She looked up, watching him closely.
“No, it is not,” she agreed carefully.
“They do not govern as we do. You will rulewithhim. As equal.”
“That’s true.”
He studied her.
“But you didn’t have much of an example of how a woman rules.”
She pressed the tines of her fork into a slice of pear, its juice slicking the silver. “I have watched you my entire life.”
His jaw set. “Maybe yes. Maybe not. They will know where you come from, who you are, and they will test you.”
Word had traveled fast—blood had a way of staining beyond borders, especially when spilled in such vast quantities. It didn’t matter that she walk into the chapel like any obedient daughterwould. People needed symbols more than facts, and Evelyne had become one.
Funny, in a bitter way, how one moment she hadn't caused, had the power to reshape her entire existence. You witness horror once, and suddenly it follows you. Like a stain everyone stares at.
Evelyne reached for a slice of bread when a sound echoed faintly in the hall. Footsteps, too sharp on the stone, and instantly her shoulders twitched before she could stop it.
The chapel. The blood. The silence so thick it howled. It surged up like a wave inside her chest. She smoothed her palms against her skirts, pretending to fix a crease that wasn’t there.
Her mind knew how to contain it. Knew how to measure breath and control expression. But her body was less obedient. And she hated that.
But still, she curved her lips. “I expect as much.”
“You have many talents. Use them. Do not let them talk over you.”
A small smirk flickered across her lips just to cover the tremble. “That would be difficult, considering I once debated Lord Wenthall into an early retirement.”
Her father gave a rare, brief chuckle. “That poor man. He only wanted to teach you the finer points of historical rhetoric.”
“He shouldn’t have lost his composure,” she mused, sipping her tea. “He told me debating was about patience, turned gray overnight and swore never to tutor me again.”
Rhaedor shook his head. “Don't make them fear you. Make them respect you.”
“I understand.”
His gaze fixed, cool and deliberate. “Good.”
It was the closest thing to a blessing he had ever given.
Evelyne let the silence linger while she continued to eat her breakfast, before she set her utensils on the porcelain plate witha quiet clink and asked, “Has there been word from the western patrols?”
Her father glanced toward the windows. “Kaer’Vosh has been quieter than usual. Which, in their case, makes me more wary than if they were making noise. They’ve diverted their caravans around Nyvaron three times this month, and none of their trade delegates have signed the new grain accords.”
Evelyne dipped her head just as a servant stepped forward, laying black bread with caraway seeds onto kind’s plate before withdrawing in silence. Rhaedor scooped butter with the tip of his knife, pressing it into the bread’s warm pockets
“Your cousin is overseeing the garrison there,” he continued. “He sent word two days ago. He may not make it to the wedding. Given the circumstances, we can probably excuse his absence.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to,” Evelyne replied. “Hadrian’s duty is to the border. I would rather have one fewer toast at the feast than a flare on our flank. Though his wife will certainly be missed. Lady Meriane always had a way of keeping everyone laughing. And it’s been far too long since I’ve seen the children.”
Her father studied her for a moment. Evaluating.
“Have we responded?” she probed.
Her father shook his head, “Not yet. But if they reroute again, we’ll signal Hadrian.”
