The words fell like an executioner's axe—sharp, final, and impossible to ignore.
Luke's jaw clenched. He stepped forward, his hand moving instinctively toward the hilt of his sword, fury flashing in his eyes.
"Watch your words, Lord Severin," he growled. "She is a princess of this realm—"
"Now, now… Sir Luke. Do calm yourself."
The commanding voice cut through the tension.
Lord Maurel Thorne stepped between them, his embroidered coat catching the candlelight as he moved with the effortless arrogance of a man accustomed to controlling every room he entered.
A familiar smirk played upon his lips.
He glanced at Luke first, then turned toward Evelyne, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"There's no need to rattle your sword, brave knight. Surely Lord Severin isn't threatening our dear princess."
His gaze shifted toward the Northern envoy.
"Or is he?"
Lord Severin Marell inclined his head slightly. A faint smile touched his lips, though there was little warmth in it.
"Of course not, Lord Maurel."
His attention returned to Evelyne.
"His Grace sends only a message. Not a threat."
"Then explain yourself," Maurel replied, gesturing grandly. "Some of us aren't fluent in Northern dramatics."
Severin folded his gloved hands behind his back.
His expression remained composed, but his eyes gleamed like polished steel.
"The Duke has grown impatient."
A murmur stirred among the gathered nobles.
"He has waited long enough in silence. The engagement was declared by His Majesty himself, yet preparations have scarcely begun. No response. No reply. No bride."
He took a measured step forward, his boots tapping against the marble.
"This letter is not an ultimatum, Your Highness. It is a reminder. A courtesy, if you will."
His gaze briefly flickered toward Luke before returning to Maurel.
"And before anyone decides to draw steel, understand this: my Duke sends his respects. But he has little patience for unnecessary delays."
Silence descended upon the grand hall.
The nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Even the servants standing along the walls seemed reluctant to breathe too loudly.
Evelyne remained perfectly still.
Her expression was carved from ice and moonlight, revealing neither fear nor hesitation. Only her gloved fingers, clasped before her, betrayed the tension she kept hidden.
She tilted her head slightly.
"So, the North grows restless."
Severin watched her with quiet interest.
Evelyne paused before continuing, her voice smooth and cold enough to frost glass.
"Then let the Duke know…"
Her eyes narrowed.
"He is not the only one who has grown tired of waiting."
A murmur swept through the hall.
Several guards exchanged glances. One of the older nobles looked as though he had just witnessed someone sign her own death warrant.
Severin did not flinch.
Yet the faint movement of his jaw suggested that her answer had caught him off guard.
"Then perhaps," he replied, "we understand one another better than I expected, Your Highness."
Maurel gave a theatrical chuckle, attempting to dispel the tension.
"Oh, how thrilling! A princess who answers diplomacy with riddles."
He leaned toward Severin and lowered his voice into a stage whisper that was deliberately loud enough for the surrounding nobles to hear.
"Careful, my lord. She might start speaking in curses next."
A few courtiers laughed nervously.
Evelyne did not even look at him.
Instead, she turned toward the great doors, her posture straight and her chin lifted.
"Tell your Duke something else, Lord Severin."
The envoy's attention sharpened.
Evelyne began walking.
"If he wishes to take…"
Her footsteps echoed across the marble.
"He had best come prepared to lose something first."
The grand doors swung open before her and closed behind her with a heavy, resounding thud.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Luke followed, casting a final glare at Severin and Maurel before disappearing through the doors after his princess.
Only when Evelyne had vanished did Lord Severin release a slow breath.
His eyes remained fixed on the doorway.
An intriguing woman, he thought.
Perhaps the rumors surrounding Princess Evelyne Rosenthal had never told the entire story.
Behind him, Lord Maurel broke the silence with an exaggerated sigh.
"Truly, she speaks like the ghost everyone whispers about."
He turned toward the servants gathered along the walls, his smile widening as he raised his voice.
"Careful, Lord Severin. Your Duke might drop dead the moment he kisses her hand."
A ripple of laughter passed through the hall.
Some of the maids covered their mouths. A footman exchanged a knowing glance with another servant, while a few guards allowed themselves to smile.
The whispers followed almost immediately.
"She is cursed. Everyone knows it."
"Perhaps she really does drag their souls away."
