Chapter 3
The quiet sanctuary of the library was shattered as Aurelia flung open the door, her cheeks flushed with exasperation.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, her voice bouncing off the high shelves.
Evelyne stirred, blinking drowsily as she lifted her head from where she’d slumped in the armchair. Her nap, it seemed, had come to an abrupt end.
Aurelia sighed, striding over in an elegant flurry of silk skirts. “Honestly, Evelyne, napping? And you—” She rounded on Cillian, who sat nearby, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Why didn’t you wake her? You know how much we have to do before the ball.”
Cillian blinked as though dragged back from some faraway thought. “I, uh…” He glanced at Evelyne, his brow furrowing. “She looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb her.”
Evelyne groaned softly. “Whatever has you in such a state?”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Aurelia said, irritated. “The entire household is in chaos getting ready for tonight, and you’re here sleeping like you don’t have a care in the world.”
Evelyne sat up, brushing her hair back. “Well, I can’t exactly care about the chaos if I’m asleep, can I?” She glanced at Cillian, who seemed distracted again, his gaze fixed on nothing. “Cillian?” she asked softly, tilting her head.
His golden eyes refocused, and he offered a faint smile. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”
Evelyne frowned slightly, noting how distant he seemed, but she chose not to press him. There were more important matters, apparently, given Aurelia’s hovering presence.
“Follow me. Now!” Aurelia insisted.
“Okay, okay.” Evelyne groaned and followed her sister out of the library.
Inside Evelyne’s chambers, Seraphine worked with the careful precision of a sculptor, her fingers deftly arranging Evelyne’s hazelnut curls into another intricate updo.
A few loose tendrils softened the style, lending Evelyne an almost ethereal charm.
She watched in silence while Seraphine’s hands brought the vision in the mirror to life.
Seraphine’s chosen gown for the evening hung on Evelyne’s frame like a second skin, its midnight-blue silk flowing in delicate waves. Tiny diamond embellishments adorned the neckline and hem, catching the glow of the room’s candles and sparkling like liquid starlight.
“You’ll have the entire room at your feet.” Seraphine stepped back with a satisfied nod, scanning Evelyne’s reflection as if evaluating a masterpiece.
Before Evelyne could respond, Aurelia bustled in, holding a small jar of shimmering powder, a mischievous grin on her lips. “Don’t move,” she commanded, dipping a brush into the jar and lightly dusting the glittering powder across Evelyne’s collarbone and the swells of her breasts.
“Aurelia!” Evelyne exclaimed.
“What?” Aurelia gave her an exaggerated look of innocence. “You’ll thank me later when every man in the room forgets how to speak.”
Seraphine smirked while Evelyne rolled her eyes and laughed. “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Of course I am. But you should enjoy it too. You look breathtaking.”
The final touches followed: a precise sweep of liner that made Evelyne’s eyes seem brighter, almost hypnotic, and a rich berry hue on her lips to add a touch of daring sophistication.
With every stroke and adjustment, she felt herself slipping further into the role expected of her tonight.
When Seraphine and Aurelia finally stepped back, their work complete, Evelyne couldn’t help but take a second, more prolonged glance at her reflection.
The woman staring back was radiant, and she even found herself captivated for a moment.
“Well?” Aurelia prompted. “Are you ready to conquer the ballroom?”
Evelyne inhaled deeply. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s make an entrance,” Aurelia declared, linking her arm with Evelyne’s.
Seraphine nodded approvingly as they left the chambers, the soft rustle of Evelyne’s gown and the click of their shoes echoing through the corridor. The night awaited, and with it, dozens of watchful eyes ready to fall on the vision she had become.
The grand ballroom of Duskwood Manor was a breathtaking display of wealth and magnificence.
Crystal chandeliers cascaded from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, their glow reflecting off the polished marble floor.
Above, murals of mythical wolves prowling beneath glistening stars stretched across the vaulted ceilings, adding a touch of magic to the opulent space.
Deep red and gold draperies framed the towering windows, casting an air of regal intimacy over the lively gathering.
Music filled the room as women in sweeping gowns of every shade glided about effortlessly, their silks and satins catching the light like rare jewels.
