“So, you did want me to questionthem?”
He glanced at her. “No. I wanted you to see it and come to the conclusion yourself,” he explained gently. “It’s not disloyalty.”
She had sat proudly at the Council, believing her presence meant if not trouble, then progress. That being the first woman at the table was a victory in itself.
But pride soured quickly. It didn’t take long for belief to curdle into disappointment. If they could shape tragedies into negligence instead of what it was, how many other things had they twisted? How many truths had been carved down into doctrine while she repeated them like a dutiful daughter?
She believed she was so educated. But it had only taught her how to polish their illusions, not see through them. That was not education. It was training. All the while, she had been the audience to their performance.
She hated it.
“You realize,” he cautioned at last, voice low and steady, “this may be heading toward something dangerous.”
“If you grow any more tender, I may actually shed a tear,” she took a small sip of her lavender lemonade, savoring the coolness against the slow burn building behind her ribs. “But don’t worry, I'd hate to be caught scheming over nothing.”
She could feel, rather than see, the way he turned his head slightly in her direction.
“I can handle it,” she continued. “Contrary to what some at court may whisper, I am not made of porcelain, Your Highness.”
He gave a soft huff, somewhere between amusement and frustration. “I don't think you are,” he admitted.
Evelyne shifted her gaze toward him.
Alaric met her look head-on, no evasion, no attempt at charm. “Our methods are different. And that’s alright.” He hesitated, then added, more quietly, “I shouldn’t have judged. I was impatient. There isn’t much time, and I let that urgency push me to speak before thinking. I was wrong to force my approach onto you.”
He took a breath, voice steady but edged with sincerity. “But this matter concerns me as much as it does you. It’s not just your kingdom, your burden. It shouldn’t divide us. Let me help.”
Gods help her, she considered.
Because the truth—however tightly she tried to lock it behind court-trained composure and carefully rationed words—was that she needed him.
Not his title. Not his alliance.
Him.
His mind, sharp and unsparing. His eyes, always catching what others missed. But the fact that he had opened her eyes to illusion didn’t mean she could trust him. It didn’t mean his intentions were pure—or that this wasn’t manipulation wrapped in well-placed insight. She had lived too long surrounded by clever men to fall for sincerity at face value.
She couldn't afford another crack.
“I appreciate the offer, Your Highness,” she said politely. “But I believe it would be unwise to entangle you further in matters that are already... complicated.”
There. Final. Elegant.
But Alaric only smiled—a slow, infuriating curve of the mouth that held no mockery this time. Only certainty.
“Fortunately for you, Your Highness,” he remarked, voice low and maddeningly pleasant, “I have a habit of involving myself where I’m not strictly needed… and staying longer than I should. So, I’ll be there if you happen to need me.”
Evelyne blinked once but otherwise gave no sign that his words had struck her harder than any blow could have.
Alaric offered her a courtly half-bow, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Good evening, Princess.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing amidst the glittering court with the taste of unfinished arguments sharp on her tongue.
She watched his back recede into the crowd, and she felt it again.
The pull.
Infuriating. Impossible. And utterly, dangerously real.