"No wonder the North wants her. One monster deserves another."
The cruel words spread through the hall like poison seeping beneath a locked door.
Severin remained where he stood.
He neither laughed nor joined their conversation.
Instead, he slowly turned his head toward Maurel.
Then he smiled.
It was not a friendly smile.
It was the kind of grin one might glimpse just before a predator struck.
"Ah, Lord Maurel…"
His voice was silk wrapped around a blade.
"Still desperate to be noticed by kings, I see. How unfortunate that your words carry less weight"
The laughter died instantly.
Even the servants froze.
Maurel's smile faltered.
Severin took one deliberate step forward.
"As for Duke Acheron Vale…"
His tone remained conversational, almost pleasant.
"You mock a man who broke the rebellion at Red Hollow, held the Northern Pass through three winters of siege, and sent a rebel general's heart back to the capital in a wine box."
Another step.
"Those are not the accomplishments of a man who frightens easily."
Severin tilted his head.
"So forgive me if I find it amusing when men who have never witnessed a battlefield mock curses and crowns in the same breath."
Maurel's expression tightened.
For the first time that evening, the Hand of the King appeared to have lost his next line.
His mouth opened, then closed.
Severin's smile faded as his gaze drifted briefly toward the doors through which Evelyne had disappeared.
Something about Maurel's behavior had begun to trouble him.
At first, he had assumed the Hand of the King was merely another court official eager to humiliate a princess whose reputation had already been ruined by tragedy.
But the more Severin observed him, the less convincing that explanation became.
It was not simply the mockery.
It was the way Maurel watched Evelyne whenever her name was mentioned. The way his attention sharpened whenever another man addressed her. The way his smile grew strained whenever she spoke to someone without acknowledging him.
Severin had spent enough years among nobles, generals, and political schemers to recognize the difference between a man who despised someone and a man who believed he had a claim over them.
Maurel's behavior resembled the latter.
When Evelyne had answered the Duke's message, Severin had noticed the Hand of the King's eyes following her every movement.
Even after she left the hall, Maurel had continued watching the doors through which she had disappeared.
And when Luke followed her, Maurel's expression had briefly darkened.
It was a small change.
Almost imperceptible.
But Severin had seen it.
How interesting.
His gaze moved toward the closed doors.
Princess Evelyne Rosenthal was surrounded by rumors of death and misfortune. The court called her cursed, her father treated her as a political inconvenience, and the servants spoke of her as though she were a monster wearing a human face.
Yet the man who seemed most eager to ridicule her had been watching her far too closely.
Severin turned his attention back to Maurel.
The Hand of the King was laughing with the surrounding nobles, performing his usual act of superiority. But his eyes kept drifting toward the doorway.
There was something possessive in that gaze.
Something that had little to do with duty or loyalty to the crown.
You don't merely dislike the princess, Severin realized. You dislike that she can leave you behind.
His expression remained pleasant, but his interest sharpened.
Perhaps Maurel's hostility toward Evelyne was not born entirely from contempt. Perhaps there was something far more personal beneath it—a desire to control her, to keep her within reach, and to ensure that no other man could claim the place he believed belonged to him.
Severin could not yet know the full truth.
But he knew enough to recognize an ugly secret when he saw one.
And he had never been particularly fond of men who mistook obsession for ownership.
Maurel finally noticed his stare.
"Is something amusing, Lord Severin?"
The question carried a warning beneath its polished courtesy.
Severin offered him a faint smile.
"Nothing at all, my lord."
His eyes briefly flickered toward the doors again.
"I'm simply beginning to understand the court a little better."
Maurel's expression tightened.
"And what, precisely, do you think you understand?"
Severin's smile widened by the smallest degree.
"That some men are far more interested in a princess than they would ever dare admit."
For one fleeting instant, Maurel's composure cracked.
His fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass.
Then the familiar smirk returned.
"I suggest you concern yourself with your Duke's affairs, Lord Severin. The princess is none of your business."
"Of course."
Severin inclined his head.
But his eyes remained cold.
Interesting, he thought. You are very quick to declare her none of my business for a man who claims to have no particular interest in her.
He decided not to press the matter.
Not yet.
Instead, he allowed his smile to grow almost friendly.
"Still, Lord Maurel, I would be careful."
Maurel narrowed his eyes.
