Before she could say more, Aurelia crossed the room in an instant, dropping to her knees beside the tub. “And Alaric found you?” she asked, reaching for Evelyne’s hands.
“Yes,” Evelyne breathed. “He found me—before it got any worse.”
The horror in Aurelia's eyes said enough; she didn’t need details to understand what had happened.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The words undid Evelyne. Tears welled, then fell in a flood as everything poured out—the fear, the anger, the humiliation. Between trembling breaths and quiet sobs, she told Aurelia everything.
“He’s a monster, Evelyne. I’ll not allow our parents to see you wed to him. Mother must be told.”
“No!” Evelyne said, shaking her head fiercely. “I cannot tell her. I cannot tell anyone.”
Aurelia squeezed Evelyne’s hands. “You do not have to say a word,” she whispered. “I will tell Mother. Men like Ivan must not be allowed to go unchallenged—never again. They ought to be punished, or at the very least prevented from taking innocent wives.”
Evelyne stared at her, the phrasego unchallengedechoing in her mind. What did Aurelia mean by that? She caught a flicker of pain in her sister’s eyes, something deeper than sympathy. A slow, cold understanding crept over her.
“Aurelia… has this happened to you?” she asked.
Aurelia hesitated. Then, she spoke softly.
“Not Leopold. Never him. But years ago, a foul man—one much like Lord Bavrick—tooksomething from me. And you know how society is. Women cannot be seen asruined, not when marriage is their only future.”
Evelyne’s heart broke at the admission. Her perfect, radiant sister had carried her burden of pain beneath a mask of strength and beauty.
“I’m sorry, Aurelia. I never knew.”
Aurelia gave a faint, bittersweet smile. “It’s in the past. Perhaps I shall share the story at another time. Besides, I’ve found happiness now—with Leopold. He makes me feel safe. Loved.”
Evelyne nodded, silently vowing to cherish her brother-in-law for being the light Aurelia needed. Sensing her sister didn’t want to linger on her own story, she said, “Thank you.”
Aurelia stood, retrieving a towel from the nearby rack. She draped it over Evelyne’s shoulders, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face.
“That’s what sisters are for,” she said, giving Evelyne one last reassuring squeeze before leaving.
Chapter 14
Cillian ran his fingers along the wood grain of his desk, the slight motion grounding him as his thoughts swirled. Breakfast had been quieter than usual, and Evelyne’s absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.Odd, he thought, though he’d overheard servants murmuring about Alaric Stonebridge spending the night in the library with her. Servants constantly gossiped, and Cillian had a habit of catching their whispers. His parents hadn’t seemed concerned, likely knowing it wasn’t romantic. Still, something had happened, and he hoped Evelyne would tell him soon. Even Aurelia, usually full of energy, had been uncharacteristically quiet.
The unease wasn’t just in the room but in him, too. There was too much on everyone’s mind and far too much on his own. Last night, as he’d pored over the same borrowed book from Velenshire for the third time, another vision had seized his thoughts. It always began with her—the woman who invaded his mind—followed by an image. This time, the vision had brought more than the cursed tree. Wild, unnatural red eyes had pierced the darkness and stared into him until the world snapped back into place.
What did it all mean? The visions felt disjointed, as if they had nothing to do with the strange presence stirring within him. They always came after the white-haired woman faded from sight.
In the book, he found an illustration of a tree strikingly similar to the one in his visions. But the tree on the page was vibrant, its branches full and thriving, like a symbol of resilience. In his mind, it was nothing but a shadow of itself. The exact shape, unmistakable, yet lifeless. Its skeletal branches stretched into a silver haze, reaching for something out of its grasp.
He didn’t want to think about the darker parts of the hallucination and the way his thoughts spiraled in its wake. His mind had been a battlefield recently, caught between what he knew to be real and what felt insidiously vivid.
Cillian heard a soft knock at the door, and turned just as Evelyne stepped in. She held something close to her chest, her damp hair curling around her shoulders and clinging to her back. There was a faint crease in her brow, which he recognized as worry, though she seemed determined to mask it.
“I thought of you,” she said, stepping closer and extending the object toward him—a small, leather-bound book with a deep green cover. The title caught his eye:The Lantern’s Keeper.
“Something I found in the market,” she added, a shrug accompanying her words as though downplaying its significance. But Cillian saw through her. Evelyne never did anything lightly, especially not for him.
“Thank you.” He took the book carefully, letting his fingers graze the cover before flipping it open. It smelled faintly of aged paper and ink, comforting in a way he couldn’t explain.
He glanced up to find Evelyne watching him, her expression softer now. Gratitude bloomed in his chest, and for a fleeting moment he wanted to tell her how much it meant. But beneath that gratitude, an unwelcome thought gnawed at him: did she pity him? Did she see him as fragile, broken?
No,he scolded himself. Evelyne wasn’t like that.
Those weren’t his words anyway. They werehers.
