"He was so dreamy," Teresa sighed, clasping her hands to her chest.
"He was so beautiful," Liliana added sleepily, her eyes half-closed.
Beatrice tugged at their skirts impatiently. "Tell me! How did the trip go?"
"He was so rude," Evangeline muttered, her quill scratching furiously across parchment. She kept her head low, hoping the other women wouldn't catch the flicker of interest that had bloomed inside her the moment she'd laid eyes on the strange prince.
She had been deeply offended when he pretended not to notice her—or showed no interest in anything they had to say.
The king had been charming, even apologetic on his son's behalf. Though the king was undeniably handsome, the prince… he was something else entirely. A different creature altogether. The only feature they seemed to share were those piercing blue eyes.
Prince Tristan was a sight to behold, yes—but his beguiling arrogance made her blood boil.
In the Amazon, that kind of attitude would have earned him a solid whipping. She massaged her temples, trying to will away the growing headache.
A warm palm gently pressed to her forehead. She looked up to see Amaya, the older woman gently brushing her hair aside.
"Beautiful one, are you alright? You look troubled," Amaya said softly.
"I'm fine, Amaya. Why do you ask?" Evangeline replied, offering a small smile.
"Because you haven't gotten a single thing done," Amaya teased. "Talk to me, I'm here."
Evangeline sighed. "It's just stress from the trip, nothing more."
"Oh, I doubt that," Vivian chimed in knowingly.
"I know what it is," Theresa sang. "She can't get Prince Tristan out of her mind! I bet she finds him as attractive as we do."
Evangeline shot her a blank stare.
"Really?" Grace giggled. "Oh, that would be so romantic! The selfish, bad-boy prince and the selfless little huntress? It's a classic folk tale waiting to happen."
Beatrice crossed her arms. "Evangeline is not that kind of person, Gracie. She's the least attracted to men. Even demons! And they are stunning."
Evangeline wished that were true.
"Girl, have you seen Prince Tristan?" Gracie arched a brow, amused.
The truth was… she didn't have time for romantic nonsense. Not relationships. Not marriage. Certainly not children. She had no interest in the exhausting drama love brought. If feelings started creeping in, she'd usually just sleep with the man and send him on his way. Simple.
"You all should stop being pests and let Geline work," Lilian said, exasperated. "She's clearly busy. Honestly, if I were her, I'd lock you all in a chicken pen at the edge of the village."
"Ha! Very funny, Señora Lilian," Vivian rolled her eyes as the girls finally left Evangeline's office in a giggling group.
Lilian lingered, a gentle smile on her lips. "Patience, little one. Someday, you'll find your prince."
Evangeline slumped into her chair, exhausted. "I'm not interested in all that dreamy crap. I'm just… worried."
Lilian's expression turned serious. "It's the demons, isn't it?" she whispered. "A woman died in the neighboring village today. No one knows how. I was on watch… there were marks…"
Her voice trailed off, her eyes wide with fear.
Evangeline placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
The woman's face lit up slightly, a tragic smile tugging at her lips. "It's okay. It's just… I've never felt them so close before. Something dark, terrifying—so evil—too close." Her wide brown eyes shimmered with fear. Evangeline thought they might pop out of her head.
"I know, Lilian," she said softly.
She was well aware of the strange spirits that roamed the woods. Damn it, she'd have shot the prince herself if he didn't act and behave like a normal person. But Christ—he looked exactly like them. Only… better. More refined. And that terrified her.
These powerful beings she couldn't track, couldn't kill.
She chewed hard on her pen, then bit her lower lip until it bled. Damn it.
She hated feeling powerless. Not knowing what they were, how to stop them—it frustrated her. It made her feel trapped. As if death was knocking right at her door, waiting for her to make the wrong move.
She groaned softly, pressing her palm to her face. When she lowered her hand, Lilian was holding out a glass. The harsh scent of whiskey wafted to her nose.
Evangeline wasn't big on drinking, but right now? She needed to stop thinking. About spirits. About death.
She took a sip and let the burn calm her nerves. "Thanks, Lil," she murmured with a smile.
"I'm a mum—it's what I do," Lilian said with a soft chuckle.
Evangeline arched a brow.
"No, not that I give my kids whiskey!" Lilian laughed. "I don't even support my husband drinking it. He says it's for medicinal reasons. Which, okay, might be true—but I know that's not why he drinks it."
They both burst into laughter, and for a moment, it felt good. It calmed the storm in Evangeline's chest.
She had no doubt Lilian was a wonderful mother, and Peter—her husband—an amazing father. They had three lovely children.
Maybe, one day, she'd be like Lilian. Easygoing. Warm. A loving mum.
…Or maybe, she never would.