"Careful of what?"
Severin leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping so that only the men nearest them could hear.
"Sometimes, the person a man tries hardest to keep under his thumb is the very person who will one day bring his entire world crashing down."
Then he straightened, his expression returning to its usual composure.
"And now, if you'll excuse me, I believe we were discussing the North."
Maurel said nothing.
But Severin had seen enough.
Whatever bound the Hand of the King to Princess Evelyne, it was not affection in any ordinary sense.
And if Maurel truly believed he could keep her trapped forever, then he had made a dangerous mistake.
For the first time that evening, Severin found himself wondering not whether Princess Evelyne was cursed—
but what might happen when she finally decided to fight back.
Severin's smile deepened, but his voice was barely above a whisper now.
"And as for your King…"
His gaze lifted toward the enormous portrait of King Aldric hanging above the hall.
"I sincerely hope His Majesty understands the difference between marrying off a daughter…"
He paused.
"…and provoking the North."
Maurel turned sharply toward him.
"What did you say?"
Severin did not answer immediately.
Instead, he walked toward the center of the hall, clasping his hands behind his back as though he had all the time in the world.
"I find it rather amusing," he said, addressing no one in particular and everyone at once, "that the princess is mocked for surviving misfortune while the rest of you wear cowardice like medals."
The words settled over the court.
No one dared laugh now.
Severin slowly turned toward Maurel, whose face had begun to flush with anger.
Maurel stepped forward.
"Mock her all you want, Lord Severin, but you will not speak against the King in his own court! This is our realm, not some frostbitten ruin!"
Severin regarded him with an expression of mild curiosity.
Then he smiled again.
"Ah. Now I understand."
His voice was soft, almost gentle.
"Apparently, it is acceptable to mock a grieving daughter. Acceptable to laugh at a woman who has lost more than half this court has ever had the courage to risk."
He tilted his head.
"But the King?"
His smile vanished for an instant.
"Ah, yes. He is sacred."
The air seemed to grow colder.
Severin's eyes held something darker than contempt. His composure was almost unnerving, and the faint amusement that had lingered at the corners of his mouth disappeared entirely.
"Do remind His Majesty of something for me, Lord Maurel."
Maurel stiffened.
"The North does not fear curses. It does not tremble before kings, nor does it bow to courts filled with men who mistake cruelty for strength."
Severin stepped closer.
"We fear only weakness."
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other.
Then Severin inclined his head, offering a bow that was technically courteous and unmistakably insulting.
"Tell your King the North will take what it is owed."
He turned away.
His dark cloak swept behind him as he crossed the grand hall, his boots echoing against the marble.
He did not bow to the portrait of King Aldric.
He did not offer Maurel another glance.
Instead, before leaving, he looked once toward the doorway through which Evelyne had disappeared.
Then he walked out.
The great doors closed behind him.
The laughter had died.
And for once, Lord Maurel Thorne had nothing to say.
---
The palace corridor was dimly illuminated by golden sconces.
Evelyne walked ahead, her heels clicking softly against the marble. Her posture remained impeccable, her shoulders straight and her head held high.
To anyone watching, she was the picture of a princess who had refused to be intimidated by a foreign envoy.
Only Luke, who had known her since childhood, noticed the tension in her hands.
He followed several steps behind, his hand resting near his sword.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Luke quickened his pace until he was walking beside her.
"Evelyne."
She continued forward.
"Hmm?"
"Are you planning to explain what happened in there?"
"Which part?"
"The part where you practically challenged a northern duke without even meeting him."
She glanced at him.
"I thought you would be proud of me."
"I am."
His answer came so quickly that she almost stumbled.
Luke sighed.
"That's the problem. I'm proud of you, and I'm also trying to determine whether you've decided to get yourself killed before breakfast tomorrow."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"You worry too much."
"Someone has to. You certainly don't seem interested in preserving your own life."
The smile faded.
Luke noticed.
He always noticed.
His voice softened.
"Evelyne, what happened before you came to the hall?"
Her steps faltered for the briefest moment.
She remembered Maurel's office.
The locked door.
His hand at her waist.
The way he had spoken of her as though her life were something he had patiently waited to claim.
Her stomach twisted.
"Nothing happened."
Luke stopped walking.
She took two more steps before realizing he was no longer beside her.
