“Not exactly,” he said. “I think we’ve been told half-truths. Just enough to pacify. Not enough to understand.”
“That may be harder to protect than any border,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “And it may end in war.”
He smiled at that, and this time it was quiet.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m stubborn.”
She looked at him for a beat longer than she meant to, the edges of his expression soft in the golden light.
“I heard about the veil,” he said. “Is that an Edrathen tradition?”
Her throat tightened, just slightly. “Yes and no,” she murmured.
He hesitated for a beat too long.
“Bold choice,” he commented, softer this time. “I think red suits you better. It doesn't lie about what you've survived.”
“My prince, I’m afraid that you’re not allowed to be so kind to me,” she murmured. “It’s inconvenient.”
Alaric turned slightly, a slow, devastating smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Is it?” he asked, eyes catching hers. “Unfortunately, I’m not very good at following rules I didn’t write.”
Her gaze drifted from him to the expanse of the garden beyond. Alaric’s gaze followed hers, pausing on the blooms. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The footsteps of their accompanying attendants shuffled behind them in dutiful silence.
“You navigate conversation as well as you do these gardens,” he mused, glancing sideways at her. “With precision. Always knowing where to step.”
Evelyne arched a delicate brow. “Would you prefer me to be reckless, Your Highness?”
“Not reckless. But perhaps… less careful. Less rehearsed.”
She scoffed. “You assume I rehearse.”
“I assume you are never unprepared.”
Evelyne opened her fan with a smooth flick of her wrist, the delicate fabric catching the light as she held it before her face. “A wise woman is always prepared,” she said. “But if it comforts you, I do not write our conversations in advance.”
His grin widened. “Ah, then it leaves me woefully outmatched.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“That you are not easy to forget.”
Evelyne stopped walking, turned slightly toward him and her stomach did a flip. Alaric, for once, didn’t follow it with a smirk.
“People talk about you,” he continued. “That you were too cold for diplomacy, too intelligent to be agreeable, too cursed to be desired. But the thing is… I find myself preferring reality over any of my preconceptions. And I’d rather know the truth of a person than live with an illusion.”
Evelyne blinked once. It brushed too close to something she’d rather not examine. Praise was dangerous. It made one foolishly lean into the comfort of it, especially when the one did not fully know the truth of themselves.
“You should be careful,” she warned, “about finding comfort in sharp things. They tend to draw blood when you hold them too close.”
“Then it’s fortunate I never cared much for safety.”
Fool, she thought. And worse—she believed him.
She broke eye contact and continued walking along the path. Alaric adjusted his pace to match hers.
“You should. A well-forged shield serves its purpose.Control. Calm. Focus.”
“Indeed.” His gaze flickered with something that might have been understanding. “But a shield, no matter how expertly crafted, offers little warmth to the one holding it.”
