Evelyne’s lips parted, but no words came. The truth of it pressed somewhere deep, somewhere she hadn’t allowed light to reach. And yet—something about it rang right, with a quiet, awful clarity. But what was one supposed to do when the cracks could no longer be ignored? When pretending they weren’t there became heavier than the truth itself?
Ysara smiled, the faintest curve of understanding. “But that’s what frightens them most, isn’t it? Someone who isn’t performing the part.”
Evelyne looked at her, surprised.
“I don’t pretend to know everything,” Ysara continued, eyes still lowered, her voice steady. “I know enough to care for what is mine. My son. My family. And enough to try to leave this place kinder than I found it. Even if it is only by one boy.” She glanced toward Evelyne, just briefly. “So, I am trying to raise him better than it.”
“You don’t agree with it all,” Evelyne murmured, not quite a question.
Ysara’s mouth curved, faint, a wry tilt of lips. “Agreement isn’t always the point. Survival is. But survival doesn’t have to mean surrender.”
Evelyne’s jaw tightened. A dozen words crowded her tongue, but none of them survived the daylight.
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Ysara went on. “I only wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The wind moved through the room, lifting the heavy curtains in slow, sighing waves.
Ysara made a few steps to Evelyne and laid a steady hand on her shoulder—a fleeting, grounding touch—before stepping away. Evelyne followed her with her gaze.
“Let the flowers bloom, Evelyne,” she said softly from the doorway. “Even the red ones.”
The door closed with a muted click. The quiet that followed felt heavier for her absence.
Evelyne’s eyes drifted back to the canvas, the red blooming there. If she could speak to Alaric, fractured as she was, she could face Ravik too. Perhaps fear didn’t have to win every time. Perhaps silence didn’t have to be the only form of survival she knew. It wouldn’t be easy. But then, nothing worth unraveling ever was.
Her jaw tightened.
She had made a promise the day Dasmon died—though no one had heard it but the blood-soaked stones beneath her knees.
Her hand curled at her side.
Enough.
The least she could do was to remember.
For just one person.
Chapter 42
Two days later the veil was finished. Crimson thread danced like wildfire through the sheer silk. The gown, too, now hung in her chambers. Impossibly delicate, impossibly final.
She hadn’t dared touch it.
Five days. That was all the time she had left. Five days until she would stand beside a man who could be in danger. Five days until she had to wear a dress that had taken a month to embroider and only a moment to suffocate her in every fitting. She knew so much and yet nothing at all, piecing together the bones of a corpse while the kingdom prepared flowers, feast, and vows. The air outside had smelled of sugar and saltwater blooms—wrong, somehow. Too clean.
Evelyne approached the dining hall; her stomach wasn’t quite interested in its noon obligations. She rounded the corner—and halted.
Her father waited just outside the doors, tall and composed in a dark doublet. Opposite him, Grand Marshal Ravik inclined his head slightly as he spoke, voice low, hands folded neatly behind his back, boots planted with soldier’s precision.
Her gaze sharpened on Ravik, and something cold coiled in her chest. He was here. Walking these halls, trading whispers behind closed doors.
A slow pulse of fury gathered beneath her skin. A man like Ravik never had to answer for anything. He had power, yes—but worse, he had position. Behind his clean words and polished armor, she saw it clearly now: calculation. A man setting the board while everyone else pretended not to see.
Their conversation faltered as she approached, but neither yielded space. Evelyne came to a deliberate stop between them,standing slightly nearer her father, though her attention never wavered from Ravik. She inclined her head.
“Father. Marshal.” Her tone was even. “Is something amiss?”
Rhaedor was the first to acknowledge her. “Nothing amiss. We’re reviewing final arrangements for tomorrow’s parade. All preparations are in order.”
