My Prince Cut Off My Arm for His Mistress

The crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow across the dining room, illuminating faces I didn't recognize. Royal had transformed our modest estate into something from a fairy tale—for her.

I stood in the shadows, dressed in the plain gray uniform of a servant rather than the fine dresses Royal once insisted I wear. My hands trembled slightly as I balanced the silver tray of wine glasses.

"More wine, Miss Willis?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I approached the table.

Maren Willis—beautiful, poised, everything I wasn't—looked up with distaste. "Yes, but don't spill it. These napkins are silk."

Royal smiled at her, that same smile that once made my heart race. "Don't mind Lina. She's still learning proper service."

The words cut deeper than any knife. Three months ago, I'd been his beloved. Now I was furniture—useful only for pouring wine and disappearing when not needed.

"I remember when you couldn't cook to save your life," Royal said to Maren, laughing as if sharing an inside joke. "But that cake you made last week was almost edible."

Maren giggled, placing her hand over his. "I've been taking lessons from the palace chef."

I nearly dropped the bottle. Cake? Royal had always loved my cooking by the river. The simple meals I'd prepared with love—fish we'd caught together, bread baked in our small oven.

"Excuse me," I murmured, retreating to the kitchen where I could breathe.

I pressed myself against the cool stone wall, trying to steady my racing heart. Through the partially open door, I could hear Royal speaking in low tones to Arianna, who had joined them at the table.

"...using her as a shield was genius," Arianna was saying. "Your mother would never suspect you're still involved with Maren if you keep this river rat around."

"Exactly," Royal replied. "Mother would approve of my 'charity case'—it makes me look benevolent while keeping Duchess Helena's attention away from Maren."

"And once the Duchess accepts your 'little project,'" Arianna added, "you can discard her whenever you want."

Their laughter mingled with the clink of glasses. My tray slipped from my fingers, clattering against the floor.

Royal's head snapped toward the sound. For a moment, our eyes met through the doorway. There was no recognition there—only irritation at the interruption.

---

My birthday dawned bright and cold. Eighteen years old today—though no one remembered except me.

I rose early, determined to make a cake. Not the elaborate confections Royal now preferred, but the simple one we'd shared by the river. Maybe if he tasted it, he'd remember what we once had.

The kitchen staff watched warily as I worked, kneading dough with hands that once navigated currents but now scrubbed floors.

"What are you doing?" Arianna's voice sliced through the morning quiet.

I turned, flour dusting my apron. "A cake. For Royal. For today."

Her eyes narrowed. "Today?"

"It's my birthday," I said softly.

Something flickered across her face—not kindness, but calculation. "How... quaint. Come with me."

She led me outside, where snow had fallen overnight, covering the courtyard in pristine white. Royal stood at his study window, watching the gardeners clear paths.

"Arianna," he called, spotting us. "What's happening?"

"Teaching your pet some discipline," she replied. "It's her birthday, and she thought she could bake you a cake."

Royal's expression hardened. "Is that so?"

"She needs to learn her place," Arianna continued. "Kneel there."

I froze. "What?"

"Kneel," Royal echoed, his voice cold. "A lesson in humility would do you good."

The snow soaked through my thin dress as I dropped to my knees. One hour passed. Then two. Four. Eight.

My legs lost feeling. My fingers turned blue. I kept my eyes fixed on Royal's window, willing him to look down, to remember the girl he'd loved by the river.

He never did.

---

"Miss Lina!" Kendra's voice broke through my haze of pain as she rushed across the courtyard, a blanket in her hands.

"Don't," I whispered, but she ignored me, draping the wool over my shoulders.

"Prince Royal," she called up to the window, her voice shaking but determined. "Please, sir. She's dying out here."

Royal finally appeared at the window, his face impassive. "Kendra. You forget yourself."

"She's been kneeling for eight hours," Kendra pleaded. "In the snow. On her birthday."

Something dangerous flashed in Royal's eyes. "Guards."

Two men appeared instantly, seizing Kendra by the arms.

"Please," I begged, trying to rise but collapsing back into the snow. "Don't hurt her."

"Teach her what happens to servants who question their betters," Royal ordered.

I watched in horror as they dragged Kendra to the courtyard wall. The first lash of the whip echoed across the frozen yard.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward only to fall again.

Blood bloomed across Kendra's back as Royal watched from above, his expression unmoved.

In that moment, kneeling in the snow with my friend's blood staining the white ground, I finally understood.

The man I loved had never existed.