Chapter 58
Evelyne stirred beneath the covers as the world slid into focus. The familiar scent of morning air greeted her before a soft knock tapped through the haze.
The door creaked open and Isildeth stepped inside. “Milady, it’s almost time to start preparing for the ceremony.”
Evelyne blinked against the light. “Good morning...” Her voice was still thick with sleep.
The maid approached, no smile in sight. “I trust you slept well?”
A pause. “Partially…” Evelyne murmured, but the realization settled.
She did it again.
Slipped past locked doors. Wandered too far, broke every rule Isildeth had been tasked with upholding. And not for the first time, the woman had no idea.
Evelyne swallowed hard. Why did something that felt so right have to be so wrong? Why did she have to apologize for doing—no, for needing to do—the right thing in secret, to protect them, and in the end wound them all the same?
She wanted Isildeth to know—to say, I spoke with the prince. I opened up, just as you said. And it was… nice. A little frightening, but if all goes well, I might have a friend there, so you don’t have to worry anymore.
But she couldn’t. Because she’d chosen selfishly, and Isildeth had paid the price for it.
The distance between them hadn’t closed overnight. But today, of all days, Evelyne had foolishly hoped for a moment of warmth. A hand on her shoulder. A word she didn’t have to earn.
She wasn’t sure she deserved it. But she wanted it.
The apology trembled just behind her teeth, aching to be spoken. I should have told you. I should have let you in. I missed you.
She opened her mouth to speak.
Isildeth inclined her head, her face unreadable. “Let us begin with your bath.”
And just like that, the moment passed. Ceremony reclaimed them both, leaving her wondering when exactly she had stopped reaching—and whether she still could.
Isildeth called out to Vesena, who swiftly entered the chambers. Together, they moved toward the adjoining bathing room.
Evelyne threw back the blanket and froze. The hem of her nightgown, along with the soles of her feet, was streaked with dried mud. A sharp breath left her lips, but she masked it quickly, pulling the blanket back over her lap before either of the maids could see.
“Your Highness?” Isildeth’s voice brought her back.
Evelyne forced an easy nod. “Yes. Just a moment.”
She shifted, carefully peeling the nightgown from her body before quickly tossing it aside, letting it crumple onto the floor where it would go unnoticed among the linens. If the maids noticed, they said nothing. She crossed the room, chin up even in vulnerability.
Evelyne stepped into the water, letting its warmth chase the edge off the morning chill. She sank slowly, eyes closing as the scent of lavender rose around her. For a breath, she could almost pretend it was an ordinary morning. Just another bath. Just another day.
But the warmth did little to loosen the knot in her stomach. Behind her, Vesena approached to unwind her braid, she felt the tug of her fingers. But then, something had caught.
Evelyne’s stomach clenched. The water, a moment ago soothing, now felt scalding.
Isildeth didn’t notice, busy with adjusting the sleeves of the gown.
Vesena said nothing. She slid the scarf free and tucked it into her apron pocket without a comment. Just a glance, a single nod, and she resumed her task.
Evelyne exhaled hard. She had felt… calmer since yesterday.
Not in the sense that she was suddenly unbothered by the small matter of someone trying to murder her, or that her name had been scrawled onto a cursed death ledger.
And certainly not calmer about the way the kingdom whispered that this wedding was doomed from the start, that the cursed bride would end it as she always did.
She feared that too, more than she could admit.
But she had to also admit that she had looked forward to seeing him again. To his ridiculous jokes. His grin. That infuriating, familiar look he gave her when she was trying not to smile and failing miserably.
She never laughed like that. Never.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she could stop it. She caught her lip between her teeth, trying to press it back down.
Alright, that’s enough, she told herself firmly.
After she stepped from the bath Isildeth warmed Evelyne’s favorite lavender oil between her palms, smoothing it over her body before handing her off to Vesena, who wrapped her in a warm towel. The undergarments were fastened, silk stockings rolled up her legs, and the robe folded over her body.
Isildeth combed through Evelyne’s damp hair, Vesena applied makeup with concentration. A chambermaid entered silently with a tray of warm bread, honeyed fruit, and tea, but Evelyne barely acknowledged the scent.
When the last touch was applied, both women stepped back to admire their work.
Evelyne met her gaze in the mirror. The reflection staring back at her was both familiar and foreign—like a painting of herself done by someone who had only seen her from a distance.
