Evelina's POV
Time stops.
My heart stops.
Everything stops except Isolde's smile, which gets wider and sharper like a knife.
"I asked you a question, Evie." Isolde sits up in Adrian's bed, not even trying to cover herself. She looks comfortable. Like she belongs there. "Did you need something? Or did you just come to wish us goodnight?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. My legs shake so hard I have to grab the doorframe to stay standing.
Adrian finally looks at me. His face goes white as snow. "Evelina—I can explain—"
"Explain what?" My voice comes out broken and small. "Explain why my sister is in your bed the night before our wedding?"
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He just stares at me like I'm the one doing something wrong.
Isolde laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is light and musical, the same laugh I've heard my whole life when we shared secrets and jokes. But now it sounds like poison.
"Oh, Evie." She slides off the bed, grabbing a sheet to wrap around herself. "You really didn't know? I thought you were supposed to be smart."
"Know what?" I can barely breathe. My chest feels crushed, like someone's standing on it.
"That Adrian and I have been together for months." She says it so easily, like she's talking about the weather. "Did you really think he wanted to marry you?"
The room spins. I press harder against the doorframe, my fingernails digging into the wood.
"Months?" I whisper.
"Six months," Isolde confirms cheerfully. "Remember when you were so busy planning the wedding? Meeting with the dressmaker, choosing flowers, tasting cakes?" She walks closer to me, her bare feet silent on the floor. "We were together every time you weren't looking. Which was always, because you're always so focused on being perfect that you never see what's real."
Each word is a stab to my heart. Six months. Half a year. All those times I thought I was building my future, they were destroying it behind my back.
"Adrian?" I turn to him, desperate for him to tell me this is a lie. Some kind of sick joke. "Tell me she's lying. Please."
He finally finds his voice, but it's weak and pathetic. "I didn't mean for it to happen, Evelina. I tried to stop it—"
"He tried so hard," Isolde interrupts, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "He really did. But you're just so... cold, Evie. So perfect and proper and boring. I'm what he actually wants. Someone warm. Someone real. Someone who isn't just playing at being alive."
"I loved you," I say to Adrian, my voice cracking. "I've loved you since we were children."
"No." Isolde steps between us, blocking my view of him. "You loved the idea of being queen. You loved the crown, not the man. Admit it, Evie. You never really loved him. You loved what he represented."
"That's not true!" I shout, and I'm crying now, hot tears streaming down my face. "I would have given up the crown for him if he asked!"
"Liar." Isolde's eyes flash with something dark and ugly. "You've spent your entire life preparing to be queen. Every lesson, every smile, every perfect word—it was all for the crown. You don't even know who you are without it."
The worst part is, somewhere deep inside, I wonder if she's right.
"Why?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper now. "Why would you do this to me? You're my sister. My best friend. I trusted you with everything."
For just a second, something flickers across Isolde's face. Something that might be guilt or pain. But then it's gone, replaced by cold satisfaction.
"Because I'm tired of being second," she says simply. "Second daughter. Second choice. The spare that nobody needs. Do you know what it's like, Evie? Watching everyone love you? Watching them ignore me like I don't even exist? Mother and Father only had me in case something happened to you. I'm just the backup. The shadow."
"That's not—"
"Yes, it is!" Her voice rises, sharp and angry. "And Adrian was supposed to be mine! We met first, did you know that? When we were five years old, before anyone announced your engagement. He gave me flowers and said I was pretty. But then Father told him he had to marry you instead because you were older, because you were the heir. So I've spent my whole life watching him pretend to love you when he should have been mine from the start!"
My mind reels. I never knew any of this. Never knew Isolde felt this way.
"So you decided to steal him?" I ask.
"I decided to take back what should have been mine." She smiles again, and it's the cruelest thing I've ever seen. "And guess what, Evie? It worked. He chose me. Not you. Me."
Adrian stands up finally, pulling on his shirt. "Isolde, maybe we should—"
"Should what?" she snaps at him. "Pretend this didn't happen? Lie to her?" She turns back to me, her eyes glittering with triumph. "No. She deserves the truth. He doesn't love you, Evie. He never did. He's been counting down the days until he could tell you, but he was too much of a coward. So I'm doing it for him."
"Is that true?" I ask Adrian, even though I already know the answer.
He can't look at me. Just stares at the floor like a guilty child.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "But I can't marry you, Evelina. I love Isolde."
Those words break something inside me. Something that can never be fixed.
I want to scream. I want to hit them both. I want to burn this whole palace down.
But instead, I just stand there, tears falling, my perfect life turning to ash.
"Get out, Evie," Isolde says, her voice suddenly soft and pitying, which somehow hurts worse than her anger. "Go back to your room. Tomorrow, I'll talk to Father and explain everything. We'll fix this mess."
"Fix it?" I choke out.
"The kingdom needs a royal wedding," she explains, like she's talking to a stupid child. "So Adrian will marry me instead. You'll be... well, I'm sure Father will find something for you to do. Maybe marry you off to some minor lord somewhere far away. You'll be fine, Evie. You're always fine."
She reaches out like she's going to pat my shoulder, like she's comforting me.
I jerk away from her touch.
"Don't," I manage to say. "Don't you dare touch me."
I back out of the room, unable to look at them anymore. Unable to breathe in the same air.
I turn and run down the hallway, my silver gown tangling around my legs. Behind me, I hear Isolde call out: "Sleep well, sister! We'll talk in the morning!"
But I know the truth now.
There won't be any talking. There won't be any fixing this.
My sister didn't just steal my future husband.
She stole my entire future.
And from the sound of her voice, she's not done destroying me yet.