Chapter 42
Two days later the veil was finished. Crimson thread danced like wildfire through the sheer silk. The gown, too, now hung in her chambers. Impossibly delicate, impossibly final.
She hadn’t dared touch it.
Five days. That was all the time she had left.
Five days until she would stand beside a man who could be in danger.
Five days until she had to wear a dress that had taken a month to embroider and only a moment to suffocate her in every fitting.
She knew so much and yet nothing at all, piecing together the bones of a corpse while the kingdom prepared flowers, feast, and vows.
The air outside had smelled of sugar and saltwater blooms—wrong, somehow. Too clean.
Evelyne approached the dining hall; her stomach wasn’t quite interested in its noon obligations. She rounded the corner—and halted.
Her father waited just outside the doors, tall and composed in a dark doublet. Opposite him, Grand Marshal Ravik inclined his head slightly as he spoke, voice low, hands folded neatly behind his back, boots planted with soldier’s precision.
Her gaze sharpened on Ravik, and something cold coiled in her chest. He was here. Walking these halls, trading whispers behind closed doors.
A slow pulse of fury gathered beneath her skin. A man like Ravik never had to answer for anything. He had power, yes—but worse, he had position. Behind his clean words and polished armor, she saw it clearly now: calculation. A man setting the board while everyone else pretended not to see.
Their conversation faltered as she approached, but neither yielded space. Evelyne came to a deliberate stop between them, standing slightly nearer her father, though her attention never wavered from Ravik. She inclined her head.
“Father. Marshal.” Her tone was even. “Is something amiss?”
Rhaedor was the first to acknowledge her. “Nothing amiss. We’re reviewing final arrangements for tomorrow’s parade. All preparations are in order.”
For a beat, Evelyne’s chest went hollow. She had been so tangled in dreams, secrets and sigils, that she had almost forgotten.
Ravik grunted. “Every formation accounted for. The schedule has been circulated to all captains. The ceremony begins at noon.”
Evelyne smiled. Just enough to qualify as courtly. Not enough to be mistaken for warmth.
“Good,” she said, and let her eyes linger on Ravik.
He did not flinch. But he didn’t quite meet her gaze, either. A flicker of caution darted behind his composure. Or perhaps she imagined it. She hoped she didn’t.
The silence stretched half a second too long.
Evelyne folded her hands. “I trust there will be no... unexpected accidents this time?”
It landed as soft as snowfall. Rhaedor shifted, his gaze flicking to her a blink too slow. Ravik’s jaw flexed.
“There will be no disruption,” he replied. “Not on my watch.”
“Mm.” Evelyne tilted her head, lashes lowered. “I imagine that’s what they said to Dasmon, too.”
Something behind his eyes cooled further.
“I have seen to every layer of security,” he replied. “Personally.”
“I imagine so,” Evelyne said. “You’ve long taken pride in precision.”
Ravik inclined his head. “Only where it counts.”
She smiled. It never reached her eyes. “How fortunate, then, that tomorrow counts.”
To his credit, Ravik didn’t rise to it. But there it was—the small, betraying tick at his temple, the subtle way his posture stiffened, betraying what words would not.
Ravik’s mouth thinned just enough to answer her without moving. “Every entrance is sealed. Every perimeter doubled. We’ve posted archers along the southern archways, in case of high ground tactics.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Marshal, that this will be my last appearance before the wedding,” she remarked.
Ravik nodded once. “You will be safe.”
She tilted her head slightly, watching him as one might examine a blade for cracks invisible to the eye. “Forgive me,” she said, silk barely concealing the iron, “but I’ve learned recently that the definition of safety can be... subjective.”
Rhaedor’s brow furrowed slightly. “Evelyne.”
But she wasn’t done.
“And if there were any remaining secrets—any small details left unattended, anything at all that might cast a shadow over that definition—it would be better to bring them forward now. With dignity.”
Prove me wrong, Ravik. Give me a reason to stop looking over your shoulder. Just once, I want to be mistaken about someone.
Ravik met her eyes.
“There’s nothing else,” he assured. “You have my word.”
Her spine didn’t move, but something cold settled in her chest. She turned slightly, just enough to glimpse her father.
His expression was unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw gave him away.
Displeasure. Distance. How could he sit through the Council meetings or say nothing in the space between?
As always, his silence said just enough. And never quite what she needed.
“I see.”
Evelyne offered a final nod. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s hope your word holds.”
She turned with quiet grace, her steps unhurried, and walked away before she could see the flinch.
But she felt it.