POV: Evangeline Ashford
Timeline: Day 1 – Afternoon into Evening
The library had always been Evangeline's refuge, but she'd never appreciated its true value until now.
She stood before the shelves dedicated to political history and court memoirs, running her fingers along leather spines as she catalogued what she needed to know. In her first life, she ignored these books in favor of romantic poetry and adventure novels. Now, they represented weapons—knowledge that could be sharpened into strategy.
She pulled down three volumes: The Rise and Fall of House Meridian by Lord Chancellor Hastings, A Courtier's Guide to Court Politics by Anonymous, and The Northern Border Conflicts: A Comprehensive History. The last one made her pause. Her father had given her this book on her sixteenth birthday, insisting she understand the region their family had stewarded for generations. She skimmed it politely and never opened it again.
What a fool she'd been.
Evangeline settled into the window seat overlooking the south lawn, arranging her skirts and opening the first volume. The afternoon light was perfect for reading, golden and warm. Everything about this moment was peaceful, domestic, and safe.
It was a lie she couldn't afford to believe.
She forced herself to focus on the text. House Meridian had been one of the most powerful families in the kingdom until a manufactured scandal destroyed them thirty years ago. The parallels to her own family's fate were unsettling—accusations of treason, forged documents, a trial that was really an execution in formal dress.
And the man who'd benefited most from House Meridian's destruction? The previous Marquess Everhart, Julian's father.
Evangeline's hand tightened on the page. It was a pattern, then. The Everharts specialized in destroying inconvenient families and seizing their assets. They'd done it before, they'd done it to her family, and they'd used her to do it to Cassian Thornwell.
She needed to understand their methods. Needed to see the machinery of destruction so clearly that she could dismantle it before it crushed her family again.
"There you are."
Evangeline looked up to find Thomas leaning against the doorframe, his expression caught between curiosity and concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Mother said you were having a 'contemplative afternoon.'" He made air quotes around the phrase, rolling his eyes. "Which I'm pretty sure means she's worried you're having some sort of crisis."
"I'm fine," Evangeline said automatically, then softened it with a smile. "Just reading."
Thomas crossed the room and peered at her book selection, his eyebrows climbing. "Political history? Border conflicts? Since when do you care about any of this?" He picked up A Courtier's Guide, flipping through the pages. "Good God, this is dryer than mathematics. At least numbers have personality."
"I'm trying to educate myself," Evangeline said, which was true enough. "If I'm going to the capital for the season, I should understand how things work there."
"You mean you want to avoid embarrassing yourself at fancy parties." Thomas grinned and dropped onto the window seat beside her, stealing her bookmark. "Can't blame you. Remember when you told Lady Pemberton her dress was 'quite brave' last summer? Father had to smooth that over for weeks."
Evangeline had completely forgotten that incident. The first-timeline version of herself had meant it as a compliment—she'd thought the bold pattern was interesting. She hadn't understood that 'brave' was code for 'hideously inappropriate.'
"I'm trying to avoid more incidents like that," she said.
"Well, you're going about it wrong." Thomas tapped the book on border conflicts. "If you want to survive in society, you need to understand people, not politics. Though I suppose at court, they're the same thing."
He was more perceptive than she'd given him credit for. "What would you suggest instead?"
Thomas considered, his young face unusually serious. "Learn to lie convincingly. Learn to smile while you're plotting. Learn to make people think whatever you want them to think." He paused. "I've been reading Machiavelli. Don't tell Father—he thinks I'm too young for it."
"You're reading Machiavelli?" Evangeline stared at her fourteen-year-old brother with new appreciation. "Why?"
"Because one day I'll inherit Father's holdings, and I need to understand how power really works." Thomas met her eyes steadily. "The world isn't kind to honest men, Evie. Father's a good person, maybe the best person I know. But that makes him vulnerable. Someone needs to be practical."
The words hit her like a physical blow. Thomas had understood, even at fourteen, what she'd been too naive to see. If he'd lived, if he'd had the chance to grow into his intelligence, he might have been the one to save them all.
But he wouldn't get that chance. Not unless she succeeded.
