Chapter 10 – The Night the Verdict is Sealed
Two days of hard riding north.
We did not stop except to change horses at hidden Clermont waystations (old stone cottages kept by loyal families who asked no questions when the duke's daughter rode in at midnight with snow in her hair and murder in her eyes).
By the third night we reached the ruins of Caer Veyral, an abandoned border fortress half-swallowed by pine forest. Moonlight silvered the broken towers. The air smelled of frost and pine resin.
The six northern riders who had escorted us melted into the trees to take up watch.
We were alone.
Evelyn dismounted first. Her legs trembled from the saddle, yet she waved away my hand and strode into the great hall where a fire already crackled (someone had ridden ahead to prepare it).
I followed with the saddlebags.
The hall was open to the sky in places; starlight poured through the broken roof onto ancient Clermont banners still hanging from the rafters—black stags on crimson, faded but unbroken.
Evelyn stopped in the centre of the hall and stared up at them.
I set the bags down and waited.
After a long moment she spoke, voice soft.
"This was Father's favourite outpost. He used to bring me here when I was small. Said one day it would be mine to hold against the empire."
She gave a short laugh—bitter, fond. "He never imagined I would hold it against our own kingdom."
I stepped behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.
"Soon it will be yours again," I murmured. "And no one will ever take it from you."
She leaned back into me, letting her weight settle fully against my chest.
"Thirty days," she said. "Cedric will send assassins within a week. The queen will declare us outlaws by the new moon."
I tightened my hold. "Let them come. The north is waking. Every raven we sent from the waystations carried the same message: the duke's daughter lives, and she remembers."
Evelyn turned in my arms until we were facing each other. Firelight laid gold across her cheekbones.
"And you?" she asked. "You gave up everything—your place at court, your safety, your name. For me."
I brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
"I gained everything," I said. "I gained you."
For a long moment she simply looked at me—crimson eyes searching violet, seeing every secret I had never spoken aloud.
Then she kissed me again. Slower this time, deliberate, tasting of snow and woodsmoke and the promise of war.
When we finally parted, her forehead rested against mine.
"I was so afraid," she whispered, "that first night in the music room, when I realised I wanted more than your loyalty. That I wanted you. All of you. And that you might only ever see me as your lady."
I cupped her face in both hands.
"Evelyn," I said, her name a vow, "I've loved you since the night you squeezed my hand in that ballroom and refused to cry. I just didn't have the right to say it until you kissed me first."
A shaky laugh slipped from her—half sob, half joy.
She kissed me again, and this time neither of us held anything back.
We sank onto the pile of furs someone had laid before the fire. Cloaks and gloves and careful distance fell away like old armour.
Her fingers found the laces of my dress; mine slid along the buttons of her riding coat. Every touch was reverent, urgent, terrified this might still be taken from us.
When skin finally met skin, the ruined hall vanished.
There was only firelight, breath, and the sound of two people choosing each other completely, irrevocably, in the ashes of everything they'd been forced to leave behind.
Later—much later—wrapped in a single cloak with the fire burned low, Evelyn traced idle shapes across my bare shoulder.
"Whatever happens in the next thirty days," she murmured, "whatever the kingdom does to us… this night was worth it."
I pressed my lips to her temple.
"Then we will have thirty thousand more," I promised.
Outside, snow kept falling, silent and endless.
Inside Caer Veyral, the duke's daughter and her assassin slept tangled together beneath the stag banners, hearts beating in perfect, defiant rhythm.
The verdict was sealed—not in the council chamber, but here.
And it was not exile.
It was war.