When she turned, he was watching her with an expression she knew all too well.
He was not angry with her.
He was worried.
"Evelyne," he said quietly, "you don't have to pretend with me."
For one terrible moment, she nearly told him everything.
She nearly crossed the distance between them, seized his hands, and confessed every threat, every unwanted touch, and every time she had stood behind Maurel's office door wishing someone would come looking for her.
But the memory of Maurel's warning stopped her.
Luke.
She could still hear the way he had spoken her friend's name.
The casual threat hidden beneath it.
Evelyne could not bear the thought of Maurel hurting Luke because of her.
So she smiled.
It was a small, practiced smile—the kind she had learned to wear at court long before she understood that a princess could be lonely.
"I'm simply tired," she said. "It has been a long evening."
Luke studied her for a moment.
Then he sighed and stepped closer.
"You know," he murmured, "you've been a terrible liar since we were children."
"Then perhaps you should stop asking questions you already know the answers to."
He gave her a look.
"That was almost clever."
"Almost?"
"Don't become arrogant, Princess."
A quiet laugh escaped her.
For a heartbeat, she felt like the girl who used to climb the old sycamore tree with him, who had once smacked his arm for laughing at her crooked embroidery.
Then the moment passed.
Luke offered her his arm.
"Come on. I'll escort you to your chambers."
Evelyne hesitated.
"Won't the Queen be expecting you?"
"She has enough ladies-in-waiting to fill an entire ballroom. She'll survive without me for a few minutes."
She accepted his arm.
Together, they continued down the corridor.
Evelyne said nothing more about Maurel.
And Luke, despite his growing unease, did not press her again.
---
They had almost reached the eastern passage when a familiar voice drifted toward them.
"Oh, Evelyne."
The princess stopped.
Queen Seraphina approached from the opposite end of the corridor, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting.
Her golden hair had been braided intricately, and the jewels at her throat glittered beneath the candlelight. One hand rested protectively over her swollen belly while the other lifted the edge of her embroidered gown.
She wore the serene expression of a woman who believed the entire palace existed to admire her.
Her ladies followed close behind, exchanging little smiles and whispers.
"How did it go?" Seraphina asked sweetly.
Evelyne inclined her head.
"Your Majesty."
"Has the grim North finally found you suitable, or will they return you in a casket too?"
A few of the ladies-in-waiting giggled behind their fans.
Luke's expression darkened.
Evelyne, however, remained composed.
"The North does not return what it claims, Your Majesty."
Seraphina's smile stiffened.
For a brief moment, the Queen seemed unable to decide whether she had been insulted.
Then her ladies burst into laughter again, though this time their amusement was far less certain.
"Ever the perfect tongue, dear Evelyne," Seraphina said, her voice sharpening. "But no amount of silver words can cleanse your name of its… decay."
Evelyne looked at the Queen's hand resting upon her belly.
She knew exactly what Seraphina wanted her to see.
The unborn child.
The promised heir.
The future King whom Aldric had already begun to favor before the child had even drawn its first breath.
Seraphina noticed her gaze and rubbed her belly with exaggerated tenderness.
"Soon, this kingdom will finally have the future it deserves."
Her eyes lifted to Evelyne's.
"A true heir. A child untouched by the misfortune that seems to follow certain people."
Luke took a small step forward.
"Your Majesty, that is—"
"Silence, Sir Luke."
Seraphina did not even look at him.
Her attention remained fixed on Evelyne, searching for a crack in her composure.
A flicker of anger.
A tear.
Anything that might prove the princess was not as untouchable as she appeared.
But Evelyne had spent her entire life learning how to conceal pain.
She offered the Queen a small, elegant smile.
"Then I pray the child inherits Your Majesty's confidence."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Only that confidence is a valuable quality in a future ruler."
Evelyne inclined her head.
"One must hope it is accompanied by wisdom."
The corridor fell silent.
One of the ladies-in-waiting lowered her fan.
Another looked down at the floor, desperately attempting to hide her expression.
Seraphina's smile disappeared.
"How dare you?"
Evelyne remained perfectly still.
"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I did not realize that offering a prayer for the future heir was an offense."
The Queen's face flushed.
For a moment, she looked ready to strike her.
Instead, she turned sharply toward Luke.
"Sir Luke."