Chapter 10
The garden’s greenery enclosed Evelyne in its usual embrace, hedges neatly trimmed and flowers adding bursts of color. But today, the space brought her no comfort. She sat at the stone table, absently running her fingers along her teacup’s rim. The tea had gone cold, though she had barely noticed.
Her thoughts drifted back to Cillian. To his pale complexion and the dark smudges beneath his eyes.
Her parents had kept his collapse from her, because they hadn’t wanted to “spoil” her mood before the Stonebridge dinner.
Their excuse had been ridiculous, and the lie still stung, but it was seeing him at breakfast that had left her truly unsettled.
The light in him had dimmed, and though it was clear he was pulling away, no one else seemed willing to admit it or offer an explanation.
She wanted answers from her parents, from the healers, from Cillian himself.
Instead, she sat in silence, tapping her teacup with anxious fingers.
Resting her elbows on the table, she pressed her hands to her temples and let out a long breath.
She had woken hopeful for a quiet morning with Alaric. Now, she just wanted it behind her.
The crunch of gravel drew her attention, making her sit up straighter and turn toward the garden’s entrance.
A moment later, Alaric stepped through the ivy-covered archway, his tall frame cutting a striking silhouette against the greenery.
He appeared miles away in thought, but upon meeting her gaze, he composed himself and offered a polite smile.
“Good morning, Lady Evelyne.”
“Good morning, Mr. Stonebridge,” she replied, gesturing to the chair across from her.
She noticed a slight hesitation when he reached for it, and caught the brief tap of his fingers against the table before he stopped himself.
“You seem distracted,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Is everything all right?”
For a brief moment, Alaric looked surprised, but then he laughed softly, brushing a hand through his dark hair. “You caught me. My mind has been a bit… preoccupied this morning. But I promise I’m here now.” He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I see. Well, I suppose we’re both a bit distracted today,” she admitted, her voice quieter than intended.
Alaric leaned in, his expression gentler with concern. “What’s on your mind?”
She opened her mouth to answer but stopped as a sharp cry cut through the garden. Evelyne’s head snapped toward the sound, her pulse quickening. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it. But then it came again, clearer this time, and dread coiled in her gut as she guessed who it might be.
“Cillian,” she whispered, rising from her seat.
Alaric stood immediately, his hand resting lightly on her arm as if to steady her. “What’s happening?”
“It’s my brother,” Evelyne said, already moving toward the sound.
Her heart pounded as she hurried through the garden paths, Alaric close behind. When they turned the corner, the sight before made her still.
Cillian was on his knees, his hands tightly clasped around his head as if trying to shield himself from an unbearable noise that only he could perceive. His body shook uncontrollably, each gasp blurring the line between a sob and a breath.
Evelyne was at his side in seconds, kneeling, her hand hovering helplessly above his shoulder as she searched for a way to ease his pain. “Cillian!” she said urgently. “It’s me, Evelyne. You’re safe. You’re all right.”
But Cillian seemed oblivious to her presence. His eyes were tightly shut, his lips moving silently as if he were conversing with someone. He began to rock back and forth, digging his fingernails into his face.
“Cillian, stop,” Evelyne said softly, trying to hold back tears. But as the blood slid down his cheeks, she could do nothing but watch.
“Get out of my head!” Cillian screamed. Evelyne recoiled at the sound but refused to move away from him.
Alaric knelt on his other side. “Cillian,” he said, firmly but smoothly. “Breathe with me. In and out. Focus on my voice.”
Evelyne watched as Alaric worked to calm Cillian, his voice gentle, threading through the chaos like a tether. In that moment, she felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude for his steady presence.
After what felt like an eternity, Cillian’s ragged breathing eased, and the tightness in his frame began to loosen.
Everyone was quiet as he blinked back to awareness.
Then, catching Evelyne’s gaze, he broke.
His sobs rose uncontrollably as he leaned into her, blood marking her once-pristine pink dress.
Evelyne’s heart clenched as she held him close, her hands moving gently across his back in a soothing rhythm. Seeing him like this, shaken and bleeding, filled her with a sudden, bone-deep fear.
“Someone get a healer!” she screamed.
Servants rushed forward, their faces etched with worry as they lifted Cillian from Evelyne’s arms and carried him away. She watched motionless, her hand lingering in the air where his head had rested.
As Cillian disappeared, Evelyne’s eyes fell upon Alaric. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Alaric gave a small nod, but his eyes didn’t leave the direction Cillian had gone. “He’ll be all right,” he murmured, finally turning to face her. “He will.”
