23. Eva
Eva
“ N o! ” I scream, raising my gun instinctively.
But Dimi swivels—not moving toward Robin as I expected, but turning on his father. His arm comes down, and the blade sinks into Stefan’s chest with a sound like tearing silk.
For several heartbeats, the Great Hall becomes a tableau frozen in amber. Mercenaries stand motionless, weapons still raised. Villagers grip their makeshift arms, mouths agape.
Stefan’s eyes go wide with shock, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he stares down at the knife protruding from him. Blood blooms across his pristine white shirt and he leans forward.
Dimi catches his father as he staggers, gathering him gently into his arms with infinite tenderness. His voice is soft but carries the weight of absolute judgment.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispers. “But you were wrong about me. I could never betray the Novak name as you have done.”
Stefan’s mouth works soundlessly, his hand reaching toward his son’s face with trembling fingers. His breath comes in rattling gasps, each one weaker than the last. Blood froths at the corners of his lips as his body goes slack in Dimi’s embrace.
My heart clenches—not with triumph, but with unexpected grief. This man helped shape my childhood, taught me strategy and statecraft—undone by his own son’s hand.
Dimi pulls the knife from his father’s chest and lets it clatter to the marble floor, the sound echoing through the sudden silence. He cradles Stefan’s lifeless body, and I see tears tracking down his face—grief and guilt warring in his expression.
The mercenaries stand frozen, glancing at each other with uncertainty. Their commander is dead, their mission compromised, their purpose unclear. Without Stefan’s authority, they’re just hired killers in a foreign castle surrounded by angry locals.
And they’re not going to get paid.
I keep my gun steady, nevertheless. They could still fight, could still try to complete whatever orders they were given. But the fight has gone out of them—I can see it in their posture, the way they hold their weapons without conviction.
Dimi lays his father’s body down on the floor with reverent care, then rises and walks toward me. When he reaches me, he offers his own gun handle-first, then drops to his knees.
“I await your judgment,” he says quietly. “Your father would have killed me for patricide, regardless of the circumstances. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to give for the treachery of my father, and my own hand in his death.”
I study my cousin—this man I’ve known since childhood, who prefers to mask his intelligence behind frivolity, who just saved my life and Robin’s by making the hardest choice imaginable. The facade has been stripped away completely, leaving only raw humanity and the terrible weight of his decisions.
“I see no treachery here,” I tell him. “And I am not my father. Get up, Dimi.”
He rises slowly, uncertainty in his eyes as he searches my face. I reach out to touch his wrist. “I’m sorry that you had to do that,” I tell him softly, so softly that only he can hear me.
He flinches, but nods.
And then I turn to address the mercenaries.
“You have thirty seconds to leave this castle and these grounds. I will allow your departure—once. But if any of you ever return, if I ever see your faces again, I will hunt down not only you but your families, your bloodlines, everyone you have ever loved.”
They begin backing toward the main entrance, weapons lowered but ready. The villagers part to let them pass, eyes hard with protective fury but allowing the retreat. One by one, the mercenaries disappear into the night, leaving only the scent of gunpowder and the weight of consequences behind.
Before I can process what comes next, Robin breaks free from whatever shock held her and runs straight into my arms.
The impact nearly knocks me over, but I catch her, pulling her against me with desperate relief. Her lips find mine in a kiss that tastes of salt tears and fear and overwhelming gratitude to whatever gods watched over us tonight.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Never,” I promise her. “Never.”
I force myself to step back from Robin’s embrace long enough to address the villagers who risked their lives for me tonight.
“You have my eternal thanks,” I tell them. “Your loyalty and courage saved not only my life, but the lives of people I hold dear. The Lady of the Black Lake will not forget your service.”
Several of the older men bow deeply. Others murmur prayers of gratitude for my protection over the years, calling me by ancient titles granted to the Novaks over the centuries—protector, patron, the dark guardian of their mountain home.
As they file out into the night, returning to the village, I finally allow myself to focus on Robin again. My hands map her face, her shoulders, searching for injuries or signs of harm.
“Are you hurt?” I ask urgently. “Did they?—”
“I’m fine,” she assures me, catching my hands in hers. “Scared out of my mind, but fine.”
I kiss her again, fierce and possessive, claiming her mouth like I can somehow anchor her to life through the connection. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I notice Robin’s gaze moving past me to where Dimi sits beside his father’s corpse.
His head rests in his hands, the picture of despair. The sight of him breaks my heart.
Robin and I approach him together. When he looks up at us, his eyes are red-rimmed and haunted.
“What in the hell was he thinking?” he asks, his voice cracking with bewilderment and pain.
I lower myself to sit beside him on the cold floor, placing my arm around his shoulders. “I’m so very, very sorry, Dimi.”
