Evelyn
The day of her wedding the dawn was pale and golden, and the sunlight was spilling through gauzy curtains in ribbons of white. Evelyn Hartwell stood before her mirror, her hands clasped tightly as the maids adjusted the lace of her gown. She scarcely recognized the woman reflected back — was this truly her? The girl who had once hidden behind books and family duties, now to stand beside the city's most brilliant firebrand?
Her heart fluttered as she thought of Adrian. For all his restless ambition, for all the hours he poured into speeches and council debates, he had chosen her. He had said, more than once,
I loved you before I had anything else to love.
Those words had settled into her bones, becoming both shield and solace.
Yet she could not entirely shake a tremor of unease. The city whispered constantly — about Crowne's maneuverings, about the fragile alliances that held New Albion's government together, about Adrian's ceaseless battles.
Evelyn wondered, as she pinned pearls into her hair, what kind of marriage theirs would be: a haven, or merely another front in the wars he fought?
Still, when the bells of St. Albion's Cathedral rang and she walked the long aisle lined with faces and flowers, her doubts softened. Adrian stood at the altar in his dark suit, his eyes fixed on her as though no one else existed. The room blurred away, and she saw only him.
She took his hand, steady and warm, and as they spoke their vows, Evelyn felt certainty at last. Whatever storms lay ahead, she would stand with him. She had been raised to be dutiful, but this — this was not duty. This was love.
*****
Emily
Emily Hartwell watched her sister's wedding through a veil of laughter and light. She was all brightness as she scattered petals down the aisle before Evelyn, teasing her cousins, smiling at the assembled guests. No one saw the tightness in her throat, or the ache she carried like a stone in her chest.
From the outside, it was perfect. Evelyn radiant in her gown, Adrian looking at her as if she were the only woman in the world. The crowd of dignitaries and aristocrats — Lord Gray with his quiet, approving smile, Sebastian Crowne with that unreadable glint in his eye. Everything unfolded like a scene from one of the romantic novels Emily pretended to adore.
But Emily knew the truth no one else did. Beneath her frivolous chatter and her laughter, she loved him. Adrian Vale, with his fire and his restless words, had slipped past her defenses long ago. She had masked it well, even from Evelyn, but every time he entered a room her heart betrayed her.
And yet she also knew something else: he was not meant for her. Adrian needed someone who could steady him, anchor him, temper his blaze. Evelyn, with her calm strength and quiet resolve, could do what Emily never could.
So she played her part. She clapped the loudest when they kissed. She embraced her sister afterward, whispering, "You were breathtaking, Evie." She even took Adrian's hand, squeezing it with a grin. "Take care of her, Vale — or you'll answer to me."
No one suspected the truth. Not Evelyn, not Adrian, not even Crowne with his hawk's gaze. Only Emily knew, and she swore to herself she would never let it be known. Her love would remain hidden, an unspoken sacrifice.
But as she watched the new couple dance, Adrian's hand on Evelyn's waist, she felt the edges of her bright mask tighten. Her laughter rang out like bells, but beneath it, her heart broke.
Later that night, while the wedding feast roared and music swelled, Emily slipped into the gardens to catch her breath. She looked up at the stars and whispered into the dark, "It's better this way. It has to be."
And somewhere inside, she wondered if it was true — or if she had only made herself believe it.