Alaric narrowed his gaze, unfolding the map entirely. At first glance, it looked no different from any other map of the trade routes—but as his fingers brushed the inked surface, something throbbed beneath his skin, a low pulse of energy that prickled up his arm.
Magic.
He clenched his jaw, tucking the map into his pocket before looking back at the noble couple. “Thank you. I will, uh… do my best to solve this problem.”
Lady Mireya tilted her head, watching him with something unreadable in her eyes before she finally smiled. “Do be careful, Alaric,” she said, her voice a velvety warning wrapped in amusement. “We’d hate to lose another handsome face from the south.”
Lady Mireya was a woman who delighted in her position, draped in the elegance of nobility like a second skin. Lord Corvin, much older than her and seemingly indifferent to her playful flirtations with Alaric, made no effort to curb her boldness. Why would he? He was the one who held the power, the one who could summon her to his bed whenever he pleased.
Yet beneath her teasing smirk was something else—a guarded edge, a glint of unease carefully concealed behind charm and sharp wit. She played the role of the confident lady well, but Alaric suspected it was merely a mask, shielding whatever fears she refused to voice.
He gulped, but forced a chuckle. This was ridiculous. Whispers of vanishing men. Maps that sensed magic. A woman in the market who would “find” him.
And yet… something deep within him whispered that was precisely where he needed to go.
Without hesitation, he set off for the market. As he navigated the bustling streets, a quiet pull—neither forceful nor gentle, but insistent—steered him toward a small shop between the rows of vendors. He stepped inside, and his breath caught in his chest.
Evelyne.
She stood before him, her eyes locking onto his with a fire that burned hotter than any words she could have spoken. Confusion. Hatred. Pain. It seared through him, leaving him hollowed out from the inside.
And he deserved it. Every bit of it.
Chapter 21
“Why areyou here?” Evelyne spat through clenched teeth. Just looking at Alaric made her skin burn with anger.
Alaric hesitated, his eyes flashing between her and the woman behind the counter. “I… I’m here to see—” He paused, turning to the shopkeeper. “Are you Charise Hallowell?”
At the sound of her name, Evelyne stiffened. Only now did she shift her attention to the shopkeeper, the woman watching them both with an almost amused glint in her eyes.
She smiled. “I am.”
Alaric stepped further inside, and Evelyne immediately moved away, carefully keeping as much distance between them as possible. They hadn’t spoken since the ball. Not about what had happened or what she’d seen, and she had no intention of starting that conversation now.
“What is this?” Evelyne demanded. “What’s going on?”
Charise’s smile didn’t falter. “I summoned you both here. The pull you felt—that was me.” She extended a hand, gesturing toward the back of the shop. It was a silent instruction, a wordless request for them to follow.
Evelyne wanted to walk right back out the door. She should have. But instead, she moved forward, frustration bubbling beneath her skin.
Alaric followed. “So you’re able to summon magic?” he asked Charise.
She didn’t stop, only parted the heavy curtain leading into the dimly lit back room. “Yes,” she answered. The space was small, a single circular table surrounded by wooden chairs at its center. Charise gestured for them both to sit. “Make yourselves comfortable. I promise to answer your questions, but first, let me get you some tea.” Without another word, she slipped through the curtain, leaving them alone.
Alaric leaned in slightly. “Did you travel here alone?”
“Yes,” Evelyne replied coldly. She had no desire to speak with him.
“Why? What happened?”
Of course—he didn’t know. The last thing he likely remembered was tearing her heart apart at the ball.
“Why are you looking for Charise?” she asked.
Alaric exhaled. “My father sent me to meet with Lord and Lady Shaw. They, in turn, sent me here.”
He looked at her again; this time, his expression was raw. “Evelyne, please. What happened?”