"Teach me," Evangeline said.
Thomas blinked. "What?"
"Teach me to lie convincingly. To manipulate people. To see the game behind the game." She leaned forward intently. "You're better at this than I am, Thomas. You always have been. And I need to learn fast."
Her brother studied her face, his brown eyes searching. "Something's wrong. Something more than just social anxiety about the season."
"Nothing's wrong—"
"Don't lie to me, Evie. Or if you're going to lie, do it better." Thomas kept his voice light, but there was steel underneath. "You've been different since this morning. Mother noticed too. You look at us like... like you're trying to memorize our faces. Like you think we might disappear."
Evangeline's breath caught. She'd been careless, too emotional. She needed to be better at this.
"You're right," she said slowly. "Something is wrong. Or might be wrong. I can't explain how I know, but Father's invitation to court—it's dangerous, Thomas. More dangerous than he realizes."
"You think someone's setting him up."
It wasn't a question. Thomas had already made the same leap she had, connecting the dots from her breakfast comments to this afternoon's intensity.
"I think someone's been planning something for a long time," Evangeline said carefully. "And I think Father's honesty makes him the perfect target. Someone who can be framed, destroyed, used as an example to others."
Thomas was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the book in his lap. "If that's true, we need evidence. We need to know who's behind it and what they want. And we need to position ourselves to counter their moves before they make them."
"Yes."
"Which means going to the capital isn't just about the social season." Thomas's expression sharpened with understanding. "You're going to gather intelligence. To figure out who's targeting us and why."
He was so quick, so brilliant. Evangeline felt tears prick her eyes again. "Will you help me?"
"Of course I will. You're my sister." He squeezed her hand. "Though I still think you're hiding something. Something bigger than just suspicion."
She almost told him then. Almost shared the impossible truth about death and rebirth and second chances. But the words wouldn't come. How could she explain without sounding mad?
"Maybe I am," she said instead. "But I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Just... trust me?"
Thomas nodded slowly. "I trust you. Even when you're being mysterious and slightly terrifying." He grinned suddenly. "Now, lesson one in lying: Never make it complicated. The best lies are simple, close to the truth, and give people what they expect to hear."
They spent the next two hours in the library, Thomas sharing everything he'd learned from his forbidden reading. How to control facial expressions. How to use partial truths to mislead without technically lying. How to read body language and exploit weaknesses. How to make people want to believe you.
He was a natural at it, Evangeline realized with a mixture of pride and sorrow. In another life, in another world, Thomas could have been a master manipulator, a political genius. Instead, he died young, his potential snuffed out by poverty and disease.
Not this time.
"Last lesson," Thomas said as the afternoon light began to fade. "The most important one." He fixed her with a serious look. "Never forget who you really are. When you're lying to everyone else, you have to stay honest with yourself. Otherwise, you lose track of what's real, and that's when you make mistakes."
"How do you know all this?" Evangeline asked softly. "You're fourteen."
"I read a lot." Thomas shrugged, but there was something in his expression—vulnerability, maybe, or loneliness. "And I pay attention. People think children don't notice things, but we do. We see everything." He paused. "I've watched Father be too honest and get taken advantage of. I've seen Mother's worries dismissed as hysteria. I've learned that being good isn't enough. You have to be smart, too."
Evangeline pulled him into a hug, this brilliant, cynical, impossibly wise boy who would have grown into an extraordinary man if fate had been kinder.
"Thank you," she whispered against his hair. "You're the best brother anyone could ask for."
"Obviously," he said, but his voice was thick. "Now let me go before someone sees and I die of embarrassment."
She released him, laughing despite everything. Thomas grabbed the Machiavelli volume he'd hidden behind a dictionary and sauntered toward the door, his fourteen-year-old dignity restored.
He paused at the threshold. "Evie? Whatever happens in the capital, be careful. The court is more dangerous than border politics. At least in war, you know who your enemies are."
"I will," she promised.
After he left, Evangeline returned to her reading, but her mind kept drifting. Three weeks until the capital. Three weeks to prepare herself for the performance of a lifetime.
She needed more than political theory. She needed practical knowledge about the people she'd be facing. About the Duke of Thornwell specifically.
