***
It started one evening in the library. Cillian, a teen at the time, had been reading in a chair by the fire while Evelyne sorted through books at the far end of the room. The atmosphere was peaceful, as it often was when they shared that space, until Cillian’s voice broke through the silence. At first, it sounded like faint, nonsensical muttering. Evelyne had laughed, thinking he was teasing her or practicing some dramatic monologue. But when she turned to look at him, her smile faded.
Cillian stood frozen, his gaze locked on the fireplace. His complexion was ashen, and his golden eyes had turned an unsettling shade of black, devoid of any life or awareness. His lips moved quickly, forming words she couldn’t understand.
“Cillian?” Evelyne’s voice wavered, but he gave no response. His body remained rigid, his focus unbroken. A cold sensation crept over her as she rushed to his side, trying to shake him gently. But he didn’t react at all.
Panic hit her. She ran from the room, shouting for her parents.
By the time they returned, they found Cillian collapsed on the floor. He was on his knees, hands grasping at the air like he was struggling against something invisible. Evelyne could only stand in the doorway, trembling, as she watched her brother writhe in agony. When the fitpassed, he lay there motionless, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Their mother knelt beside him, her composure cracking for the first time Evelyne could remember.
Healers were summoned immediately, and for weeks afterward, the household was consumed by uncertainty and fear. The hallucinations came and went, each episode more terrifying than the last. But the healers offered no clear explanations and gave only vague assurances that they would likely resolve over time.
One night, Evelyne refused to leave Cillian’s side after a particularly harrowing fit. She helped him to bed and pulled a chair close, unable to shake the sound of his anguished screams. Settling into the chair, she began reading aloud, page after page, trying to drown out the memory of his cries with the steady rhythm of her voice.
Sometime in the night, Cillian stirred. She glanced up just in time to see his golden eyes flicker open, locking onto hers for a fleeting moment before darkness pulled him under again.
“No!” he cried out. “Leave me alone. Please…” The last word came out in a whisper, barely audible, before his body stilled and he drifted back into sleep. The sound of his voice struck her like a blow, her chest tightening with helplessness. What kind of torment gripped him so deeply? She wished she could take the pain from him, absorb the fear he carried alone. But that night marked a turning point. From then on, Cillian’s nightmares seemed to fade, and Evelyne’s entire outlook began to shift.
How could she focus on dances and suitors when her brother’s wellbeing was so precarious? The little excitement she’d once associated with her debut season faded into insignificance. As Cillian gradually regained his strength, Evelyne became increasingly disenchanted with the idea of marriage. Especially when the men she encountered at social gatheringsalways seemed preoccupied with superficial ambitions, their interests centered only on fortune or appearances. She could no longer feign enthusiasm for their exaggerated stories or insincere flattery. Each interaction left her feeling more distant from the life her parents envisioned for her.
Yet now, here she was, preparing to step back into that world one last time—not for herself, but to appease them. This time, however, it had to end with her finding someone.
Chapter 2
WhenEvelyne returned to her chambers, the bath was ready and the room was filled with the calming scent of lavender oil—no doubt Seraphine’s doing. She longed to sink into the warm water, doze off even, but Aurelia’s warning still echoed in her thoughts.“Two hours, Evelyne. If you’re not ready, I’ll storm in, brush in hand!”Just imagining her sister lecturing her on the arts of courtship while applying endless rouge made her shudder.
“Seraphine, you are my savior,” Evelyne called out as she entered the tub. The water embraced her skin with soothing heat, and she sighed deeply.
“Well, my lady, you might not think so when I lace up your corset,” Seraphine teased from the dressing room.
Evelyne chuckled. “I’d still choose you over Aurelia’s schemes of matrimony.” She leaned back, letting the lavender relax her tense shoulders, though her thoughts were far from calm.
The mere thought of the upcoming luncheon filled her with dread—it would mean enduring the company of Lord Ivan Bavrick of Rosewyth. Though hailing from a land renowned for its enchanting gardens and breathtaking vistas, Bavrick seemed a blight on Rosewyth’s beauty, a man whose demeanor and appearance clashed sharply with his homeland’s idyllic charm.
Ivan Bavrick was nearing forty, his balding head a patchy canvas of ruddy freckled skin and thinning strands of auburn hair awkwardly combed over in a futile attempt to disguise the inevitable. His perpetually flushed complexion bore the telltale signs of indulgence, whether from his fondness for long days under the sun or a far stronger fondness for liquor. Evelyne suspected the latter, especially given how he always leaned in too close, his breath heavy with the stench of bourbon and garlic.
He was insufferably dull, bloated with self-importance, and spoke in a booming voice that made mundane topics, like estate management, feel like endless lectures. He boasted constantly about his wealth and crop yields, never noticing Evelyne’s clear disinterest. And his laugh—loud, grating, and utterly obnoxious—seemed to linger in the air long after he was gone, leaving her nerves thoroughly frayed.
She had perfected the art of avoidance, slipping through crowds and into alcoves at the first glimpse of Bavrick’s flushed face. Yet no matter how deftly she evaded him, he always managed to find her, drink in hand, as relentless as a hound on a scent.
Evelyne groaned softly. She could already picture him approaching with those overly enthusiastic eyes searching hers as if daring her to escape.
“Do you think I could pretend to be ill?” Evelyne asked with genuine consideration.
“I wouldn’t dare suggest it, my lady,” Seraphine replied. “Lady Aurelia would drag you out, nightgown and all.”
Evelyne let out a soft laugh. “You’re probably right.”
After soaking for a while, shereluctantly stepped out of the tub, allowing Seraphine to drape a towel over her shoulders.
“Now,” Seraphine said, guiding her toward the vanity, “let’s make you a vision no one will forget.” Her hands moved swiftly as she pinned Evelyne’s brown curls into an elegant style. “If the lords aren’t captivated by your hair, they’ll be enchanted by your eyes.”
Evelyne raised an eyebrow. “My ‘plain golden eyes,’ as Aurelia calls them?”
“Plain? If the sun had a color, it would look like your eyes. Aurelia only says that because she hasn’t got them herself.”
“You always know how to make me feel better.”
