Chapter 61
The walk back to her chambers after the feast felt endless, but Evelyne didn’t stumble. Her spine remained straight, her chin lifted, but inside, the spiral had already begun.
Not now.
Not tonight.
By the time she reached the doors to her chambers, her vision had begun to fray at the edges. She didn’t remember the guards opening them. Didn’t recall stepping inside. She didn’t even register when Isildeth laid out the nightgown or drew the curtains.
The celebration had stretched for hours, a parade of relief dressed up as joy.
Toasts echoed through the ballroom like ritual.
Orvath bless the King, they had shouted, voices raised as if victory could be sealed with wine alone.
Evelyne held on to one thing through it all: her father’s face.
He looked satisfied. Certain. As if the alliance was all he ever needed. A signature for the Archives.
Alaric had tried to distract her. He was kind and that was the problem. Kindness had a way of seeing straight through you.
Isildeth prepared her for the night while something inside her kept clawing for air. One motion into the next, from breath to breath, from task to task.
Last time, the quiet had turned to screaming.
Now she was screaming inside her head.
And yet, no one had died. The altar stayed clean. The wine flowed. The nobles smiled. She should’ve felt relief. But she didn’t. Because blood was honest. Death didn’t pretend. And this was the kind of quiet that came before something worse.
Her hands went cold first—like someone pulled all the blood straight out of them. Then the ringing in her ears. Then the bright-white flash of memory she never wanted to see again.
Isildeth knelt beside her, fastening the last clasp of her stockings with careful fingers. “You did well,” she said quietly, her tone the same one she used when Evelyne was a child and came home from a long day of lessons. “You got through it.”
Evelyne’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat. She tried again, but the words cracked before they reached her mouth.
“I caused you—” She hiccuped, shoulders trembling, “—trouble. After everything… you should have been… promoted, not dragged back here to dress me like—”
“Easy,” Isildeth murmured, her hand tightening gently on Evelyne’s arm. “Breathe.”
Evelyne tried. She really did. But the air stayed thin. Her corset was gone, yet the pressure remained, coiled around her ribs like invisible steel.
“I’m so sorry,” Evelyne whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Her voice broke on the word. “For all of this—”
“Don’t.” Isildeth sat next to her. “I’m not angry.”
Evelyne swallowed hard. Her eyes were glassy, but she blinked fast to clear them.
Isildeth exhaled slowly, “I was sad you didn’t trust me with your fears. Or your plans. But I would’ve tried to stop you—I know that. I would’ve dragged you away if I could.”
She gave a faint, wry smile. “But that wouldn’t have been what you needed. Would it?”
Evelyne looked away.
“It cost you,” she said. “It cost you everything you worked for.”
“It’s just a job,” Isildeth replied softly. “You—” she paused, searching Evelyne’s face, “—you needed to find yourself. And you did.”
She looked tired in a way Evelyne hadn’t seen before. Not weary from work, but from witnessing too much and holding it all in.
Evelyne shook her head. “I don’t feel found.”
“No one does at first.” Isildeth sat too, so their eyes met. “You took back something they kept from you. That’s not recklessness, Evelyne. That’s living.” She reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of Evelyne’s hair behind her ear. “And you did it well.”
That was the moment Evelyne’s composure cracked. The breath that left her chest turned into a sob before she could stop it.
“I miss her,” Evelyne gasped.
“I know,” Isildeth whispered, pulling her close, one hand cradling the back of her head like she had when Evelyne was small. “She would be proud of you. Terrified, probably—but proud. You carry her in every stubborn, impossible thing you do.”
Evelyne clung to her then, face buried in the crook of Isildeth’s shoulder. She rocked them gently, as if the motion could rewind time. The scent of lavender and starch filled her lungs, grounding her, and still, the ache wouldn’t fade.
“I’m such a mess,” Evelyne choked out, the words torn from somewhere she never let anyone see. “How am I supposed to be an empress when I can’t even survive a wedding night—when I cry at everything—”
Her shoulders shook once, twice—silent sobs breaking through the facade she’d kept since childhood.
Isildeth’s hold tightened, her voice low and fierce against Evelyne’s hair.
“Oh, my girl… there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing shameful in fear, or grief, or needing someone to hold you”
When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were streaked with salt. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.
“Look at me,” Isildeth insisted firmly. “You’re safe. It’s over.”
Evelyne nodded, though the words didn’t feel true.
“Do you need me to call for the physician?”
Evelyne closed her eyes. The thought of doctors, guards, or witnesses—it was too much. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, shaking her head. “No,” she declared at last, standing up. “I’m going to do it.”
Isildeth regarded her for a long beat before giving a single, deliberate nod. “Alright.”
She turned to the wardrobe and carefully draped a robe over her nightgown, a soft thing of white silk and lace that caught the low light like water.
“Don’t overthink it,” she said, smoothing the sleeve.
“It’ll come naturally. Prince Alaric is a good man.
He’ll…” Her voice faltered for a breath as she adjusted the tie at her waist. “I’m sure he’ll make it as easy for you as he can. ”
The floor-length silk robe whispered against Evelyne’s skin as she reached the door. One last breath. Her hand hovered an inch above the pull, suspended. Then her fingers closed around the bell rope.