Chapter 6 #2
Evelyne took this time to calm her breathing.
Come back to herself. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment and focused on the brushstrokes on canvas.
The rhythm of a piano in a quiet room. The weight of a needle pulling thread through cloth, steady and sure. In her mind, her hands were creating.
Not touching Dasmon’s cold, lifeless palm.
When Alaric finally ended his monologue, her father exhaled like a man who had climbed Mount Vaerhild and back.
“I see…I trust my daughter has welcomed you properly.”
Evelyne came back to the present, her lashes fluttered.
There was the faintest flicker of amusement in Alaric’s expression before he nodded. “She has been most gracious, Your Majesty.”
Evelyne did not react, keeping her expression neutral. If gracious meant allowing him to test the boundaries of decorum, then perhaps she had been.
“Good,” her father cut in. “We will have time to further discuss our… arrangement over supper. For now, I imagine you are weary from your travels. Your chambers have been prepared.”
“Your hospitality is most generous,” Alaric replied smoothly. “I look forward to seeing more of Edrathen in the coming days.”
The King only grunted in response before turning slightly. “Evelyne, you will see to it that our guest has everything he requires.”
There was a beat of silence.
Internally, Evelyne sobbed.
Did he just cleverly trick her into nursemaiding this man?
Was this penance? A diplomatic hazing ritual? A test of endurance masquerading as duty?
Evelyne exhaled quietly through her nose before offering a small nod. “Of course, Father.”
With that, the King strode away, far too pleased with himself for Evelyne’s liking. Alaric immediately turned back to her, a hint of amusement playing in his expression.
“So, Princess,” Alaric drawled, his tone smooth as polished amber, “when your father asked that you guide me through your court, I wondered how far such guidance extends.”
Evelyne blinked once. Slowly.
“Is this your idea of diplomacy?” she asked.
He exhaled and tilted his head. “Just a touch of humor to ease the tension. Marriage negotiations can be so dreadfully stiff.”
“And yet somehow, your contribution made them worse.”
His jaw tightened slightly, though the smile stayed in place. “I was only trying to break the ice.”
“It’s Edrathen,” she remarked. “We like our ice unbroken.”
Alaric’s smile held, but only just. He paused, watching her with narrowed focus, then glanced briefly to the side. When he met her eyes again, his tone was level.
“You’re going to be a challenge.”
“And you,” she recounted without missing a beat, “are going to learn that not every woman is waiting to be undone by flattery.”
He let out a short breath through his nose. “Noted.”
She turned slightly, gaze flicking past him. “Good. Then perhaps we can keep the rest of this conversation within the bounds of propriety.”
Alaric’s smirk lingered, his gaze holding hers with an easy confidence. “But surely, even in a game of propriety, there’s room for a little enjoyment?”
“No, I don’t think so. We are meant to ensure the well-being of our people, not indulge in sentimental fantasies.”
Alaric chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. I’ll admit, you've got a point. Marriage is a duty, after all. Especially ours.”
It was. Edrathen was strong in stone, its mountains rich in raw materials, but the land itself was suffering.
Years of magic misuse had drained the soil, leaving the fields barren, the rivers thin.
Varantia, in contrast, was more abundant.
But it lacked the resources needed to expand the cities, securing its borders and building an army.
“However,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Do we not have the same blood in our veins as those we rule?” His timbre lowered slightly. “We are human, too, are we not?”
“Yes, we are,” Evelyne admitted, her voice steady. “But in the face of our responsibilities, those things must be set aside. If we allowed ourselves to feel, our hearts would break knowing we never had a choice.”
His eyes lingered on her. “But do you truly believe it’s that simple?”
She met his gaze. “Yes.”
Alaric snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “That is impossible. And ridiculous.”
His words struck her like a slap.
Excuse me?
Heat flashed through her chest, but she forced herself to smile.
“My prince…” She spoke with sweetness, but her eyes burned with restrained fury. She hoped he saw it.
“Even if you are married to me, you will have freedoms I will not,” she said, her tone crisp and deliberate. “You may love others, father bastards, and live as you please. If I were to allow myself the same, I would disgrace my family, myself, you, and the royal name.”
Alaric’s mouth parted slightly, as if to speak, but nothing came. For once, the words that usually poured from him in golden ribbons seemed to catch behind his teeth. A furrow crept into his brow.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“We may both be bound to this marriage,” she cut in. “But our circumstances are not the same. Please, do not judge the way I handle mine. You have no right to do so.”
Yes. There. Control reasserted, cool and deliberate.
He stared at her—baffled. As though she had just shifted the ground beneath his feet. His eyes flicked briefly to Isildeth, then to the staff lingering nearby. Then back to Evelyne.
He gave the smallest nod to himself.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You’re right, Princess. I apologize. I spoke without thinking about the different expectations placed upon us.”
Evelyne inclined her head, though the tension still coiled in her chest.
Movement caught her eye. Servants approached from the castle. Relief washed over her, subtle but welcome. A convenient escape.
She didn’t look at him this time. “Footman George will show you and your company to your chambers. I have a commitment to attend.”
George stepped forward, already prepared. “Yes, Your Highness.” He turned to Alaric. “Prince Alaric of Varantia, if you’ll follow me.”
Without waiting for Alaric’s response, she offered a final nod before turning to leave.
“Princess Evelyne, please wait.”
Alaric’s voice halted her just as she took her first step. She pivoted back, lifting a brow.
He gestured toward his servant. The man approached immediately, lifting the lid of a finely crafted box and retrieving a small package wrapped in navy fabric.
Alaric held it out to her. “It is settled in my country, that a man presents his betrothed with an engagement gift. I would be remiss if I did not uphold that tradition.”
Surprise tugged at her before she could stop it—a quick intake of breath, the faint stilling of her hands. She let her gaze fall instead to the wrapping, tracing the intricate folds and ribbons as if their perfection demanded her full attention.
Evelyne inclined her head toward her maid. The woman advanced and accepted the gift in her stead.
“Thank you.”
A brief spark crossed Alaric’s eyes—there and gone before his smile found its place, practiced and effortless.
“Well then,” he murmured, “until next time, Princess Evelyne.”
Evelyne didn’t answer right away. Her fingers had tightened imperceptibly around the edge of her fan. She cleared her throat, inclined her head in farewell and turned, her steps leading her back toward the castle. The gravel crunched softly behind her.
But he did not follow.
She realized then that the panic hadn’t devoured her after all. Not because she’d mastered it.
But because she hadn’t. She let the realization burn a moment longer, then swallowed it down like something bitter.