“I had no idea,” he continues as though he hasn’t heard me, staring at his father’s still face. “All these months, all these years —I thought he believed in you. I thought he was proud of what you’d built, how you’d led us.”
The betrayal cuts both ways, I realize. Stefan didn’t just deceive me—he manipulated his own son, thought he could trade on Dimi’s love and loyalty as weapons in a game Dimi never knew he was playing.
I hate my uncle. But I love him, too.
Life is never simple, it seems.
“We should move him,” I suggest gently. “Show him the respect he deserves as a Novak.”
Dimi’s laugh is bitter and sharp. “He deserves no respect at all. He orchestrated this entire nightmare, got loyal people killed, terrorized children?—”
“We are family, Dimi,” I interrupt firmly. “And we owe him that respect, regardless of his choices. It’s not about what he deserves—it’s about who we choose to be.”
I glance up at Robin, who’s been watching this exchange with compassion and understanding. “We sent my family out onto the lake,” she says, confirming my earlier suspicions. “I should go down, call out to them that we’re all safe.”
I nod. “I sent Leon down, too. He’ll keep you company—and he’ll protect you.”
She seems to understand without my saying that Dimi and I need a moment alone in our shared grief. Before leaving, she turns to Dimi. “I’m sorry I ran,” she says. “Left you there upstairs. I thought…”
“You did what you needed to do,” he says at once. “And I’m sorry for those things I said, pretending I wanted you dead. I was just trying to distract my father. I needed to get close…”
She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know. I wish… Well, I’m just sorry for everything, Dimi.”
She kisses me once more, her hand cupping my cheek.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too. Go—make sure they’re all right.”
Once she’s gone, I turn back to the grim task at hand.
Looking down at Stefan’s body, memories cascade through my mind—all the times he seemed to be testing me, measuring my responses, showing subtle disappointment when I chose compassion over ruthlessness.
The way he questioned my feelings for Robin, my decisions to modernize the Consortium, my refusal to rule through fear alone.
The money—Markov must have been working for him. My lip curls. Markov is another problem I will have to take care of, but I’m angrier at myself than at him. Because I should have seen it. Should have recognized the pattern of manipulation disguised as guidance.
It is a classic Novak strategy, after all. I’ve used it myself.
I stand. First things first. “Help me,” I tell Dimi.
Together, we lift Stefan’s corpse from the floor.
He’s even heavier than I expected—dead weight carrying the full mass of a man who once seemed larger than life.
We stagger slightly under the burden, but we carry him carefully into the dining room, where shadows stretch long across familiar furniture.
We lay out Stefan on the dining table with as much dignity as we can manage. From the sideboard, I retrieve a damask tablecloth. I shake it out and spread it over Stefan’s still form.
Dimi and I stand together, hands clasped in shared sorrow and exhaustion. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything that can’t be undone.
Dimi’s grip tightens on my hand. “I love you, Eva. I adore you. You’re my cousin, my friend, my leader—I would never hurt you. I want you to know that. The moment I understood what he was doing, what he was planning, there was only one choice I could make.”
His voice grows harder, edged with anger. “And I hate him for putting me in that position. For making me choose between you and him. For forcing me to become the kind of person who kills his own blood. But...” He takes a breath. “But I can’t help grieving for him, too.”
“Of course you are. You can hate what he did and still love him,” I tell him softly. “Those feelings don’t cancel each other out. He was your father.” I pause, my own emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “He was family.”
Dimi nods, tears sliding down his cheeks. “What do we do now?”
I glance over at him. If it were up to me, we’d burn Stefan’s corpse and let it scatter to the winds. But Dimi’s sacrifice must be an example to me. “We lay him to rest beside his brother,” I say with quiet determination. “With full honors, in the family crypt.”
Dimi shakes his head. “No. He may have been family. But he does not deserve to rest in the crypt alongside the brother he killed.”
I try not to sound too obviously relieved when I ask, “What would you advise instead?”
“We’ll…figure something out.” He sniffs, turns away. “Come on. This traitor has held enough of our attention.”
We walk back into the Great Hall, where Dimi looks around with a grimace. “What next?”
“I’ll call in the Cleaners, I suppose,” I sigh.
“Ah, yes.” Dimi gives a humorless smile, knowing that I’m referring to Consortium contacts who can clear Castle Blacklake of the dead. “But I don’t think they’ll be interested in renovations, cousin.”
“No. But we will rebuild. We’ll do better. We’ll honor the best of what came before while leaving the worst behind.”
And somehow, I’ll find a way to make all this up to Robin.
Robin .
“I’m sorry, but I need to go,” I tell Dimi. “I need?—”
“Yes,” he says with a painful smile. “I understand. Go, Eva. Go to her.”