare away enemies with the sheer weight of her image.
But it had come at a cost.
The Ianthe she had created was almost unrealistic, an ideal so perfect it felt untouchable.
There can't possibly be anyone who…
