Poor Vesena had just been sent off in search of an embroidery kit Evelyne knew had been packed into one of the departure trunks. The look she’d given Evelyne on the way out promised a future full of mysteriously overstepped tea.
Evelyne didn’t blame her.
She had barely settled back into her chair when a knock echoed against the chamber doors. Isildeth glided to open it.
It was Alaric’s servant. The man bowed as he stepped inside, staying near the door.
Evelyne stood up, adjusting her expression into something appropriately neutral.
“Your Highness,” he intoned, “My name is Cedric, I’m Prince Alaric's personal servant. His Highness sends his regards and his particular admiration for today’s weather. He thought it might be an ideal time for a ride.”
Evelyne opened her mouth to respond, only to find her mind... uncooperative. She didn’t want to be rude, but she truly did not have the bandwidth for Alaric’s sun-soaked optimism, not when her own world felt steeped in fog.
“I—” she started, then faltered.
She could feel Isildeth watching her from the corner of the room. One eyebrow arched with polite interest. Her look said,Say yes. Be lovely. Do the thing.
But her chest was too tight, and her thoughts too loud.
Evelyne returned the smile. “Cedric, please tell him I’m occupied. I have… things to prepare before the wedding.”
Cedric didn’t budge. “Of course, but it won’t be a long ride. A short loop through the orchard paths. Just enough to enjoy the sun.”
“I’m not dressed for it.”
“We could delay fifteen minutes. I’ll ask the stablehands to make it slow-paced.”
“I haven’t eaten.”
“There’s a packed basket.”
Evelyne’s eyelid twitched. Was he trying to wear her down? Had Alaric put him up to this or was he simply taking initiative in the world’s most irritating way?
“I’m truly busy,” she declined again.
Cedric’s smile was starting to look slightly tight at the corners, like someone delivering a performance they didn’t quite believe in. “Forgive me, Princess, but His Highness seemed rather hopeful. And... well, if I may speak plainly he thought a little air might do you good.”
That’s it, Evelyne thought.I am being handled.
“I am not some old book in a damp library,” she snapped, resting her hands on her hips. “I don’t require airing out.”
Cedric had the audacity to look sympathetic. “Your Highness—”
She cut him off, breath rising, the pressure of the past few days bubbling at her throat. “I saidno. I am visited by the month's tide.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Ridiculous, she knew—weaponizing etiquette and biology in one mortifying blow—but if it made him retreat, so be it.
The silence that followed was instant and heavy. Even Isildeth, halfway through straightening the edge of a curtain, paused.
Cedric’s jaw dropped. “Oh. I—understand. Please forgive me, Your Highness.”
She could see the awkward shuffle start in his shoulders, the desire to vanish politely clawing at him. She felt almost sorry for him, but he had asked for it.
“I’ll inform His Highness.”
He gave a shallow bow, all grace in retreat. The moment the door shut behind him, Evelyne let herself sink back into her chair.
She hadn’t meant to lie. Not quite. Shewasindisposed. With everything.
