It was. Edrathen was strong in stone, its mountains rich in raw materials, but the land itself was suffering. Years of magic misuse had drained the soil, leaving the fields barren, the rivers thin. Varantia, in contrast, was more abundant. But it lacked the resources needed to expand the cities, securing its borders and building an army.
“However,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Do we not have the same blood in our veins as those we rule?” His timbre lowered slightly. “We are human, too, are we not?”
“Yes, we are,” Evelyne admitted, her voice steady. “But in the face of our responsibilities, those things must be set aside. If we allowed ourselves to feel, our hearts would break knowing we never had a choice.”
His eyes lingered on her. “But do you truly believe it’s that simple?”
She met his gaze. “Yes.”
Alaric snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “That is impossible. And ridiculous.”
His words struck her like a slap.
Excuse me?
Heat flashed through her chest, but she forced herself to smile.
“My prince…” She spoke with sweetness, but her eyes burned with restrained fury. She hoped he saw it.
“Even if you are married to me, you will have freedoms I will not,” she said, her tone crisp and deliberate. “You may love others, father bastards, and live as you please. If I were to allow myself the same, I would disgrace my family, myself, you, and the royal name.”
Alaric’s mouth parted slightly, as if to speak, but nothing came. For once, the words that usually poured from him in golden ribbons seemed to catch behind his teeth. A furrow crept into his brow.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“We may both be bound to this marriage,” she cut in. “But our circumstances are not the same. Please, do not judge the way I handle mine. You have no right to do so.”
Yes.There. Control reasserted, cool and deliberate.
He stared at her—baffled. As though she had just shifted the ground beneath his feet. His eyes flicked briefly to Isildeth, then to the staff lingering nearby. Then back to Evelyne.
He gave the smallest nod to himself.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You’re right, Princess. I apologize. I spoke without thinking about the different expectations placed upon us.”
Evelyne inclined her head, though the tension still coiled in her chest.
Movement caught her eye. Servants approached from the castle. Relief washed over her, subtle but welcome. A convenient escape.
She didn’t look at him this time. “Footman George will show you and your company to your chambers. I have a commitment to attend.”
George stepped forward, already prepared. “Yes, Your Highness.” He turned to Alaric. “Prince Alaric of Varantia, if you’ll follow me.”
Without waiting for Alaric’s response, she offered a final nod before turning to leave.
“Princess Evelyne, please wait.”
Alaric’s voice halted her just as she took her first step. She pivoted back, lifting a brow.
He gestured toward his servant. The man approached immediately, lifting the lid of a finely crafted box and retrieving a small package wrapped in navy fabric.
Alaric held it out to her. “It is settled in my country, that a man presents his betrothed with an engagement gift. I would be remiss if I did not uphold that tradition.”
Surprise tugged at her before she could stop it—a quick intake of breath, the faint stilling of her hands. She let her gaze fall instead to the wrapping, tracing the intricate folds and ribbons as if their perfection demanded her full attention.
Evelyne inclined her head toward her maid. The woman advanced and accepted the gift in her stead.
“Thank you.”
