Luke had seen war.
He had seen men split open by blade and beast alike but nothing had ever hollowed him the way this did.
He stood frozen in the doorway, hand clamped around the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed on the grotesque centerpiece hanging from the ceiling.
The raven. The silver hairpins. The missing heart.
And the mirror.
He comes for you next. Scrawled in a jagged, unmistakable hand. Evelyne's.
"No…" Luke murmured, shaking his head. "No, you didn't write this. You couldn't have—"
He turned to her.
She was still. Like stone.
"Eve?"
She didn't answer.
Didn't scream. Didn't faint. Didn't move.
The screaming came from the hallway instead maids stumbling back, hands over their mouths, one retching into the curtains. The castle guards arrived seconds later, blades drawn, boots thundering against the marble.
"My Lady step back!" one shouted.
Luke barked over them, regaining command. "No one enters unless I say. Secure the hallway. Find out who's been in this wing since morning."
The butler, pale as snow, appeared behind the guards, clutching a scented kerchief to his nose. "What in the name of the saints is—"
He caught sight of the room and staggered.
"Get the royal cleaning staff here now!" Luke snapped.
"M-My Lord," the butler stammered, "this is this is desecration. An act of dark magic, surely! Perhaps we should consult the—"
"Do not involve the palace clergy yet," Luke warned. "Not until we know if this was meant as a threat… or a message."
He turned to Evelyne again.
She hadn't moved.
"Evelyne," he said softly, taking a step forward. "You're not alone. I'm here. You don't have to—"
"I didn't write it," she whispered, finally.
"I know."
"But it's my handwriting."
Luke looked at the mirror again, heart hammering in his chest.
"I've… dreamed it before," she admitted. "Waking up with ink stains. Quills snapped in half. Messages I don't remember writing. But never like this. Never in blood."
She turned to him now, her eyes dark and steady.
"This time," she said, "something else is writing through me."
"Take the princess out of the room," Luke ordered sharply. "We'll conduct the investigation without her present."
The maids hesitated.
Their hands trembled at their sides, eyes wide with fear. One took a step forward then stumbled back as Evelyne turned to glance at her.
"I—I… I c-can't," she whispered.
The others didn't even try.
The butler stood beside the door, refusing to make eye contact, clutching his quill and ledger like a holy relic. One of the guards looked physically ill. The rest kept their eyes fixed on the floor, their hands twitching toward hilts they would never draw.
Luke's patience snapped.
"She is not a ghost. She's not a curse. She's your princess!" he shouted.
The room went silent at the sound of his voice, the air thick with shame and tension. But no one moved.
Until he arrived.
The doors opened with a low groan.
A tall, lean man in black and silver strode in with gloved hands and a sigil-ring glinting on his finger the seal of the realm.
The Hand of the King.
Lord Maurel Thorne, elegant and cold as polished marble, regarded the room with disinterest, only the faintest twitch of a brow betraying his distaste at the scent of blood and soot still lingering in the air.
"What is this commotion?" he asked flatly, gaze sweeping over the shaken staff.
Luke stepped forward at once. "My Lord, an animal was found in the princess's chambers. Killed, posed… with a message written in blood. A threat. I saw it with my own eyes. She was with me the entire time."
Lord Maurel 's eyes shifted to Evelyne. Slow. Dissecting.
"Princess," he said, voice clipped, "did you do this?"
Luke's hand curled into a fist. "Sire, I just told you—"
Lord Maurel turned to him with a sneer. "A guard must stand behind a royal, not beside her like a favored dog."
Murmurs rippled among the servants like a foul wind.
Luke bit down a growl and stepped back, burning with fury, jaw clenched so tightly he nearly cracked a tooth.
And Evelyne—
She stepped forward.
Poised. Unblinking.
"Did my father summon me?" she asked, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet.
Silence fell like snowfall.
Lord Maurel narrowed his eyes, lips pursed.
"…No, Princess," he replied. "But the Hand of Duke Acheron Vale has arrived. He bears a message for you directly."
The room held its breath.
Evelyne's brow arched ever so slightly.
Lord Thorne clapped once, sharp and echoing.
"Clean this up," he barked to the servants.
Lord Maurel's command echoed through the chamber.
"Before you meet the Northern envoy, meet me in my office, Princess."
For a moment, Evelyne forgot the bloodstained mirror, the grotesque sight hanging from her ceiling, and the frightened servants crowding her doorway.
