Vesena hesitated. Her fingers, steady until now, smoothed the fold of her napkin once, twice. “There is also Evandir.”
Evelyne’s brow arched. “Evangir?”
“Evandir,” Vesena corrected. “Of House Calladrios. His family holds the Myceanos island in the emperor’s name. They are powerful.”
Evelyne lifted her cup and drank. “I see.”
The breeze stirred again, carrying the faint scent of roses. Evelyne set her cup down and studied Vesena more closely and realized one thing with bitter certainty: she could not do this alone. Not with eyes on her from every angle—court, her father’s allies, the priesthood, Alaric, the Grand Marshal, and whoever else had taken an interest in the wedding.
To be honest, she didn’t know exactly what she was meant to do—only that she would not sit idle.
“You mentioned you were trained,” Evelyne said at last. “I’ve read that in Varantia, personal servants are… different than here.”
“That is true, Your Highness. We are called Shadows. We tend to the duties of a servant, but our purpose is broader. We are taught to defend, to heal, to keep watch when our mistresses cannot. Potions, combat, vigilance. A shadow is both handmaid and shield.”
Evelyne studied the girl’s dark eyes, noting how they flicked once more to the garden paths before returning to her. “That sounds… interesting.”
Vesena shrugged. “Usefulness is our measure. My duty is also to keep my lady informed of all matters, great and small.”
Evelyne could not quite suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Remind me to always let you near the court gossip.”
Vesena’s smirk was mischievous. “I'm already on it, Your Highness.”
The warmth of it caught Evelyne off guard. Evelyne couldn’t decide yet if that steadiness made her more comfortable or less. What she did know was that it wasn’t useless.
Her eyes slipped to Vesena’s cup. “You haven’t touched your tea.”
Vesena stayed quiet for a moment, looking down at the porcelain. Evelyne wondered what she was thinking in that pause, what she was choosing not to say.
At last, Vesena followed her gaze, then met it again without flinching. “I prefer water.”
Chapter 16
Evelyne sat on a carved stone bench beneath the wide, dappled shade of the magnolia tree. Her fan lay idle in her lap, half-forgotten. A few paces off, Isildeth’s eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead. Vesena, by contrast, kept sneaking glances at Evelyne.
She exhaled through her nose. She was too anxious for another performance and didn’t want to be pleasant or anything else she was expected to be. She just wanted to retreat to her chambers, sit down, and go through her thoughts. Even though she knew she wouldn’t find anything new. It was still doing something.
Alaric emerged through the archway, grinning, his servant at his side. He wore forest green, unbuttoned coat, brown shirt opened at the collar, and a pair of leather gloves.
He dipped into a deep, fluid bow. “Your Highness,” he greeted. “You are a vision among the roses.”
“Prince Alaric,” she inclined her head.
He approached with the same unhurried confidence that had already begun to grate on her nerves. But he did not reach for her hand this time. No kiss. No impropriety. Just the bow.
“I do believe I’m improving. You didn’t wince this time.”
“Because you gave me no reason.”
His smirk widened. “I merely pick my battles.”
“Wise of you.”
Alaric extended an arm to her. “Shall we?”
Evelyne eyed him for a fraction of a second before pointedly ignoring the offered arm. She stepped forward, tucking her fan neatly against her wrist. “Do try to keep up, Prince.”
Alaric let out a low huff of laughter and followed. Their servants trailed a few paces behind.
