Isildeth immediately stepped forward from her place. Evelyne had barely pushed her chair back when her father gave a brief nod.
Alaric immediately rose. “Before you go, Princess,” he began, “taking the circumstances into account, I wonder if you still might find a moment for me tomorrow. A tour of your home before you leave it.”
Evelyne hesitated, her fingers tightening ever so slightly at her sides.
“Of course, Your Highness. I shall send a messenger in the morning.”
Alaric’s smirk deepened slightly. “Then I shall await your summons—eagerly, of course.”
He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. “Good night, Princess. May your rest be peaceful.”
“Good night, Evie!” Thalen chimed in with the unfiltered cheer.
Ysara gave her a gentler smile, one hand resting lightly on the tablecloth. “Sleep well, my dear.”
Evelyne smiled, then turned on her heel. Her maid followed close at her side.
She didn’t look back. Not when she reached the tall doors, not when the soft hush of them closing behind her swallowed the great hall in silence. But she felt his persistent gaze on her. Like the brush of fingers just above her skin, never quite touching.
She walked for a while before turning down a narrower hall, one rarely used by courtiers. Stone cooled by shade, the walls less polished here. Through the arched windows she caught glimpses of the servants’ courtyard below, where life moved at an entirely different rhythm.
Kitchen maids scrubbed pans with sleeves rolled high and collected the peels into cloths. A boy, no older than six, slipped behind a cart and swiped a handful of bread crusts. He was gone in a blink.
This alliance meant bread. Trade. Less silence in soup kitchens.
A cook looked up as Evelyne passed. She had a blond braid and honey-toned skin. She lowered her gaze instantly, but not before Evelyne saw the tension in her jaw, the way she hid a basket with leftovers behind her.
Evelyne paused, her gaze lingered a beat too long on the young woman. Her irises—green, ordinary at first glance—caught the light in a way no eye should. As if, for a heartbeat, something inside them had shimmered.
Isildeth tapped her arm.
“It’s time for bed, milady,” she urged.
Evelyne blinked a few times, then gave the faintest nod. When she glanced again toward the courtyard, the woman was gone.
She made a mental note to ask Isildeth for a stronger tea that evening.
Chapter 10
The city of Vellesmere peeled back around her in layers. First, the marble castle shining above the rooftops, further down, the merchant quarter clung to its dignity. Subsequently the layers rotted along with each wall. Cobblestones gave way to mud. Dogs nosed through gutters. A child bawled from behind a thin wall; a man laughed too hard at nothing. The houses hunched closer together, their roofs patched with whatever the owners had found.
A smear of red marred the wall near the bakery. Jagged, raw, a crooked symbol daubed in haste. The paint had been partially scrubbed away, but not well. Someone had risked everything to paint it. Someone else, just as desperate, had tried to erase it.
Then she saw them.
A young man, maybe seventeen, stood slumped between two Eclipsants in white robes and threads blackening their mouths, his body limp. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his mouth parted as if he’d screamed and never stopped. His fingers spasmed every few seconds.
At his feet, a woman—his mother, maybe—was on her knees, clutching at his bare feet with both hands, her voice rising in useless pleas. “He’s just a boy. He didn’t do anything, he’s never—please, don’t take him—”
Another woman stood behind her, frozen, covering the mouth of a wailing child. The girl’s eyes were wild with panic, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.
The Eclipsants did not look at them. Not even a glance of pity as they began to lead the boy away. He shuffled, his lips twitched once, and a small line of saliva slipped down his chin.
Thessa swallowed hard. Her own limbs felt locked in place. Neighbors covered their windows. It wasn’t a rare sight anymore. Not lately.
She couldn't afford to stare.
She forced herself to keep walking. One foot, then the other. Eyes down. She adjusted her grip on the basket, wincing as her foot slid in her shoe.