The men, dashing in their evening coats, exchanged sly smiles and offered hands, their polished boots tapping in time with the rhythm of the dance.
Across the room, clusters of mothers engaged in a silent battle of whispers, carefully orchestrating future unions while their daughters giggled behind fluttering fans.
Evelyne entered on Aurelia’s arm. Her sister was stunningly beautiful in a blush-pink gown with golden undertones highlighting her enviable curves. Diamond combs glittered in her curled blonde hair, and her sharp blue eyes twinkled with excitement. She loved this.
Evelyne scanned the crowd in the ballroom, noting ambition and concealed desperation alike. Her observations, however, were cut short by a familiar face gliding through the throng with the confidence of a fox in a henhouse.
Lord Wesley Bavrick. His auburn hair glowed like polished copper, and his perfectly tailored attire did little to hide his flair for dramatic entrances. He wore his grin as if it were armor, a blend of charm and cheek that made him both irritating and entertaining in equal measure.
“Lady Evelyne,” he said as he reached her, executing an exaggerated bow that bordered on theatrical. “I could hardly bear the thought of enjoying myself until I secured the evening’s most enchanting partner for a dance. May I?”
Evelyne smiled. “If I say no, will you sulk in the corner and ruin the mood for everyone else?”
“Without a doubt,” he replied solemnly, though his grin gave him away. He extended his hand, palm up, a silent challenge.
“Well, that simply will not do,” Evelyne said, placing her gloved hand in his. “Lead the way, my lord.”
Wesley guided her onto the dance floor with a grace that, despite herself, Evelyne found surprising. As the music swelled, they fell into the rhythmic steps of the reel. With a steady hand at her waist and unexpectedly fluid steps, Wesley, she had to admit, wasn’t as hopeless as she thought.
“You’re quite skilled; I wouldn’t have guessed,” she said.
“That almost sounded like a compliment, my lady. If you keep that up, you’ll lose your title as the sharpest in the room.”
She tilted her head. “Oh, I don’t mind sparing a morsel of praise now and then. Besides, everyone will know it was your fault if we stumble.”
“Cruel but fair,” Wesley said. “Though I’m sure I’d be forgiven. A man of my appeal and reputation couldn’t possibly be at fault.”
Evelyne smiled. “Ah yes, your reputation, charging ahead of you like an overexcited dog. I see you’re enjoying the company of this season’s fair maidens.”
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, his gaze lingering on hers. “And here I thought you’d bring up my unparalleled generosity.”
“I’m sure you are very generous, Lord Wesley,” she retorted with a pointed glance. “Particularly when it comes to admiring your dance partners.”
“Caught me,” he said with feigned remorse, though his grin remained unapologetic. “But can you truly fault me for appreciating beauty where it’s due?”
A hint of color warmed Evelyne’s cheeks, though she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “It seems your talent for flattery is greater than I expected.”
As they swirled through the final steps of the dance, Evelyne caught sight of Lord Ivan Bavrick lingering near the edge of the ballroom. His hawkish stare made him seem more like a vulture waiting for scraps than a guest at a ball. Evelyne stiffened, inwardly praying that he’d keep his distance.
When the music ended, Wesley released her with a deep bow. “Thank you for indulging me, Lady Evelyne. I trust this won’t be our only dance of the evening?”
Before she could summon a retort, he straightened and strode away. Evelyne exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she returned to her sister’s side.
“What was that all about?” Aurelia asked teasingly.
“An exercise in patience,” Evelyne replied dryly. “And I’d like it noted that I performed admirably.” She moved toward the refreshment table, her nerves tingling from the dance.
Before she could gather her thoughts, Alaric Stonebridge appeared at her side. His dark hair was immaculately styled, framing a chiseled jaw and a smile that could disarm even the most guarded heart. Dressed in a fitted evening coat, he looked every inch the charming rogue of the aristocracy.
“Lady Evelyne,” he murmured, a teasing note woven into his rich baritone. “Have I mentioned how unfair it is for you to command the room’s attention so thoroughly?”
She turned to him and raised a brow. “You might have, but I wasn’t listening.”
