Chapter 52
Three figures occupied the solar.
Evelyne stood nearest the window, spine straight, her gown dark as dusk.
The long table beside her was still cluttered with scrolls and correspondence.
One week ago, she had found the symbol hidden among them.
One week. And now, nothing felt stable. Above it, beams of morning light slanted through narrow windows, gilding the cold floor in gold that felt far too soft for what was about to unfold.
By his desk, the king remained rigid, hands braced wide on the polished wood, his shoulders taut with contained fury. He hadn’t spoken since they entered.
Isildeth lingered near the shelves, still as frost, gaze down.
Ravik, of course, was absent—recovering from the wound he’d taken for Evelyne. Whether out of loyalty or strategy, no one could say. But it meant the scolding now fell to King Rhaedor alone. And somehow, that made it worse.
He had been pacing for the better part of an hour, his boots marking a controlled warpath across the polished stone.
“Insolence,” he muttered again, voice clipped. “Recklessness. Do you understand what you’ve risked?”
Evelyne said nothing.
He stopped before her, brows furrowed. “The Crown’s name. Your own future. The stability of our court. Launching an unsanctioned investigation? Breaking into secure offices? Dragging your future husband into it like some back-alley thief?”
She held her tongue. Her gaze never dropped.
“And with what justification?” he pressed, stepping closer. “No approval from this Council or any other. Acting like a man instead of a woman.”
He filled the space with the sound of his own outrage, and she let him. Because she knew the moment she opened her mouth, it would no longer be about truth—it would be about obedience. And he had already decided she had failed at that.
So she stood there, silent and furious in a way she wouldn’t name. Because she had chosen her side long before this conversation started. And it wasn’t his.
“You’re lucky no one outside the Council knows the full extent of your behavior,” Rhaedor snapped. “If even a rumor of this reached the court, you would lose what little credibility your name still commands.”
She’d never felt more certain that she would find her own way to speak. And when she did, it would be loud enough that even the Gods would listen.
But her father wasn’t finished.
“I should have known. Accepting Varantia’s offer was a mistake. I should have predicted they’d stir things up, dig into what was buried. I didn’t expect you to be the one they’d sway.”
Evelyne stepped forward, pulse jumping in her throat. “They answered my request.”
“Did they?” the king cut in, eyes never leaving Alaric. “Then I’m sure they’ll know how to answer for it.”
Her voice caught. He hadn’t even looked at her.
Rhaedor took a slow step forward, arms behind his back.
“And the prince,” the king continued, “if I informed them that their heir apparent had been prowling beneath a foreign castle, breaking into military offices with the bride of their empire? That he followed the whims of a woman who should’ve known better? ”
Evelyne’s stomach turned. She opened her mouth again. “He’s not at fault. None of them are. I asked them to help me—”
“You gave the order?” the king asked, voice dry. “Then I presume you’ll enjoy explaining that order, in writing, to the Council of Edrathen and the Advisors of Varantian Imperium. Because until I receive a reason not to, this is an incident. And it will be documented.”
Evelyne raised her chin slightly. “With respect, from what I am aware Alaric brought concerns to our Council before. Repeatedly.”
“Yes,” Rhaedor said tightly. “I remember. I also remember not once did those concerns include my daughter sneaking into the Grand Marshal’s chambers at midnight.”
Silence crackled through the solar like a whip.
Then the king’s attention landed on Isildeth.
Evelyne stiffened. “She didn’t know anything,” she protested. “She wasn’t involved.”
“She was assigned to know,” the king retorted, calm as a closing door.
Isildeth stepped forward. No tremble in her step, but her knuckles had gone white where they gripped her skirts.
Rhaedor addressed her coolly. “After the wedding, you were to be reassigned. A supervisory role. No longer a personal attendant. A rare honor. You were told this.”
Isildeth bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“That honor will no longer be granted.”
Evelyne’s breath caught, then flared out sharp. “You cannot punish her for something she didn’t do.”
Rhaedor said nothing.
“She followed her duties,” Evelyne pressed. “She reported what she was meant to. Nothing more. Don’t turn loyalty into guilt because you don’t like where it led.”
Isildeth’s head remained lowered, but Evelyne saw the flicker in her shoulders.
Still, the king didn’t look away.
“Punish me, if you must,” Evelyne said, voice steady now. “But leave her out of it.”
The king looked at her for a long moment, unreadable. Then his gaze shifted—slowly, deliberately—to Isildeth.
“You may remain in your current post until Her Highness departs,” he said at last, each word clipped with finality. “Afterward, your service will be concluded. You may speak to the steward about reassignment or early retirement.”
He paused.
“I suggest the latter.”
Isildeth held her bow longer this time. “Understood.”
Evelyne pivoted toward him, fury twisting behind her ribs. “She didn’t fail you,” she insisted quietly. “You’re just choosing not to trust her.”
“And you are choosing who is innocent and who is not,” Rhaedor replied without looking at her. “That is not yet your right.”
Only then did Rhaedor glance at Evelyne. Briefly. “This meeting is concluded. Dismissed.”
Evelyne stood frozen for a beat longer than she should have, the hem of her gown heavy at her feet, her breath caught behind clenched teeth.
She had thought she could bear the reprimand. Had even told herself she deserved it. But watching the weight fall not on her shoulders, but on the people who had stood beside her… that was something else entirely. A quieter cruelty. And worse, a consequence she couldn’t take back.
She left the solar, her spine remained straight, but inside, she was unraveling. Regret swelled hot in her throat, bitter and useless. Isildeth had done nothing but her job. Cedric and Vesena had followed her lead. Alaric had tried to protect her.
And she had let them all walk into the storm.
As she stepped away, her eyes slid to Isildeth. The woman simply stood there, poised and unreadable. Every inch the professional servant she had always been.
Evelyne opened her mouth, ready to apologize, but Isildeth gave a shallow nod, eyes fixed somewhere above Evelyne’s shoulder.
“If Your Highness will excuse me,” she said, her voice formal. “I must report to Footman George regarding the retirement.”
And with that, she pivoted and left.
The words she’d meant to speak dissolved before they left her mouth. She didn’t move. She couldn’t explain why it landed the way it did. Only that the silence no longer felt like armor.
It felt like shame.