Her hair, still damp at the roots, had been coaxed into a soft, elegant twist, with a single curl left loose to graze the nape of her neck.
The pearl hairpin glinted beneath the lamplight.
Her skin looked luminous, her cheeks touched with rose, her lips painted with the faintest shade of wine.
The diamonds at her ears sparkled like frost on that day.
She looked regal. Every inch a bride.
I’ve done this before.
Her heart fluttered against her ribs like a moth caught behind stained glass. A thread of chill had begun to coil down her arms, pooling in the hollow of her spine.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She could still feel the fabric of the old gown, soaked heavy in crimson. That chapel wasn’t here, but it might as well have been. The air felt the same. Her gaze darted, unbidden, to the window.
“Milady?” Isildeth’s voice, gentle now.
Evelyne blinked. Forced herself back into her body.
“Hm?”
Control. Calm. Focus.
The maid watched her through narrowed lids. Vesena did the same. Evelyne gave a small shake of her head and faced the mirror once more. Her reflection stared back—keen, unflinching.
“You did wonderfully. As always. Thank you.”
Isildeth dipped her head. “You’re welcome.”
She turned toward the wooden stand and lifted the wedding gown from its perch. The dress shimmered in the candlelight, silk and lace catching the glow.
“Let’s get you into the dress now,” she murmured.
Evelyne hesitated for a moment. Her fingers skimmed the carved armrests of the chair. Then, with a breath she hoped didn’t sound too much like a sigh, she rose.
Vesena stepped behind Evelyne and began tightening the stays of the corset. Inch by inch the fabric drew closer to bone. Evelyne closed her eyes as the pressure settled in. Familiar and grounding.
Once done, Isildeth moved closer with a gown.
The dress settled into place like it had been waiting for her. It was, objectively, a masterpiece. The bodice was stitched with silver-threaded florals, Pearls lined the sleeves and led into cuffs of sheer lace that floated over her wrists. The train trailed behind her in a tide of silk and lace.
It was beautiful. It was flawless. And it felt exactly like armor.
Vesena approached holding the veil and carefully pinned it into Evelyne’s hair.
Transparent as breath, falling to the floor.
At the hem, thick embroidery bloomed in deep red thread, rich and heavy at the bottom, growing finer and more delicate as it climbed toward her crown, until it thinned into nothing at the very top.
She slid her palms lightly over her waist, feeling the tight press of the corset beneath the silk. That was it. A final inhale before the chaos, music, and oaths.
A gentle knock stirred the silence. The door eased open, and Vesena stepped aside to reveal Ysara.
She looked tired, though she’d tried to hide it. Her hair was swept into a formal twist, a few loose strands curling stubbornly near her ear. Her gown was royal red. When she saw Evelyne, Ysara’s face lit up with a soft, genuine smile. “You look marvelous,” she breathed.
Evelyne inclined her head politely. “As do you.”
“May I come in?”
Evelyne nodded. The servants in the room instinctively drifted to the far wall, giving them space. Her stepmother entered slowly, hands clasped before her as if unsure what to do with them. She looked, for a moment, like she might change her mind.
“That day has come,” she began quietly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m trying not to panic.”
Ysara nodded, her gaze flicking briefly to the window. “That’s fair,” she murmured. “Weddings are strange things. Even when you’re certain.”
She exhaled softly and stepped closer, reaching for Evelyne’s gloved hands with tentative care.
“I know I’m not your mother,” she began. “And I know closeness between us was never easy. You were grieving when I first entered this castle, and I… I never wished to claim what was not mine to take.”
Evelyne pressed her lips together, unwilling to trust her voice yet.
Her attention shifted to Ysara’s face instead.
Faint freckles marked the bridge of her nose, and fine lines traced the corners of her mouth—etched more by restraint than laughter, Evelyne suspected.
It struck her, with quiet guilt, how rarely she had truly seen her stepmother.
“I only ever wanted to be someone you could rely on,” Ysara said, her tone soft yet sure. “Even from afar. And I need you to remember, Evelyne—whatever comes today, tomorrow, or in ten years—you will always have my loyalty.”
Evelyne drew in air carefully, forcing down the ache in her throat.
Ysara’s voice wavered, then found its steadiness again. “I wish you happiness, Evelyne. I hope this marriage gives you more than an alliance. I hope it gives you something gentler. You deserve that.”