The doors closed behind her with a muted thud, sealing her in.
Evelyne glanced around the room, taking in every detail. The chamber was lit by a soft, golden glow—dozens of candles arranged with care along shelves and ledges. Wildflowers had been placed in glass vases. At the center stood the bed, its four dark wooden posts rising high, draped with deep blue and gold silk.
It looked beautiful.
Alaric waited near the hearth. His navy shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the fabric loose, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The fire cast a warm light along the edge of his jaw and across the bare line of his collarbone.
She lingered at the door longer than she meant to. She drew in a deeper breath. Let it go. Then, finally, she stepped forward, the carpet soft beneath her feet. Her fingers curled tighter around the sash of her robe. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her training begged her to say something, but the words refused to line up. They scattered like startled birds.
Alaric placed his glass on the mantel above the fireplace.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
The sentence echoed in her chest like a bell that had been struck too hard. She wasn’t sure if she hated it or wanted to curl into it like warmth on a nivalen morning.
“The worst is behind us, right?”
She wished she could believe that.
Alaric regarded her carefully. “A lot has happened. And… a lot hasn’t. Which is exactly what worries me.”
She raised an eyebrow, defensive already. “You’re going to have to be clearer than that.”
Alaric looked down for a breath, then met her gaze again. “I mean that none of this was directed atme. I wasn't the one who avoided assassination. I don’t dream. My favorite priest didn’t mysteriously vanish. I don’t have… past experiences with weddings that ended in blood. My name is not on the haunted list. And still, I’m shaken.”
He paused, taking a few steps in her direction. “So, I worry when you act like nothing touched you. Like everything is fine.”
Her throat felt tight by the end of it, but she didn’t look away.
“Maybe some reaction would makeyoufeel more comfortable with it?”
Evelyne furrowed her brow at that.
Why he sounded like Isildeth all of the sudden?
She’d let her guard slip these past few days and it felt awful. Exposed. As if every soft place in her had been dragged into the light for others to comment on.
“I just want to say that I’m worried,” he explained. “But… alright. If that’s what you neeed, I’ll respect it.”
The way he said it left her staring at the empty space between them and wondering why she wanted to close it.
But instead, she lifted her chin a fraction and said, “Thank you.”
Alaric gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her but wouldn’t press. He smiled, that disarming, crooked smile thatmade her stomach flutter in ways that had nothing to do with nerves.
“Well,” he quipped, drawing the moment back from the edge, “at least no one threw a tomato. I was fully prepared for that.”
Despite herself, she let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
He raised a hand, and she froze. A tremor—slight as a breath—passed through her, an unmeant flinch. He caught it. His hand hesitated midair, then eased back a little.
“Can I touch you?” he asked.
Her throat felt dry as she forced herself to respond. “You know you don’t have to ask.”
But even as the words left her, Evelyne wasn’t sure if it had been duty that inclined her head—or it was the part of her that wanted to be seen. To believe that wanting was still allowed.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “I don’t have to ask. But I want to.”
