But guilt was one thing, clarity another.
They had work to do.
And if she kept telling herself that, maybe it would drown out the rest of it. Like the memory of the previous afternoon.
She usually didn’t get offended like some conceited debutante with wilted pride and too much taffeta. She wasn’t built that way. But Evelyne had spent far too much of her life with men deciding thingsforher. Her father. His council. Tradition.
And while she respected tradition, knew her place and what it asked of her, she also couldn’t keep surrendering to whatever direction someone else pointed. It didn’t feel right anymore.
It doesn’t change the fact that she could have simply said, “No, thank you. I still wish to check the Archives,” and that would’ve been that. She would’ve had her boundaryandan ally. But no—becausehewas the one saying it, her whole being had decided to start misbehaving.
Thinking turned to feeling. She wasn’t used to that.
Very becoming of you, Evelyne.
With him, the lines started to blur. A word offered lightly could wedge itself beneath her ribs and settle there. It left something behind. Something thatwanted. A desire to know.
She had wanted to lean into it. Into the promise of ease, of partnership, of not carrying the weight alone for once. So, she pulled away. Recoiled like a burn victim at the first sign of warmth, terrified that this time, it might not be a lie—and even more terrified that it might be.
She hated herself a little for it.
Vesena didn’t comment.
But Evelyne saw the look. The quiet “so we’re doing this without him now” flicker that passed over her face—there and gone in an instant. She just watched, understood, and, maddeningly, offered nothing more than her usual silence.
It was worse than being scolded.
Still, Evelyne held her head high as they made their way down the corridor. And if she still felt vaguely haunted by the way he’d looked at her, then that was her own foolishness to wrestle with. Privately.
They reached the Archives just as the bells struck the hour. Two Silverwards opened the great carved doors with a bow.
Inside, the air was filled with the dry, pleasant scent of paper and time.
They crossed the hall side by side. The castle Archives were nothing short of a cathedral to order. Shelves rose to the ceiling, five stories high, wrapped in curling ironwork and fitted with tall sliding ladders. Rows of long oak tables sat neatly between the stacks, each one outfitted with shaded lamps and weighted inkwells. The windows were tall and curtained, letting in justenough filtered light to glow through the dust without risking damage to the pages.
This was a place built for quiet minds. For careful work. For piecing things together.
“Your Highness,” came a warm voice.
The First Archivist approached from behind a desk; hands folded over the front of his maroon-colored robe. An older man with a kind face and pale eyes that had likely memorized more scrolls than most of the court had read in their lives. He bowed—not low, but deeply respectful.
Evelyne returned the gesture with an incline of her head, the corners of her mouth softening just enough. “Archivist Elorith. You’re looking well. Has your granddaughter recovered from the spring fever?”
The question caught him gently off guard. His face brightened with quiet surprise before settling into a pleased smile. “She has, Your Highness. Thank you kindly for remembering. Back to climbing furniture and refusing bedtime like nothing ever happened.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Evelyne said, and meant it. “Do let her know I still have the shell she sent.”
“I shall pass it along. It will make her day.” The Archivist let out a low chuckle, some of the formality leaving his posture. “May I be of service?”
Evelyne offered a small nod in return. “Yes. I’ll require access to the patrol orders from this and past year. I’m reviewing records ahead of the transition. My maid will assist me.”
There was a beat—then a nod. He turned at once, already moving toward the shelves where the ledgers were kept, robes sweeping like a curtain drawn between eras.
Most days, a request like this would have required her tutor’s signature. In fact, not so long ago, she wouldn’t have been allowed here alone at all. The Archives were a man’s domain.But now? Now she was a future empress. And more importantly: there simply wasn’t time. The preparations were too vast, the bureaucracy too bloated, and no one wanted to assign a permanent escort when she had already proven herself capable.
Apparently, one of the few rewards for a lifetime of obedience was that when you finally did something you weren’t supposed to, no one questioned it. Or noticed at all.
“I must say, Your Highness,” the First Archivist called gently from the shelves, “it’s been quite the season for the Archives. I imagine I’ll be recording your name upon a number of chapters soon enough. It’s an honor.”