All she could think about was the office.
Her fingers curled tightly into her palms.
She knew what happened behind that door when there were no witnesses. She knew the cruel amusement in Maurel's eyes whenever he saw her frightened, the way he deliberately cornered her, and how he enjoyed reminding her that no one in the palace would dare challenge the King's Hand.
He had entered the palace when she was ten and he was fifteen. She had once mistaken his attention for kindness.
By the time she was thirteen, she had learned the truth.
And she had never told Luke.
Not once.
"Princess?" Maurel prompted, his expression carrying the faintest hint of amusement. "Have you suddenly forgotten how to answer a direct order?"
Evelyne slowly lifted her chin.
"No, my lord."
"Good. My office. Immediately after this unfortunate mess has been dealt with."
His gaze drifted toward the bloodied mirror, and a thin smile touched his lips.
"Though I must say, Princess, you have a remarkable talent for turning an ordinary evening into a spectacle."
Luke stepped forward, anger flashing across his face.
"Watch your tongue, my lord. Someone has entered her chambers, killed an animal, and left a threat. Perhaps you should concern yourself with finding the culprit instead of insulting her."
Maurel turned his head slowly.
"Did I ask for your opinion, Guard Valryn?"
"No, but—"
"Then remember your place."
Luke's jaw tightened.
Evelyne glanced at him, her heart twisting painfully. She knew that look. Luke was already searching for a reason to remain beside her, ready to challenge anyone who dared make her suffer.
But Maurel was waiting for precisely that kind of defiance.
And Evelyne could not bear the thought of him turning his cruelty toward Luke.
"Luke," she said quietly.
He looked at her.
"It's all right."
His expression softened, but only slightly.
"Evelyne, you don't have to—"
"I know." She forced a small smile. "Please. Wait for me here."
He studied her face, clearly unconvinced.
Then Maurel chuckled.
"How touching. The princess and her devoted guard. One might almost mistake him for a member of the royal family."
Several servants lowered their eyes.
Luke's hand tightened around his sword.
Evelyne moved before he could respond.
"I will come to your office, my lord," she said, turning toward Maurel. "But first, I would like to ensure that my chambers are secured."
"Of course." Maurel's smile widened. "Take your time, Princess."
His gaze lingered on her.
"I shall be waiting."
Evelyne felt her stomach turn.
She bowed her head, hiding her expression, and Maurel finally turned away to issue orders to the servants. He spoke briskly about the investigation, the cleaning of the chambers, and the need to keep the incident from spreading through the court.
Yet even as he gave his instructions, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
He had frightened her.
He knew it.
And that was enough to satisfy him for the moment.
Luke stepped closer once Maurel was occupied.
"Eve," he whispered, using the childhood nickname he rarely spoke in front of the court. "What is it? You look as though you've seen something worse than what's in that room."
Evelyne's breath caught.
She wanted to tell him.
She wanted to take his hand and confess that Maurel had been tormenting her for years, that she dreaded every summons to his office, and that she was tired of carrying the secret alone.
But she imagined Luke's reaction. His fury. His determination to confront Maurel.
And she imagined what Maurel would do to him afterward.
So she pressed her trembling hands together beneath her sleeves.
"I'm only tired," she whispered.
Luke searched her face for a long moment.
"You know I'd never let anyone hurt you if I could stop it."
Her eyes stung.
That's exactly why I can't tell you.
Instead, Evelyne gave him a small nod.
"I know, Luke."
Across the chamber, Maurel turned toward them.
"Princess. Do not keep me waiting."
Evelyne's fingers clenched again.
She glanced at Luke one final time before forcing herself to walk toward the door.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Behind her, Luke remained beside the bloodstained mirror, watching her leave with a growing unease he could not explain.
And ahead of her, Lord Maurel Thorne waited behind another closed door.
A door Evelyne had feared for years.
A door she would have to enter alone.
CHAPTER 5 — THE MAN BEHIND THE DOOR
The western corridor was almost entirely dark.
Only the candles mounted along the walls illuminated the path to Lord Maurel Thorne's office. Their flames trembled in the cold night air, casting long, distorted shadows across the marble floor.
Evelyne walked slowly.
She could still hear Luke's voice in her mind.
You know I'd never let anyone hurt you if I could stop it.
Her throat tightened.
If only he knew.
