EVELINA
The first light of dawn crept through the cracks of the shutters. The air in the small room was cold and smelled faintly of rain and smoke. Evelina lay awake, her thoughts tangled in the quiet that followed the storm.
Outside, the city stirred. Somewhere a cart rolled over cobblestones, and a bell rang faintly from a church beyond the river. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could stay in that fragile silence, but the world would not wait.
She rose and crossed to the small mirror on the wall. Her hair was loose, her cloak draped carelessly over a chair. The reflection that stared back at her was not the polished daughter of a Marquis but a woman caught between defiance and fear.
Lucian still slept in the chair by the window, his head bowed slightly, the candle beside him long burned to wax. He had insisted she rest while he kept watch. The sight of him there made something in her chest ache — part tenderness, part sorrow.
She moved quietly, unwilling to wake him, and gathered her cloak. The sound of fabric stirred him anyway. His eyes opened at once, alert and calm.
"You should wait until the streets are clear," he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
"I have already waited too long," she replied softly. "If I am missed, my father will send for guards. I have to return before anyone else learns where I have been."
Lucian stood, crossing the room in two strides. "They will speak no matter what you do, Evelina. That is the way of the court."
"Then let them," she said. "But I will not give them proof."
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Be careful. Alistair will use even your silence as a weapon."
"I know."
He reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "When the time comes, I will speak the truth. They can turn my name into mud if they wish, but not yours."
She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "The truth does not matter to men like Alistair."
"Then I will make it matter," Lucian said. "Go now, before the sun rises fully. The gates near the river will still be unguarded."
Evelina nodded. She lingered only a moment longer, then pulled her hood over her head and slipped through the door.
The streets were still damp from the night's rain. Mist hung low over the stones, blurring the edges of the world. She kept to the narrow alleys, her footsteps light, her cloak drawn close. The path back to Everleigh Hall was not far, but it felt longer than she remembered.
When she reached the estate's side entrance, the sun had just begun to break through the clouds. The servants' courtyard was already stirring — stable hands moving horses, maids gathering laundry. She took a breath, hoping to slip inside unnoticed.
But the moment she stepped through the archway, she felt the weight of their eyes.
A stable boy looked up from his work, his expression flickering with surprise before he bowed quickly. Two maids whispered to each other near the steps, their words low but sharp enough for her to feel the sting of them.
She pretended not to hear and climbed the back stairs. Her heart pounded with every step.
Inside, the corridors were alive with movement. The air held a tension she could not name. When she reached her chamber, Clara was waiting at the door, pale and flustered.
"My lady," she whispered urgently. "Where have you been? The house has been in an uproar. The Marquis sent men to the palace at first light."
Evelina closed the door behind them. "I went for air. That is all."
Clara shook her head. "You were gone all night. They are saying terrible things. The messenger from Montclair Hall arrived not an hour ago with a sealed letter for your father. The servants are already whispering that it concerns you."
Evelina's breath caught. "From Montclair?"
"Yes. And worse, the guards at the south gate claim they saw someone matching your description leaving the city after midnight. They have already reported it to the council steward. The rumor is that you were seen meeting Lord Ravenscroft."
Evelina felt the ground tilt beneath her. "Who told them?"
Clara hesitated. "I do not know, my lady. But it spread too quickly. It feels as if they were waiting for it."
She did not need to ask who "they" were. Alistair Montclair's reach was everywhere.
Evelina moved to the window, gripping the sill. Outside, the gardens were bright again, washed clean by rain, but she could feel the storm still building beyond the walls.
"Where is my father now?" she asked.
"In the study. He has been there since dawn. He would not let anyone in except your brother."
Evelina drew her cloak tighter. "Then I must speak to him."
Clara looked alarmed. "You cannot, not yet. He is angry and afraid in equal measure. If he learns you were truly gone all night—"
"He will learn it from me," Evelina said firmly. "Not from the Grand Duke."
She left before Clara could protest.
The corridors seemed longer now, the portraits along the walls watching her with silent judgment. By the time she reached the study, her hands were trembling.
The door was slightly ajar. She could hear voices inside — her father's, low and steady, and Thomas's, sharp with frustration.
"She is innocent, Father," Thomas was saying. "Whatever they claim, I do not believe it."
"And yet the rumor is already at the palace," the Marquis replied. "Do you think they will care what we believe? The Grand Duke is framing this as a scandal that threatens the King's peace. If he convinces the council, they will make an example of her."
Evelina stepped inside before either could speak again.
"Then they will have to face me first," she said.
Both men turned sharply. Thomas's eyes widened in relief and anger at once. "Evee, where have you been? We thought—"
"I know," she interrupted quietly. "I am sorry. But I could not let them decide my story without hearing the truth."
Her father stood, his expression heavy with exhaustion. "You went to him."
"Yes."
"Evelina—"
"I had to, Father. The rumor about his engagement to Lady Selina was created by Alistair Montclair himself. Lucian told me. He has proof. If we do nothing, Montclair will use it to destroy both of them and drag our name with it."
The Marquis's shoulders sank. "Do you hear yourself? The Grand Duke commands half the council. We cannot stand against him."
Thomas stepped forward. "Perhaps we cannot, but Ravenscroft can. If he exposes Montclair, this could end."
"Or it could end with all of us ruined," their father said. He rubbed his temple, as though the weight of the crown's games had finally reached him. "I will not risk you, Evelina. Not for politics, not for love. You are my daughter before you are anyone's cause."
Evelina met his eyes. "And what am I if I let them lie about me?"
He had no answer.
The silence stretched between them until Thomas spoke again, his tone gentler. "The palace will call for a statement soon. If Montclair's men claim to have seen you leave, they will demand to know where you were."
Evelina looked out the window. The city beyond the gardens glowed faintly in the morning light. "Then I will tell them the truth."
Thomas frowned. "That you were with Ravenscroft?"
"That I met him because I refuse to live a life defined by other people's lies," she said. "Let them whisper if they must. I will not let Alistair Montclair own my silence."
Her father's eyes softened, though fear still shadowed them. "You sound like your mother," he said quietly.
Evelina managed a small smile. "Then perhaps I am finally learning from her."
He sighed and turned toward the desk. "If you are to speak, then be careful. Words in the court are blades. Choose the ones that cut cleanly."
When she left the study, Thomas followed her into the hall. "You know this will only make Montclair strike harder."
"I know," she said. "But he will not strike unseen any longer."
He looked at her with a mix of pride and worry. "Be careful, Evee."
She nodded. "You too."
As she returned to her chamber, the sound of servants whispering echoed faintly through the corridors. Her name drifted among them like smoke.
By the time she reached her window again, the sky had turned pale gold. The city stretched beyond the gates, alive with rumor, restless with curiosity. Somewhere out there, Lucian was already preparing to face the court.
Evelina rested her hand against the glass, the warmth of the rising sun brushing her fingers.
They had taken everything from her but the truth, and she would hold it like a sword.