The Flashback: Ghosts in the Hallway
The walk from the Royal Gardens to the Valerius Estate felt like a march through a shifting, feverish dream. Every stone in the pavement, every silk banner fluttering in the wind and every servant Lucius passed felt like a ghost from a future he was now determined to erase from existence. His conversation with Prince Alaric had confirmed the terrifying reality: he was truly back in time. The pieces of the board were being set and this time, he was the one holding the players' strings.
But as he reached the wing of the mansion where his parents resided, a strange, suffocating instinct took hold of him. In his past life, Lucius had always been the "straight sword"—bold, loud and honest to a fault. He never lingered at doors; he never hid in shadows. But the soldier's soul within him now, a soul trained in the brutal, silent death-matches of the Southern Line, forced his footsteps to go quiet. He moved like a phantom as he approached his mother's private parlor.
In his past life, his parents were long gone by the time the war reached its peak. He vividly remembered the day of the "accident"—the carriage wheel that had supposedly snapped on a jagged mountain pass. The bodies of General Arthur and Lady Eleanor had been found at the bottom of a ravine, mangled beyond recognition. At the time, he had wept until his eyes bled, calling it a cruel tragedy of fate. In the freezing trenches of the Southern Line, he had spent years wishing he could see them one last time, just to tell them he had become a man they could be proud of.
Now, they were just behind those heavy oak doors. Alive. Breathing. Healthy.
Lucius's hand trembled as he reached for the brass handle. His heart was a war drum in his chest, thumping with a rhythm of hope and fear. I can save them this time, he thought, his eyes stinging. I won't let the 'accident' happen. I won't let Cedric whisper his poison in their ears. I will protect this family even if I have to burn the world to do it.
But as he leaned in to open the door, the sound of a muffled, broken sob stopped him cold. He froze, his breath hitching.
"We can't let them know, Arthur. Neither Cedric nor Lucius can ever find out," his mother's voice came through the wood. It was strained, a sound of pure desperation that cut through Lucius like a serrated blade.
"The secret has held for eighteen years, Eleanor, they need to know!" his father's voice replied. It sounded deeper, more weary and more burdened than Lucius ever remembered.
"But you know how cruel Cedric's mother was," she continued, her voice trembling with the memory of a past horror. "If you hadn't killed her at that time, Arthur, she would have killed Cedric in one of her rages. I couldn't let an innocent child pay for his mother's sins. I request you to keep it a secret... that Cedric is not your son. I love him as much as I love Lucius. To me, he is my firstborn. He must never know he carries the blood of a criminal, let him remember her as a woman who died due to plague."
Lucius felt as if the floor had suddenly vanished beneath his boots. The world started to spin in a dizzying circle, a thick, cold nausea rising in his throat.
Cedric... isn't a Valerius?
In his past life, Cedric's entire motivation—the very engine of his hatred—was built on the "injustice" of being a second-class son. He had killed Lucius out of a perceived right to the bloodline, a twisted desire to claim the birthright he felt he was denied as the "unrecognized" firstborn.
But the truth was a jagged, poisonous irony: his parents had committed an act of mercy so profound it had eventually invited their own executioner into their home. They had spared a child of a criminal bloodline, a child who should have been exiled and given him a prestigious name and a life of luxury. And in return, that child had used that very name to wipe them out.
Distraught and drowning in the weight of this revelation, Lucius took a staggering step back. His vision was blurred, his mind racing through a thousand memories of Cedric's "brotherly" smiles. His shoulder clipped a massive, ancient porcelain vase—a priceless gift from the Southern Emperor.
CRASH.
The sound was like a thunderclap in the silent, vaulted hall. The study doors flew open instantly. General Arthur stood there, his hand habitually flying to his sword hilt, his eyes sharp and scanning for threats. His battle-hardened expression softened into deep confusion when he saw his own son standing among the white and blue shards of the destroyed vase.
"Lucius? What are you doing here? You look as though you've walked through a ghost."
Lucius looked at his parents. He saw the unconditional love in his mother's eyes—the same love she gave so freely to Cedric. He felt a surge of protective fury so hot it burned his throat. He couldn't tell them the truth yet. They were too kind, too noble. They wouldn't believe that their "merciful" secret would lead to a bloodbath twenty years later. If he told them Cedric would kill them, they would only try to "guide" Cedric with more love.
I have to be the monster so they can remain saints, Lucius decided.
"I... I slipped, Father," Lucius lied, his voice sounding like it came from a great, echoing distance. He straightened his back, the aura of a confused boy vanishing in an instant. He was overwhelmed to see them again but it was not the time, "Anyways, I came to ask for your permission to visit the Finance Minister's estate today. It is time I met my fiancée."
His father frowned, his brow furrowing. "Isabella? But the formal introduction is scheduled for next week—"
"Not Isabella," Lucius interrupted, his eyes darkening to the color of a stormy sea. "I wish to see the eldest daughter. Evelina."
"Evelina?" His mother stepped forward, worriedly wringing her lace handkerchief. "But she is so Sick, Lucius. The Minister says she can barely leave her room without fainting. Why her?"
"Because," Lucius said, his mind flashing back to the scent of mint and the crescent moon birthmark on a lady's ankle at his moment of death, "I believe the Minister is hiding the most valuable treasure in his house. And I intend to see it for myself."
The Present: The Garden of Snakes
The transition from the warmth of his parents' home to the cold, artificial beauty of the Minister's garden felt like stepping onto a fresh battlefield.
Lucius walked with a pace that was too measured, too predatory for an eighteen-year-old. His eyes scanned the perimeter out of habit—checking the high, manicured hedges for hidden snipers, the narrow gravel paths for quick exits and the deep shadows for the three assassins he knew were destined to cross his path eventually.