If only he knew how many times she had wanted to run to him, how many times she had almost confessed everything, and how many times she had swallowed her words because she was afraid of what Maurel might do.
She stopped in front of the familiar oak door.
For several seconds, she simply stared at it.
Then she raised her hand and knocked.
"Enter."
His voice came from within.
Evelyne closed her eyes briefly before pushing the door open.
Maurel's office was illuminated by a fire burning in the hearth. The curtains were drawn, concealing the windows, and a glass of wine rested on his desk beside several documents.
He sat comfortably in his chair, looking as though he had been expecting her for hours rather than minutes.
"Well," he murmured. "The princess finally arrives."
Evelyne stepped inside.
"Your summons was quite clear, my lord."
"Still trying to sound brave?"
"I am merely answering you."
Maurel smiled.
He always enjoyed it when she answered him. Her attempts to remain composed seemed to amuse him far more than her silence.
"Close the door."
She hesitated.
His smile faded slightly.
"I said, close the door, Evelyne."
She obeyed.
The door shut with a heavy thud.
Maurel leaned back in his chair, watching her as she stood near the entrance.
"Come closer."
"Would you please tell me what you wished to discuss? The Northern envoy is waiting."
"Must everything be about that man?"
His tone changed so abruptly that Evelyne looked up.
Maurel rose from his chair.
"I summon you to my office, and all you can think about is some northern lord's messenger?"
"I was told that I needed to meet him tonight."
"And you will."
He walked around his desk.
"But first, I want to speak with you."
Evelyne's fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress.
She knew this pattern too well. He would prolong the conversation, ignore her requests to leave, and make certain she understood that the length of her stay depended entirely on his mood.
"What do you want from me, my lord?"
Maurel stopped in front of her.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he smiled.
"Is it so terrible that I want your attention?"
Evelyne stared at him in disbelief.
"You have my attention."
"Not willingly."
"Does that matter?"
The question escaped before she could stop it.
Maurel's expression darkened.
Then, slowly, his smile returned.
"Oh, Princess. You really should learn when to keep your thoughts to yourself."
He took another step toward her.
Evelyne immediately retreated, but Maurel followed, closing the distance between them until she could no longer pretend that his proximity was accidental.
"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.
"Talking to you."
"You can do that without standing so close."
"How particular you've become."
His gaze traveled over her face before settling on a loose strand of hair that had fallen against her cheek.
Without asking, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
Evelyne flinched and turned her face away.
"Don't touch me."
Maurel's fingers lingered in the air for a moment before he lowered his hand.
Then he laughed softly.
"Still the same frightened little girl."
"I am not a child anymore, my lord."
"No," he agreed, his eyes narrowing with unsettling amusement. "You're certainly not."
Evelyne hated the way he said it.
She hated the familiarity he forced upon her, as though the years of unwanted attention had somehow given him a right to treat her as he pleased.
She stepped sideways, attempting to put some distance between them.
Maurel caught the movement.
Before she could move farther away, he placed a hand against her waist, stopping her retreat as though her attempt to leave were a personal insult.
Evelyne went rigid.
Every muscle in her body tightened. She stared at his hand, unable to hide the disgust that crossed her face.
"Remove your hand."
Maurel looked at her.
"Such an unpleasant tone."
"Please."
The word slipped out before she could stop herself.
For a moment, he simply watched her.
Then his smile widened.
"Please what, Evelyne?"
She swallowed.
"Let go of me."
Instead of releasing her immediately, he leaned closer, lowering his voice so that it would remain between them.
"You know, I've always wondered why you insist on making everything so difficult."
Evelyne's hands curled into fists.
"Because I have told you that I don't want you touching me."
"And yet you continue to speak to me as though you have the authority to give me orders."
"I am asking you to respect me."
Maurel laughed under his breath.
"Respect?"
He finally removed his hand from her waist, only to reach up and smooth another strand of her hair between his fingers.
Evelyne recoiled.
His expression brightened at her reaction.
"There it is again," he murmured. "That look. I could recognize it anywhere."
She moved away from him, putting several steps between them.
"The same look you had when you were thirteen," Maurel continued. "Always frightened. Always trying to escape."
"Because I wanted to leave."
The words came out quietly, but they carried more bitterness than she intended.
Maurel's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Then he laughed.
"And you still do."
He seemed delighted by the admission.
Evelyne looked away, disgust twisting in her stomach.
