The evening sun was bleeding a deep, bruised purple across the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows across the manor's stone floors when a servant knocked on Evelina's door. The message was curt, delivered with the usual lack of respect: "The Minister is waiting for you in his study. Move immediately."
Evelina didn't rush. She didn't let the "immediate" order trigger the old, panicked heartbeat of the girl who used to live in this body. Instead, she took a slow, measured breath. She spent a moment smoothing the skirts of her dress—a simple, faded thing that she had managed to mend herself in the quiet hours of the night. She checked her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her skin was still pale, yes but the dull, lifeless look of a victim had been replaced by a cold, calculating spark.
A meeting in the study at this hour, she thought, her mind working like a high-speed processor. The council of snakes has convened. They've had all afternoon to talk behind my back and now they want to deliver the verdict.
When she pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of her father's office, the atmosphere inside was thick—suffocating. The air smelled of expensive, bitter tobacco, old parchment and the sharp, salty tang of Isabella's very loud, very public tears.
Isabella was draped over a velvet side chair like a wilted lily, her face buried in a damp silk handkerchief. Her shoulders were shaking with a practiced, rhythmic grace that Evelina recognized instantly. It was a performance. Beside her, Lady Elena was stroking her hair with exaggerated tenderness, her face set in a mask of maternal agony. Minister Silas sat behind his massive desk, his brow furrowed as if he were weighing the fate of the entire Empire rather than the tantrum of a spoiled daughter.
Evelina didn't wait for an invitation to sit. She walked right into the center of the room, her footsteps silent and predatory on the thick Persian rug.
"You called for me, Father?" she asked. Her voice was flat, level and entirely devoid of the tremor the original Evelina would have had in this room.
Isabella let out a fresh, loud sob at the sound of her sister's voice. Elena glared up, her eyes flashing with a predatory heat that she didn't bother to hide.
"Evelina," Silas began, his voice dropping into that deep, paternal tone he used when he was about to ask for a sacrifice. "We have been discussing the arrangements for tomorrow. Young Lord Lucius has requested a walk... alone. It is a highly irregular request. For a noblewoman of your standing, it is scandalous. It borders on the indecent."
"Is it?" Evelina tilted her head slightly, a mockingly curious expression on her face. "I thought the Valerius family made their own rules. They are the Iron Wall of the Empire, after all. Or are you suggesting the Finance Ministry is now in the position of telling the General's son how to conduct a courtship? I wonder how the General would react to being told his son lacks manners."
Silas slammed a hand on the desk, though the force was half-hearted, more for show than out of real anger. "Do not be difficult! You are also a daughter of this house. Your reputation is our reputation. More importantly, your health is a constant, nagging concern. If you were to faint or have a 'spell' while alone with the boy, it would be a total disaster for our family's standing."
"Which is why," Elena chimed in, her voice dripping with a fake, oily honey that made Evelina's skin crawl, "we have decided on a sensible compromise. Since Isabella is so close to you—and since she is so much more... robust and capable—she will accompany you tomorrow. She will act as your chaperone. To ensure you don't overexert yourself, of course. She's doing it out of the goodness of her heart."
Evelina looked at Isabella. Through the small gaps in her fingers, Isabella was watching her. There were no tears in her eyes now—only a sharp, triumphant glint of victory. She thought she had won.
Ah, the daily opera, Evelina thought, her almost laughed on their face. The villainous step-mother, the weeping sister and the weak patriarch. I've seen this exact script a thousand times in the historical archives. It's a classic move: the 'Third Party Interference'.
"I see," Evelina said slowly, letting the silence stretch until the others grew uncomfortable. "So, when Lucius specifically asked to speak with me, his fiancée alone, your response is to send my sister you've been trying to push into his arms for the last three years along? Do you think he is blind, Father? Or do you just think he's stupid?"
"How dare you!" Elena stood up, her face turning that familiar, ugly shade of scarlet. "Isabella is only thinking of your well-being! She is willing to sacrifice her own afternoon, her own rest, just to watch over you!"
"Sacrifice?" Evelina laughed. It wasn't a girl's laugh; it was a short, sharp sound that silenced the room like a gunshot. "Let's be honest for once. You want her there to charm him. You want her to stand in the bright sunlight and look 'robust' and beautiful while I am cast in the shade. You want her to remind him of every reason why he should have chosen the second daughter over the first. You're not sending a chaperone; you're sending a salesperson."
"Evelina, that is enough!" Silas barked, his face hardening. "I am the head of this house. I have made my decision. You will take Isabella with you tomorrow, or you will not leave this house at all. You will be confined to your room 'for your health' until the wedding day."
Evelina stepped closer to the desk, closing the distance until Silas had to lean back. She didn't look like a girl being scolded; she looked like a judge delivering a final sentence.
"Fine," she said.
The word hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Isabella stopped her fake sobbing. Elena blinked, her mouth hanging open in mid-insult.
"Fine?" Silas repeated, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Yes. She can come," Evelina said, a cold, paper-thin smile playing on her lips. "If she is so desperate to see how a Valerius treats his intended, who am I to deny her the education? It might be useful for her to see what a real engagement looks like. But tell me, Isabella... have you ever seen a war-dog when it's been interrupted during its hunt?"
Isabella's breath hitched in her throat. "What... what do you mean by that?"
"Lucius didn't come here today to play games or recite poems," Evelina whispered, leaning over her sister until their faces were inches apart. "He came here with an intention. If you get in the way of that, Isabella, I won't be the one you have to worry about. He is a soldier. And soldiers tend to deal with 'obstructions' very permanently. Are you sure you're 'robust' enough to handle the anger of the Iron Wall?"
She turned back to her father, who was looking increasingly worried. "She can come if that's what you all want. But if he takes offense—and if he sees this as a direct insult to his word and his family's honor—don't look at me when the Valerius carriage leaves these gates for the last time. That 'reputation' you're so worried about? It will be ash by sunset. And the Valerius family does not forget insults."
Without waiting for a response or a dismissal, Evelina turned on her heel and walked toward the door.
"Evelina!" Elena shouted after her, her voice shrill with rage. "You will regret that tone! You'll be back in the dirt soon enough! Let us see what will happen then!"
Evelina didn't stop. She didn't even look back. She had too much work to do. If she was going to have a "chaperone" tomorrow, she needed to ensure Isabella was too busy surviving the walk to interfere with a single word of the conversation.