He reached out, his hand resting lightly atop hers. Evelyne glanced at the contact, but unease pressed at her ribs. For all the comfort it meant to offer, they both knew better than to trust in false assurances.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness that. I’m so, so sorry.
I saw him struggling, slipping away… and instead of doing everything I could to help him, I turned a blind eye and hoped it was just a phase again.
” Her voice cracked with guilt and shame.
“I smiled and pretended everything was fine. I played the part of the dutiful daughter, focusing on appearances and pleasing my parents…” She trailed off, unable to continue.
Then she took a shuddering breath and confessed, “I chose my pride over him. Over my brother. I failed him when he needed me the most.” She looked to Alaric.
“Do you know what that makes me? A coward. A selfish, spineless coward.”
He moved closer. “You’re not a coward, Evelyne. You were doing what you thought was right—what you were taught to value. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
She shook her head, anger bubbling to the surface. “Don’t justify it. Don’t excuse what I did or didn’t do. He needed me, and I—” Her words faltered, a sob escaping despite her efforts to contain it.
He squeezed her hands. “And you’re here now,” he said quietly. “You’re here, and that matters. You’re trying. That matters.”
She allowed herself to meet his gaze fully for the first time, and the empathy she found there tightened her throat. “But what if it’s too late? What if I’ve already failed him?”
“It’s never too late to fight for the people we love. Not until the last moment.”
“What if I cannot mend what’s broken in him?”
He offered a soft, almost wistful smile. “Then let it be our burden to share. You don’t have to bear it alone.” Alaric wrapped his arms around her, his fingers brushing through her hair with surprising tenderness. “I’m your friend,” he whispered. “And I’ll be right here—no matter what.”
She didn’t reply, only leaned closer, letting herself be held, letting the silence say what words couldn’t.
When she withdrew from his embrace, she quickly blotted her eyes and pressed her palms to her cheeks, eager to restore her composure. “I must check on him,” she said, managing a small smile. “Perhaps we might resume this another day?”
“Of course.” Alaric smiled back as he turned to go.
Once he was out of sight, she rushed to Cillian’s bedchamber.
The door was cracked open slightly, and as she approached, her parents’ hushed voices reached her ears.
Evelyne peeked inside and saw Cillian lying still on the bed, his face freshly cleaned but bearing scratches on his temples.
A healer had likely given him a potent tonic, leaving him in a deep, necessary sleep.
In the corner of the room, her parents spoke in low tones, their expressions etched with worry.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Celeste,” her father murmured, frustration threading through his voice.
“He can’t stay here. It’s drawing too much attention, and now these episodes are spilling beyond the walls of this house.
Alaric witnessed it today, for heaven’s sake. ”
“And where, exactly, do you suggest we send him, Aron?” her mother shot back. “We can’t risk the southern lands, where gossip spreads like wildfire. And I will not have my son sent north!”
The sharpness in her voice startled Evelyne. She hadn’t expected such fierce protectiveness, hadn’t realized her mother cared so deeply. Were they genuinely considering sending Cillian away?
“I need time to think,” her father retorted. “The healers are useless. They’ve given us no answers and have yet to fix him.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t need fixing,” her mother snapped. “Perhaps he just needs someone to listen to and understand him.”
Evelyne’s eyes darted back to her brother, his face serene in sleep, unaware of the conversation swirling around him. She prayed he couldn’t hear their words; this was not a discussion he should ever have to bear.
“I said I need time. Tomorrow, I’m meeting with the Stonebridge family to handle our other crisis. If Alaric breathes a word of what he saw today, I’ll have to explain it to Gaviel.”
“Fine,” her mother replied.
Evelyne heard their footsteps approaching and quickly slipped away to the safety of her room. Her mind spun with questions. Could she talk to Alaric before the meeting? Urge him to stay quiet? She doubted he would speak out—despite his teasing nature, he was honorable.
She had to get out. Had to run until the wind stung her face and the pounding of her steps chased away the whirlwind in her head. The day had been unbearable and she couldn’t sit with her thoughts any longer—she needed an escape, even if only for a little while.
Stripping off her blood-speckled dress, Evelyne let the garment slip to the floor before stepping into a pair of Cillian’s old, soft-fitting trousers, then pulled a loose white tunic over her head, its fabric draping easily around her frame.
Turning to the mirror, she caught sight of her puffy, reddened eyes.
With trembling hands, she swept her hair back and began braiding it, each twist and knot down her back a quiet act of regaining control.
By the time the braid was secured, she felt steadier, though the ache in her chest remained.
She paused to take a deep breath before stepping outside. Once the spring air softly brushed her face, she broke into a run without another thought.