"Why do you do this?"
For once, Maurel did not answer immediately.
He studied her as though her question had genuinely entertained him.
"Because you never learn."
"Learn what?"
"That you cannot always have what you want."
Evelyne lifted her eyes.
"I have never asked you for anything."
"Exactly."
His answer was immediate.
"And yet you continue to look at me as though I am some terrible monster."
She stared at him.
You are.
The words burned behind her teeth.
But she did not speak them.
Maurel watched her retreat from him.
For several seconds, he said nothing. His eyes followed her as she put distance between them, as though her attempt to escape were a personal insult.
Then he smiled.
"You always do that."
Evelyne frowned. "Do what, my lord?"
"Move away from me."
His voice was quiet, almost conversational, but there was something unsettling beneath it.
"Every time I come near you, you retreat. Every time I try to speak with you, you look for an excuse to leave. And whenever I summon you, you behave as though I have sentenced you to death."
"Perhaps you should consider why."
The answer made his smile disappear.
Evelyne immediately regretted speaking, but she refused to take the words back.
Maurel stepped toward her again.
"You think I haven't noticed?" he asked. "I've watched you for years, Evelyne. Since the day you were brought into the gardens with that ridiculous bouquet of roses in your hands. You were always smiling at someone, always giving your attention to someone else."
He laughed without humor.
"Your servants. The palace guards. Those miserable little nobles who followed you around. And, of course, Luke."
At the mention of her childhood friend, Evelyne's expression hardened.
"Do not bring him into this."
"Why not? He's always there, isn't he? Standing beside you, making you laugh, looking at you as though you are the only person in the world who matters."
Maurel's jaw tightened.
"I have spent years watching him receive the smiles you refuse to give me."
Evelyne stared at him in disbelief.
"You cannot possibly believe you have any right to my attention."
"Right?"
He repeated the word slowly.
Then he approached her until she had to resist the urge to retreat again.
"You speak as though this is a matter of rights. You think I care about what the court considers proper? You think I care about what you want?"
His gaze burned with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
"I want you, Evelyne. I have wanted you for years."
She felt sick.
"You have no right to want anything from me."
"Perhaps not." His smile returned, cold and humorless. "But that has never stopped me."
Evelyne turned away from him.
Maurel caught her by the waist again, preventing her from walking past him. She immediately seized his wrist and pushed his hand away.
"Do not touch me!"
Her voice rang through the room.
For a moment, the only sound was the fire crackling in the hearth.
Maurel looked down at the hand she had pushed away.
Then he slowly raised his eyes to hers.
"You still don't understand," he murmured.
"Understand what?"
"That I am tired of watching you give pieces of yourself to everyone except me."
Evelyne's face went pale.
"I am not something you can claim."
His expression twisted.
"I know what you are."
"Then act as though you understand that I am a person, not something you can own."
For the first time, genuine anger broke through his composure.
"You belong in this palace. You belong beside the crown. And yet they are sending you away to the North, to some duke who will probably treat you like another political acquisition."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping.
"And you expect me to stand here and watch it happen?"
"Yes," Evelyne replied, trembling. "Because my life does not belong to you."
Maurel stared at her.
Then he laughed softly, but there was no amusement in it.
"Your life. Your choices. Your precious freedom."
He shook his head.
"You have no idea how many years I have spent waiting for you to grow old enough to understand the world around you. Waiting for you to stop looking at me as though I am a stranger. Waiting for you to finally see me."
Evelyne's stomach twisted.
He had taken the memories of her childhood and twisted them into something monstrous. Every kindness he had once shown her had become, in his mind, an investment that entitled him to a future she had never promised him.
"You were never waiting for me," she whispered. "You were waiting for the day you thought you could control me."
His eyes narrowed.
"Be careful."
"No." Evelyne swallowed, forcing herself to continue. "You have spent years making me afraid to be alone with you. You have threatened me whenever I tried to leave. You have used Luke against me because you know he is the one person I cannot bear to see hurt."
Her voice broke, but she did not look away.
"And now you want me to believe that all of this is because you care about me?"
Maurel's expression went frighteningly still.
Then he leaned toward her.
"Don't confuse what I want with what I am willing to tolerate, Princess."
Evelyne stepped away from him.
He allowed her to move this time, watching her with a look that made her feel as though she had only retreated a few steps inside a cage.
