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 ahealer!” 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 tocontain 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’tstay 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.”