In her first life, she'd learned about Cassian only in retrospect, through investigation and interrogation. She'd built a picture of him from rumors and reports, never questioning whether that picture was accurate.
Now she needed the truth. And she knew exactly where to find it.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Her father was preoccupied with the estate business, Thomas was unusually quiet, and her mother kept shooting Evangeline worried glances when she thought no one was looking.
Evangeline played her part—the dutiful daughter, slightly anxious about the upcoming season, but nothing more alarming than that. She asked appropriate questions about her aunt's household, accepted her mother's advice about proper court behavior, and endured Thomas's teasing about her sudden interest in politics.
Normal. She had to appear normal.
But after dinner, while her parents retired to the drawing room and Thomas disappeared to his room, Evangeline made her way to the servants' quarters.
Helena was mending linens by candlelight, her needle moving in steady, practiced strokes. She looked up in surprise when Evangeline entered.
"Miss Evangeline! Is something wrong? Do you need something?"
"I need information," Evangeline said, closing the door behind her. "And I need your discretion."
Helena set down her mending slowly. "I'm listening."
Evangeline had debated how much to reveal. Helena was loyal, but she was also practical. The truth about time travel would sound like madness. So instead, Evangeline offered a carefully crafted half-truth.
"I believe my father is being targeted by someone at court. I don't know who or why yet, but I'm going to the capital to find out." She met Helena's eyes steadily. "I need someone I can trust. Someone who can help me gather information without drawing attention."
Helena studied her for a long moment. "You want me to spy for you."
"I want you to protect our family with me."
"Why me?"
"Because you're clever, observant, and loyal. And because three years ago, my father believed in you when no one else would." Evangeline stepped closer. "That silver that went missing from Lord Pemberton's household—Father knew you didn't take it. He investigated until he found the real thief, even though it would have been easier to dismiss you."
"I remember," Helena said softly.
"He saw the truth when others saw only convenience. Now I'm asking you to help me see the truth, whatever it is." Evangeline paused. "I can't pay you extra. Not yet. But I can promise you'll be protected, whatever happens. And I can promise it matters."
Helena was quiet, her fingers still on the fabric. Then she nodded once, decisively. "What do you need?"
Relief flooded through Evangeline. "Everything you know about Duke Cassian Thornwell. Gossip, rumors, facts—I don't care how small or insignificant it seems."
"The Duke of Thornwell?" Helena's eyebrows rose. "That's an interesting choice. Most young ladies spend their time gossiping about eligible bachelors, not dangerous dukes."
"Is he dangerous?"
"So they say." Helena set aside her mending entirely, giving Evangeline her full attention. "Though I only know what filters down from the upper staff. My cousin works in the Thornwell household in the capital—she writes occasionally."
This was more than Evangeline had hoped for. "What does she say?"
"He's brilliant but cold. Completely self-controlled. Never raises his voice, never shows emotion, but somehow everyone's terrified of him." Helena frowned, remembering. "She said once that working for the Duke is like living in a perfectly maintained mausoleum. Everything is beautiful and dead."
That tracked with what Evangeline remembered. Cassian Thornwell, the ice duke. The king's calculator, who solved problems with mathematical precision and no apparent conscience.
"What else?"
"That he never entertains. Never takes lovers, at least not publicly. Works constantly, sleeps little, and drinks even less." Helena tilted her head. "My cousin thinks he's lonely, though she'd never say so to his face. Says sometimes she catches him looking out the windows with this expression like... like he's watching life happen to other people and wondering what it's like."
Evangeline filed that away. It didn't match the monster she'd built in her mind, but personal tragedy didn't excuse political destruction.
"Does she mention anything about his work for the King? Political investigations, accusations against nobility?"
Helena's expression shutted slightly. "That's not the sort of thing servants discuss in letters, miss. Too dangerous."
Of course. Even servants knew better than to put treasonous gossip in writing.
"But," Helena continued carefully, "there have been... rumors. About families that fell from favor after the Duke investigated their finances. About evidence that appeared at convenient times. Some say he's the King's executioner, just with paper instead of an ax."