"I don't want that Northern duke near you," he continued. "I don't want you smiling at him. I don't want you looking at him the way you look at Luke. I don't want you leaving this palace and forgetting that I exist."
His fingers curled against his palm.
"I want you to remember me."
Evelyne stared at him with horror.
"And if I refuse?"
Maurel's smile returned.
She finally understood the true nature of his obsession.
Maurel did not want her happiness.
He did not want her trust.
He did not even seem to understand the difference between being loved and being obeyed.
He wanted exclusivity without consent, devotion without trust, and possession without the slightest regard for her wishes.
He wanted her world to become so small that there would be nowhere left for her to turn except toward him.
And the thought of it frightened her more than any threat he could have made.
"You will never have me," Evelyne whispered.
For a moment, Maurel said nothing.
Then his expression hardened.
"We shall see, Princess."
He stepped aside, allowing her a clear path toward the door.
"Now go and meet your Northern envoy. Smile for him. Be charming. Play your little role."
His eyes followed her as she reached for the handle.
"But remember one thing, Evelyne."
She stopped.
"No matter where you go, no matter whom you marry, I will not simply disappear from your life."
His voice softened into something colder than anger.
"You may leave this palace tomorrow. You may travel to the North and stand beside Duke Acheron Vale himself. But don't mistake distance for freedom."
Evelyne opened the door.
She did not answer.
She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words frightened her.
Yet as she stepped into the corridor, one thought followed her with terrible clarity.
Maurel does not want me to love him.
He wants to make certain that no one else ever can.
Evelyne closed the door behind her and stood in the corridor, breathing carefully until the trembling in her hands subsided.
She had spoken back.
It was a small thing, hardly enough to change anything.
But for one brief moment, she had refused to give him the answer he wanted.
She pressed a hand against her chest and swallowed the ache in her throat.
Then she straightened her shoulders.
The princess had to return.
The court was waiting. The Northern envoy was waiting. And Luke was waiting somewhere beyond the western corridor, probably wondering why she had taken so long.
She could not let them see what Maurel had done
Not when she was already fighting to keep herself from falling apart.
Maids rushed forward but none met her gaze. None dared brush her gown or touch her skin. They hovered, trembling, like she was a statue blessed and cursed in equal measure.
One accidentally dropped a brush at Evelyne's feet and burst into tears, begging forgiveness.
Evelyne didn't flinch.
The maids dressed Evelyne in silence.
Layers of deep crimson and obsidian silk draped her like a funeral flame. No pins touched her skin. No fingers brushed her hair. They worked as if handling a corpse careful, distant, reverent with fear.
When they finished, she stood before the mirror.
Unmoving. Pale. Regal.
A reflection of the perfect princess they all wanted… and dreaded.
Luke stood just beyond the chamber doors, arms crossed, glaring at every passing servant who dared whisper behind gloved hands.
A knock came.
Sharp. Deliberate. Cold.
Evelyne walked through the long, dim corridor of the palace, her gown whispering like silk secrets across the polished floor. The palace had never felt colder not even in winter. Every chandelier seemed dimmer, every portrait more judgmental, their painted eyes following her with silent suspicion.
Behind her, Luke walked in steady rhythm, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword not out of fear of attack, but out of habit. The silence that surrounded them was unnatural. Not even a servant dared sweep past.
The grand doors to the Great Hall loomed ahead.
The firelight flickered in the solar, casting long shadows over the stone walls.
Evelyne stood still as the envoy Lord Severin Marell, tall and draped in the dark northern garb of House Vale stepped forward. The servants remained outside, too afraid to enter. Luke lingered by the door, tense and watchful.
Severin bowed slightly, eyes cold and unreadable.
"I come bearing a message, Princess Evelyne. By order of His Grace, Duke Acheron Vale."
She did not blink. "Speak."
The envoy extended a scroll. The wax seal silver, cracked with frost was untouched.
Evelyne took it without hesitation.
Her gloved fingers broke the seal, and the parchment unfurled in silence.
She read.
Then read again.
Her eyes narrowed.
Luke stepped closer. "What is it?"
Evelyne slowly lowered the scroll.
"There is… no date," she murmured. "No instructions. Just one line."
Luke frowned. "One line?"
She handed it to him.
He read it aloud:
"The North does not ask. It takes."
The fire behind them hissed then sputtered out completely.
And in the silence that followed, Lord Severin smiled.