Alaric shifted minutely closer. His voice came low, careful. “We’ll take care of it at home. I promise.”
Her lips barely moved. “And what if I’m still next? The ritual will take not just me… it will take everyone around.”
Alaric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned, just enough for her to see the edge of his profile—sharpened by worry, softened by something else.
“Then we change the ending,” he assured. “I don’t care what the old stories say. You are nottheirs.”
Her throat closed, traitorous. She blinked quickly, as if it would force back the knot threatening to break loose behind her eyes.
“You don’t get to say that,” she whispered. “You saw me.”
There was a pause. He looked at her and something in his gaze faltered. Was he judging her? Planning a way to get rid of her?
“Yes, I’ve seen you,” he admitted. “And I’ll follow whatever shape that becomes.”
She hated how badly she wanted to believe him.
“I won’t stop, even if the truth is uncomfortable, Evelyne. I don’t mind getting dirty. Do you?”
The question lingered between them like smoke.
Once, she might have said yes. She had feared anything unfamiliar—had clung to rules and rituals like a child to a railing in a storm. She’d been afraid of what would happen if she cracked the surface. Afraid of what she’d find underneath. But now?
Now she wanted to tear it all apart.
If it meant knowingwhy.
“Not anymore,” she whispered.
His gaze sharpened—satisfaction, yes, but laced with something deeper. Relief, maybe. Or recognition. He shook his head, jaw clenched as though he was arguing with himself as much as her.
“You weren’t supposed to be real. You were supposed to be a theory,” her hands trembled, but he folded them gently in his own. He looked up to meet her gaze. “Now you are a revelation I didn't see coming.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated, the muscle in his jaw ticking once. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”
Evelyne shifted her focus, tracing the long shadows cast by the candlelight, but the chamber offered no refuge—no corner untouched by what had passed.
“I need to know what happened,” she whispered. “To Dasmon. To Thalen. I need to make sense of it, to—” Her voice hitched. “To amend something. Anything.”
Alaric didn’t interrupt. He only waited, watching her as if every word mattered more than the last.
“I couldn’t save them,” she continued, steadier now, “but I can’t just… wear the crown and smile while the world bleeds under it. I can’t be that kind of empress.”
Alaric nodded, brushing a thumb gently over her palms. A gesture slowly becoming calming. “Sometimes silence is not theabsence of sound—but the breath before change,” he mused. “A price of knowing. I believe your silence was just that.”
Her gaze flicked back to him.
“I don’t want to be the exception,” Evelyne managed finally. Her voice barely held. “Not when my brother—when my family—”
The words came jagged, like stones she’d carried too long. Her fingers twitched in his grip.
“I know,” Alaric assured, and his voice was rough around the edges, like it scraped on something unsaid. “And I’ll help you.”
She didn’t look away. Neither did he.
“And what do you want in return?” she asked, though part of her already feared the answer.