When he entered the pavilion, he saw the tableau of a "perfect" family. Minister Silas looked like a groveling merchant, Elena was dressed in flamboyant silks like a peacock and Isabella... Isabella was already leaning forward, a practiced, shy smile on her lips. Her eyes were scanning Lucius, calculating his wealth, his status and his potential as a puppet.
But his eyes went right past her. They locked onto the girl in the pale blue dress.
She was thin—dangerously so. Her skin was the color of high-quality marble. But she didn't look "Sick" in the way a victim does. She looked like a blade of high-grade carbon steel: thin, but impossible to bend, let alone break.
The "needles" Evelina felt in her chest intensified as he approached. Her mind analyzed him instantly, as if a scanner were running behind her eyes. High adrenaline levels. Dilated pupils. Extreme muscle tension in the shoulders. A resting heart rate that suggests he's ready for a sprint. She thought, her fingers twitching toward the needle in her sleeve. This is a predator who has been in the wild for a long time.
The Minister scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over his expensive tea. "Young Master Lucius! What an unexpected honor! We were just... discussing your comfort. As you know, my eldest, Evelina, is quite frail. We were worried the marriage would be a burden on her health—and yours. Isabella, however, is a picture of health and grace—"
"Minister," Lucius's voice cut through the air. It wasn't loud, but it had the unmistakable frequency of a command heard across a bloody parade ground.
He didn't look at Silas. He didn't acknowledge the "beauty" of the season, Isabella. He walked straight toward Evelina, stopping exactly three feet from her. He looked down at her, his gaze searching, intense and raw. He was looking for the savior who had knelt in the mud beside him. He was looking for the woman who had whispered "forgive me" before the world went black. When he looked at her ankle it confirmed it, she was the mystery girl.
"You don't look like you're dying to me," Lucius said, his voice a low rumble but that was not what he wanted to say.
Evelina met his gaze. She didn't bow her head like a modest, submissive noblewoman. She looked him right in the eye—a gaze so piercing it felt like she was reading his very DNA, looking for the flaws in his armor.
"Death is often an exaggeration used by those who want to move a piece on a board, don't you think, Lord Lucius?" Evelina replied. Her voice was like silk over a dagger.
Isabella's practiced smile faltered. Elena's eyes widened. No one in the capital spoke to a Valerius with such biting, dangerous wit.
Lucius felt a thrill of cold, pure delight. It's her. The way she spoke, the way she didn't flinch—this was the woman from the woods, the one who held the key to his second chance.
"Lucius, dear," Elena tried to intervene, stepping closer with a forced, fluttering laugh. "The girl is clearly feverish. She doesn't know what she's saying; she's been locked away too long due to her health. Come, sit with Isabella. She has prepared a beautiful poem for your return."
Lucius finally turned his head to Elena. The look he gave her made the woman freeze in her tracks. It was the cold, clinical look a human gives an annoying insect just before stepping on it.
"Minister Silas," Lucius said, ignoring Elena entirely. "I see no reason to alter the contract. My family values tradition and the honor of a signed name above all else. The contract was for the eldest daughter. I intend to keep it. Exactly as written."
Silas stammered, his face turning a pale grey. "But... her health... the physicians say she has months to live—"
"Then I shall send the Valerius personal physicians to assist her," Lucius countered. He turned back to Evelina. He didn't ask for a wedding date yet; he was a General and he knew a slow siege was more effective than a reckless, emotional charge. He reached out and took her hand. Her skin was cold, but her grip was steady, like a soldier's.
He leaned in, his voice dropping so only she could hear, beneath the rustle of the garden leaves. "You're playing a dangerous game in this house, Lady Evelina. They want you in a grave and they've already picked the spot."
Evelina leaned in just as close, the sharp, clean scent of mint and ozone hitting him again. "And you're playing an even more dangerous one, Lucius. You're walking around with a massive target on your back that you don't even seem to notice. You have the scent of fresh death on you."
Lucius pulled back, a genuine, dark spark of amusement in his eyes. She knew. He didn't know how she knew, but she was warning him. They were two old souls in a garden of snakes, speaking a language the others couldn't understand.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Lucius announced to the shocked, silent family. "I wish to escort my fiancée for a walk. Alone. Through the city."
"A-alone?" Silas gasped, his voice cracking. "But it won't be appropriate—there must be a chaperone! It's like looking for scandal!"
"Appropriate? Equites is for people who have nothing better to do with their lives," Lucius said, his black military academy cape swirling behind him as he turned. He gave Evelina a small, mocking bow that was meant only for her and whispered: "Until tomorrow, Lady Evelina. Try not to let the 'snakes' bite you before I return. I'd hate for my walk to be boring."
As Lucius walked away, his heavy boots echoing on the marble, Evelina watched him go.
Lucius, she thought, her mind already calculating the chemical components of the massive adrenaline and hidden trauma she saw in his eyes. You're the 'kind soul' the original Evelina told me to save? You look like you could burn this whole city down and not blink. I think we're going to get along just fine.
She turned to see her father and Elena staring at her in absolute horror. Isabella looked like she was about to burst into tears of pure, jealous rage, her face twisted in a way that was anything but beautiful.
Evelina picked up a grape, bit into it and smiled. "Well, Aunt Elena. It looks like you won't be needing that 'quiet villa' for me after all. I have a date tomorrow. Do try to make sure my dress is pressed—I'd hate to look 'Sick' for the man who just asked me for my very first date."
Elena and Isabella were not able to do anything as it was Lucius who asked for it. They both left after glaring at Evelina as Silas was still there, sitting calmly and asking Evelina to behave tomorrow and how he will reward her.
Evelina smiled in her mind, Lady evil: 0 and Evelina: 1