“Yes,” he said, voice quieter now. “Constantly.”
He set his glass down slowly, letting the silence sit a moment before speaking again.
“I usually chase what sparkles.” He glanced down, rubbing his thumb across his knee, as if polishing away some memory. “I find excitement in the corners of things. The sharper the edge, the more interesting the game. Women, truth, purpose, places.” He looked up again, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I love the thrill of it. And the moment it all clicks into place? Stars, that’s the best feeling a man can experience for himself.”
He paused, exhaling softly through his nose.
“But it was never enough. I was always hungry for more.” His hand opened on his knee, palm up, then closed slowly. “Strange how much has changed in so little time.”
He stopped to think, realizing how distant it seemed now, as if that version of himself belonged to another life entirely.
“I must’ve been terribly annoying then,” Evelyne said dryly.
He laughed, full and genuine, the sound loosening something in his chest.
“Well, I must admit, your rules were different from the start. You don’t entertain for the sake of entertainment. You mean things. Every word. Every silence.”
He paused, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “But in the end, it turned out that instead of showing our polished selves through the performances, we managed to show our worst.”
“That indeed,” she murmured.
She smiled and shook her head, swirling the wine in her glass—and gods, there it was. That flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, sharp as flint and just as quick to hide.
Alaric felt something twist in his chest, sweet and unbearable.
“It’s late,” she murmured, and he could already see the armor returning in her eyes. “I should go back to my chambers.”
Her words tasted sharp. He couldn’t tell if he’d blundered—or struck too close to the mark.
“You can stay here.”
“It’s not appropriate,” she scoffed. “Isildeth is waiting for me.”
Alaric sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.Of course.
“Evelyne, forget about Isildeth and propriety,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to leave just because the court expects it. You can stay here. If you want.”
Her brows drew together, that precise, controlled furrow that usually signaled political displeasure or intellectual offense. Her teeth pressed lightly into the inside of her cheek.
“I promise not to snore,” he added.
That earned a sound. A soft, unladylike snort that escaped before she could catch it.
“Alright,” she murmured at last. “But only because I’m in a season of dignified rebellion.”
Alaric’s stomach did something silly.
“But I don’t want Isildeth to wait for me,” she added after a breath. “She was told to stay outside. She should rest.”
Alaric nodded. “Of course.”
He rose from the rug with a sigh, brushing off his palms. Then—without the slightest preamble—his fingers moved to the fastening of his shirt.
Evelyne made a startled noise. “What are you doing?” she blurted. Her hands flew up, covering her eyes in a way that was so earnest it was almost sweet.
Alaric couldn’t help the smirk that crept across his face as he pulled the shirt over his head. “Preparing an alibi,” he explained, far too casually. “You know, for the benefit of the royal bloodline and the castle gossip.”
He heard her mutter something under her breath—probably a prayer for patience—and decided not to press.