"And what do you think?"
Helena met her eyes. "I think powerful men are rarely as simple as their reputations. And I think you're walking into something dangerous, Miss Evangeline. Whatever you're planning."
"I know." Evangeline managed a smile. "That's why I need someone to watch my back."
"Then you have me." Helena stood, crossing to her small trunk and pulling out a bundle of letters tied with string. "My cousin's correspondence. You're welcome to read them, though there's nothing earth-shattering. Mostly complaints about the Duke's exacting standards and observations about court gossip."
Evangeline accepted the letters like they were treasure. "Thank you, Helena. Truly."
"Just promise me one thing, miss." Helena's expression was serious. "Whatever you find out about the Duke, whatever you're planning to do—don't lose yourself in the process. Revenge has a way of consuming people from the inside out."
The words were uncomfortably perceptive. "How did you know it was about revenge?"
"Because you have the look of someone who's been wounded." Helena touched her arm gently. "And because no one goes hunting dangerous men unless they're protecting something or avenging something. Since you asked about protecting your father, I'm guessing it's both."
Evangeline didn't confirm or deny it. Instead, she squeezed Helena's hand. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Back in her room, Evangeline lit every candle she could find and settled in to read Helena's cousin's letters. They were chatty, full of mundane details about household management and court gossip. But between the lines, a picture of Cassian Thornwell emerged.
A man who noticed everything but revealed nothing. Who paid his servants extremely well and treated them fairly, but never warmly. Who worked through the night and often forgot to eat. Who collected books on mathematics and philosophy but kept no personal correspondence. Who had been engaged once, years ago, to a woman who'd died under mysterious circumstances—an accident, officially, but there were whispers of suicide.
Who had no friends except Sir Raphael Dimitri, the Knight Commander. Who had no lovers, no confidants, no apparent weakness except perhaps a rigid sense of order and control.
And who had been personally responsible for investigating at least seven noble families in the past decade, all of whom had subsequently lost their titles, lands, or lives.
Including, Evangeline knew, House Ashford.
She set down the letters as midnight approached, her mind churning. The Duke was exactly as dangerous as she remembered—brilliant, ruthless, untouchable. Getting close to him would require more than charm and social graces. She'd need to offer something he valued, something he needed.
But what did a man who had everything needed?
The answer came suddenly, clearly: Someone who could match him intellectually. Someone unexpected. Someone who posed a challenge.
Evangeline had spent her first life being underestimated—a pretty girl from a minor noble house, not worth noticing beyond her family name. She'd been dismissed, overlooked, considered decorative and useless.
This time, she would weaponize that assumption.
She would appear to be exactly what society expected—a charming, intelligent, but ultimately harmless young woman. And then, piece by piece, she would reveal depths that made her interesting. Dangerous, even, in the way puzzles were dangerous to men who couldn't resist solving them.
She would make Cassian Thornwell notice her. I want to understand her. I need to figure her out.
And by the time he realized she was a threat, it would be too late.
Evangeline pulled out her own journal—not her father's, but the private one she'd kept since childhood. The entries from her first life were gone, erased by time's reversal. These pages were blank, waiting to be filled.
She dipped her pen in ink and began to write.
Day One of my second life. I have three weeks to become someone capable of destroying a duke. Three weeks to learn everything I couldn't learn in five years. Three weeks to prepare for war.
Thomas taught me today that the best lies are close to the truth. So I will be myself—or rather, a version of myself. Smart but not threatening. Interested but not obsessed. Charming but not seductive. At least at first.
I will attend the Autumn Gala. I will position myself where Cassian Thornwell cannot help but notice me. And I will begin the most dangerous game of my life.
Mother suspects something. She dreams of dark water and falling towers. She sees something in me that shouldn't be there—the weight of lived tragedy, the shadow of death.
I need to be more careful. But I also need her gift. Her prophetic dreams might be the advantage that saves us all.
Note to self: Research the Thornwell family history. Understand what made Cassian into who he is. You can't destroy a man without understanding him first.
And if I find out he's innocent? If the monster was all in my head?
Evangeline's pen hovered over the page.