Chapter 47
Cedric had endured a lot in his life—starvation, plague, and a year in Zhareshian jail. But this? This was new.
They were wedged behind the hidden portrait panel in the Halls of Seals, packed close like a group of culprits mid-crime.
Vesena crouched beside him, narrowing her focus, palms pressed to the stone.
Alaric rested his shoulder against the opposite wall, composed as ever, his attention fixed on Evelyne.
She hadn’t said a word since they’d left the chamber behind them. Just stood there in that too-perfect stillness of hers, eyes fixed forward. Calm as a winter lake. And about as inviting.
Because this wasn’t good. The guards were standing at the exit, talking and laughing.
There was no exit that wouldn’t lead to questions or arrest. His brain spun through the possibilities, but they all collapsed under the reality that these weren’t drunk noblemen in a Varantian court. These were Silverwards.
“Alright,” he whispered, nudging the edge of the false panel open a fraction. Warm torchlight spilled through the crack, along with the dull clink of armor. “Two guards. Ten paces apart. Facing outward.”
“We can take them both quietly,” Vesena murmured.
“We could also distract them,” Alaric offered. “Set off an alarm somewhere else. Knock over a priceless painting and blame it on Cedric.”
“Or,” Vesena countered, eyes scanning the corridor like a predator, “we wait for the changing patrol. Could be twenty minutes. Could be an hour.”
“Right,” Cedric said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “So our options are: wait in a dusty hole until our legs fall off, or gamble on a distraction that might earn us an armed escort to the nearest dungeon.”
Behind them, Evelyne moved.
He turned, expecting her to speak. She didn’t.
Instead, she crouched.
Alaric inhaled sharply beside him.
Because Evelyne Tresselyn, Princess of Edrathen, future Empress of the Varantian Imperium, breaker of noble hearts and political stalemates, was crawling.
She slipped under the portrait frame and into the open hall like it was a ballroom entrance, not a covert maneuver past state security. Her skirts didn’t even rustle. One hand balanced against the stone.
Cedric, Alaric, and Vesena all pressed closer to the gap, peering through.
She rose without a sound and began walking. Straight toward the exit.
Between two Silverwards.
Cedric didn’t breathe. Neither did Vesena.
Alaric looked like he’d just been hit by divine revelation. Cedric could pinpoint the exact thought that crossed his mind:
That is my future wife.
Well. No shit.
Cedric, on the other hand, was leaning toward what-the-actual-fuck territory.
Alaric was first to step through the frame. Cedric caught the faint twitch in his jaw as he emerged into the light, saw her standing calmly in the corridor like nothing had happened.
Vesena followed. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. But Cedric swore he saw the barest flicker of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. That, or the shadows were playing tricks again.
Cedric slipped through last. If this didn’t end with their arrest, he’d personally crown Evelyne himself.
One guard stepped forward, hand flying to his sword. “Your Highness—what—stop, how did you—?
Alaric raised both hands as if warding off an incoming lecture.
Evelyne faced the guards, posture collected, tone steady.
“You’re right,” she admitted calmly. “I left but you don’t saw me enter. That’s on me.”
The Silverwards blinked—young, uncertain, clearly still in training.
She went on, her tone clipped but not cold. “You’ve done your duty well. My presence isn’t your fault—I entered through a route that shouldn’t be accessible. You may report it to the Grand Marshal if necessary. I’ll speak to him directly, and happily explain the reason.”
The guards looked at each other trying to decide whether they were being reprimanded or praised.
Cedric met Vesena’s stare.
“It’s late,” Evelyne added. “Please, carry on. I’ll escort myself.”
Silence.
The kind that came when the official protocol handbook didn’t include a section on what to do when a princess emerged from a secret wall with three foreign schemers and then dismissed you with grace.
The Silverwards glanced at each other, completely frozen. One actually opened his mouth—probably to object—then closed it again.
Evelyne gave them a nod. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”
Then walked off.
Vesena followed like a shadow peeling from stone. Alaric trailed a moment after, dropping his hands; still not over whatever cosmic revelation had hit him ten minutes ago.
Cedric lingered long enough to offer the guards a crooked smile and a vague shrug. He reached Vesena just as Alaric stepped up beside Evelyne.
“What was that?” Alaric asked under his breath.
Evelyne didn’t so much as turn his way. “We’d have been caught regardless,” she said evenly. “Might as well face it with our heads high.”
She flicked him a brief look. “And I would have Ravik understand that his secrecy no longer serves him.”
Cedric studied her retreating form, then the guards still gaping after them as if witnessing a poorly staged opera finale.
He shot Vesena a glance.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he murmured, “the future Empress of Varantia.”