Alaric laughed. “You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “But I’m nothing if not persistent.”
“And predictable,” Evelyne countered smoothly, though her lips quirked upward.
“Ah, but you enjoy it. Admit it.” His blue eyes sparkled as he leaned slightly closer.
Before Evelyne could respond, Callista Evermere’s crisp voice cut through their exchange. Dressed in a striking crimson gown, she approached with the confidence of someone accustomed to getting what she wanted.
“Alaric,” she purred, placing a possessive hand on his arm. “I believe we were to share the next dance?”
Evelyne smiled faintly, masking her irritation. “Don’t let me keep you, Mr. Stonebridge. I’m sure Miss Evermere will be a most entertaining partner.”
Alaric hesitated, his gaze lingering on Evelyne. “This isn’t over,” he muttered before allowing Callista to whisk him away.
The evening unfolded in a symphony of music and dancing, with merriment rippling through the ballroom.
Evelyne even caught her sister laughing with Alaric, the joy of being part of the courting season again shining through.
However, the magic of the ball had faded for Evelyne.
The dazzling chandeliers and elegant gowns no longer held their attraction as exhaustion crept in.
While she had danced and dutifully met her mother’s expectations with forced smiles and polite conversation, all she yearned for now was the quiet solace of her bedchamber.
The pins digging into her scalp and the constriction of her gown felt less like beauty and more like a burden she was desperate to shed.
She had endured the expected courtesies, exchanging pleasantries with noble lords and ladies and even partaking in a second dance with Wesley—mainly as a shield against Ivan, who had been watching her with wine-fueled boldness all evening.
Each time she felt his gaze linger, she braced herself, knowing another tedious attempt at conversation was imminent.
The wine had loosened his restraint, and she knew he’d come close to mustering the courage to approach again.
When Evelyne spotted her mother deep in an animated discussion with a group of matriarchs, she seized the opportunity to slip away, grabbing a flute of champagne on her way out. The night chill greeted her as she stepped into the stillness of the manor’s back patio and sat on a cold bench.
Tilting her face to the stars, Evelyne inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, wishing for the freedom of running—her only refuge amid the chaos of life.
It had always been her escape, the steady beat of her footsteps silencing every thought until only the hush of exhaustion remained.
But tonight, with the ball still alive behind her, she chose solitude instead.
The crash of shattering glass ripped through the stillness, yanking her back to the present. Evelyne twisted toward the sound, her heart jolting as her eyes locked on a silhouette in the dimly lit glass-walled foyer beyond the patio.
Cillian.
He stood among a cascade of broken glass, his hands streaked with blood. His posture was unnervingly still, and his gaze was fixed downward, empty and detached, as red liquid dripped from his fingers to the pool at his feet.
Evelyne gasped and rushed to him. “Cillian!”
He flinched at the sound of her voice, but didn’t move. She reached him, her hands flying to his, frantically wrapping the deep gashes with nearby linens. The blood soaked through almost instantly, her fingers slippery as she tried to staunch the flow.
“Cillian,” she pleaded. “What happened? Tell me.”
His wide eyes met hers, gold flickering in their depths, and for a moment, Evelyne felt like he was a stranger. Terror and confusion flashed across his face as his lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.
Servants arrived in a flurry of motion, bearing bandages and brooms to clean up the shattered glass. Evelyne kept her hand steady on Cillian’s shoulder, guiding him carefully inside. He moved in a daze, as if his body was obedient but his mind elsewhere.
Their father entered the room, his composed presence standing out against the commotion. His eyes scanned the scene before locking on Cillian.
“Summon the healers,” Lord Aron commanded. “Now.”
The servants froze, their eyes darting toward him.
“Not a word to Celeste. Not tonight.”
With that, he turned and strode out, leaving no room for argument.
Evelyne stayed by her brother’s side, watching as the healers tended to his wounds. Cillian drank a tonic reluctantly, its bitterness evident in his grimace, and soon, his body sagged with exhaustion. Evelyne didn’t leave until his breathing deepened into sleep.
No one dared speak of it aloud, but the truth lingered like a storm cloud.
It was happening again.