Evelina's POV
My smile is starting to hurt.
I've been smiling for six hours straight. Smiling at nobles who congratulate me. Smiling at servants who bow. Smiling at my father who keeps telling everyone how proud he is. My face feels like a mask that's been glued on too tight, and if I don't stop soon, it might crack right down the middle.
Tomorrow, I marry Crown Prince Adrian. Tomorrow, I become queen of Valenmoor.
So why does my stomach feel like it's full of heavy stones?
"Lady Evelina!" Duchess Marlowe grabs my hands, squeezing so tight her rings press painful circles into my fingers. "You must be so excited! Every girl in the kingdom envies you, dear. Every single one!"
"I'm very blessed," I say automatically, because that's what I'm supposed to say. That's what perfect Lady Evelina always says. But the words taste like ash in my mouth, dry and bitter.
She finally lets go and walks away, her laugh too loud in my ears. I rub my sore fingers and look around the grand ballroom, searching for the two people who should be here with me right now.
Adrian, my future husband. And Isolde, my little sister and best friend.
I haven't seen Adrian in over an hour. Every time I try to talk to him tonight, he finds an excuse to leave. He needs more wine. He has to greet someone important. He promises we'll talk later, but later never comes. And Isolde... every time our eyes meet across the room, she looks away fast, like she's scared of something.
Or hiding something.
Something is wrong. I feel it in my bones, cold and certain.
The musicians play a happy song. Couples spin across the dance floor, their laughter mixing with the clink of glasses. Everyone celebrates my perfect future, my perfect wedding, my perfect life. But my hands won't stop shaking, so I hide them in the folds of my silver gown.
"Evie!" My mother appears beside me like magic, her smile bright and beautiful. But her eyes are cold, like they always are when she looks at me. She only calls me Evie when other people are watching. "Go mingle, darling. A future queen shouldn't stand in corners looking sad."
"I'm not sad," I lie. "Just tired."
"Well, don't look it. Smile more." She pats my cheek, but there's no warmth in it. "Remember what we practiced. You represent our house now."
"Yes, Mother." I paste my smile back on and move through the crowd again.
I've been practicing my whole life. How to walk. How to talk. How to smile even when I want to cry. How to be perfect Lady Evelina Ashcroft, the girl who was born to wear a crown.
But right now, I just want to be me. Whoever that is.
I catch a glimpse of Isolde near the doorway. She's wearing her favorite blue dress, the one I helped her pick out last week. We spent that whole afternoon laughing together, trying on different gowns and talking about my wedding. She was so happy for me then. She hugged me and said I deserved every bit of happiness.
So why won't she look at me now?
"Isolde!" I call out, pushing through the remaining guests. But she slips through the door before I can reach her, moving fast like she's running from something.
From me.
My chest tightens, making it hard to breathe. When did my sister start avoiding me? When did everything start feeling so wrong?
More nobles stop me before I can follow her. Lord Westmore. Lady Chen. The Duke of something-or-other whose name I can't remember. They all have congratulations and questions about the wedding tomorrow. What flowers did I choose? What will my dress look like? Am I nervous?
Yes, I want to scream. I'm terrified. But I don't know why.
Instead, I answer everything correctly. Say all the right things. Smile until my face might break. This is what I've trained for my whole life—being perfect, being proper, being exactly what everyone needs me to be.
But inside, I'm screaming so loud I'm surprised no one can hear it.
Finally, finally, the celebration starts to end. Guests leave in small groups, calling out their goodbyes and best wishes. My parents disappear to their rooms without saying goodnight to me. The musicians pack up their instruments, the happy songs fading to silence. Servants move through the ballroom, blowing out candles one by one until shadows fill the corners.
I should go to bed. Tomorrow is the biggest day of my life. I need to rest, to sleep, to be ready.
But I can't. Not with this awful feeling eating at my insides like a living thing.
I need to see Adrian. I need him to look at me with those kind eyes and tell me everything is fine. That I'm just being silly and nervous. That this terrible feeling is just wedding jitters. That he still loves me like he promised when we were children, back when everything was simple and true.
My feet carry me through the quiet palace halls without me really deciding to move. I know the way to Adrian's private rooms by heart—we've walked these halls together since we were seven years old, holding hands and planning our future.
Guards stand at attention as I pass. They nod respectfully. They know who I am. After tomorrow, I'll be their queen, and they'll bow even lower.
The thought makes me feel sick.
Adrian's door comes into view at the end of the long hallway. Light shines underneath it in a golden strip, so he's still awake. Good. Perfect. We can talk. He can hold me and make this terrible feeling go away. He can remind me why we're getting married, why this is right, why I've spent my whole life preparing for tomorrow.
I raise my hand to knock on his door, then stop.
Voices. Two people talking inside his room.
Adrian's voice, low and rough in a way I've only heard a few times before. "We shouldn't. Not tonight. Not now. Evelina could—"
"Evelina doesn't know anything." That's Isolde. My sister's voice. Coming from inside Adrian's bedroom. Late at night. The night before my wedding. "She's probably still at the party, smiling at everyone like the perfect little princess she is."
My hand freezes in mid-air, my knuckles inches from the wood.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
"She trusts me completely," Isolde continues, and she sounds... happy? Actually happy? "She always has. Poor perfect Evie, always so busy being good and proper that she never sees what's right in front of her face."
"Isolde—" Adrian starts, but then he stops. Makes a sound. A soft sound. A sound I recognize because he used to make it when we kissed, back when we were younger and actually in love.
Or when I thought we were in love.
My hand drops to my side.
"Tomorrow she'll marry you and become queen," Isolde says, her voice like warm honey. "But tonight, right now, you're mine. Only mine."
The floor tilts under my feet. The walls close in from both sides. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't understand what I'm hearing, even though the words are perfectly clear.
My sister. My future husband. Together. The night before my wedding.
I should leave. I should turn around and run away and pretend I never came here, never heard any of this. Maybe if I don't see it with my own eyes, it isn't real. Maybe I can wake up tomorrow and still believe in my perfect life.
But my hand moves anyway. Like it belongs to someone else. It reaches for the door handle. Wraps around the cold metal. Turns it slowly, so slowly.
The door swings open, silent on its well-oiled hinges.
And there they are.
Adrian and Isolde. In his bed. Her blue dress—the one I helped her choose—crumpled on his floor like trash. His hands tangled in her dark hair. Their lips pressed together like they've done this a thousand times before. Like this is normal. Like I don't exist.
They don't even hear the door open. They're too busy with each other to notice me standing there in my silver gown, my world crumbling into dust around my feet.
Then Isolde opens her eyes. Sees me. And smiles.
Not a guilty smile. Not a sorry smile. Not an "oh no, you caught us" smile.
A winning smile. A triumphant smile. A smile that says she wanted me to see this.
"Hello, Evie," she says sweetly, pulling back from Adrian just enough to speak clearly. Her lipstick is smeared. Her hair is a mess. She looks happy. "Did you need something?"