Evelyne swallowed hard. Her eyes were glassy, but she blinked fast to clear them.
Isildeth exhaled slowly, “I was sad you didn’t trust me with your fears. Or your plans. But I would’ve tried to stop you—I know that. I would’ve dragged you away if I could.”
She gave a faint, wry smile. “But that wouldn’t have been what you needed. Would it?”
Evelyne looked away.
“It cost you,” she said. “It cost you everything you worked for.”
“It’s just a job,” Isildeth replied softly. “You—” she paused, searching Evelyne’s face, “—you needed to find yourself. And you did.”
She looked tired in a way Evelyne hadn’t seen before. Not weary from work, but from witnessing too much and holding it all in.
Evelyne shook her head. “I don’t feel found.”
“No one does at first.” Isildeth sat too, so their eyes met. “You took back something they kept from you. That’s not recklessness, Evelyne. That’s living.” She reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of Evelyne’s hair behind her ear. “And you did it well.”
That was the moment Evelyne’s composure cracked. The breath that left her chest turned into a sob before she could stop it.
“I miss her,” Evelyne gasped.
“I know,” Isildeth whispered, pulling her close, one hand cradling the back of her head like she had when Evelyne was small. “She would be proud of you. Terrified, probably—but proud. You carry her in every stubborn, impossible thing you do.”
Evelyne clung to her then, face buried in the crook of Isildeth’s shoulder. She rocked them gently, as if the motion could rewind time. The scent of lavender and starch filled her lungs, grounding her, and still, the ache wouldn’t fade.
“I’m such a mess,” Evelyne choked out, the words torn from somewhere she never let anyone see. “How am I supposed to be an empress when I can’t even survive a wedding night—when I cry at everything—”
Her shoulders shook once, twice—silent sobs breaking through the façade she’d kept since childhood.
Isildeth’s hold tightened, her voice low and fierce against Evelyne’s hair.
“Oh, my girl… there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing shameful in fear, or grief, or needing someone to hold you”
When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were streaked with salt. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.
“Look at me,” Isildeth insisted firmly. “You’re safe. It’s over.”
Evelyne nodded, though the words didn’t feel true.
“Do you need me to call for the physician?”
Evelyne closed her eyes. The thought of doctors, guards, or witnesses—it was too much. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, shaking her head. “No,” she declared at last, standing up. “I’m going to do it.”
Isildeth regarded her for a long beat before giving a single, deliberate nod. “Alright.”
She turned to the wardrobe and carefully draped a robe over her nightgown, a soft thing of white silk and lace that caught the low light like water. “Don’t overthink it,” she said, smoothing the sleeve. “It’ll come naturally. Prince Alaric is a good man. He’ll…” Her voice faltered for a breath as she adjusted the tie at her waist. “I’m sure he’ll make it as easy for you as he can.”
The floor-length silk robe whispered against Evelyne’s skin as she reached the door. One last breath. Her hand hovered an inch above the pull, suspended. Then her fingers closed around the bell rope.
Chapter 62
The heavy double doors at the far end of the castle groaned open, drawn back by two Silverwards. A wave of warm air drifted out, scented with sandalwood and oranges.
Evelyne halted at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. Isildeth met her eyes with a small, unwavering nod.
One last breath.
Then Evelyne stepped forward.
