The next morning, the skies wept over the capital.
Rain slid down the palace windows like tears Evelyne refused to shed. She dressed in black again—not mourning, but armor. A silent statement.
She was summoned once more.
Not by her father this time.
By the Empress Dowager.
Her grandmother.
A woman more terrifying than any knight, whose words shaped court politics more sharply than any blade.
---
The Dowager's quarters were a maze of incense smoke and silken drapes, where every step felt like walking into a memory. Evelyne stood quietly at the center, feeling the old woman's gaze pierce through her.
"You've returned from the grave," the Dowager finally said. Her voice was cold, regal. "How… inconvenient."
Evelyne bowed slightly. "I assure you, I had no intention of dying in the first place."
The Dowager's lips curved slightly. Not a smile—more like a smirk of challenge. "Good. You've grown teeth. You'll need them."
She leaned forward. "There are nobles calling for your return to the line of succession."
"That's not my aim."
"No," the Dowager said, "but it may become your battlefield."
A servant entered, bowing low. "My Lady Evelyne. A visitor awaits in the greenhouse."
"Who?"
"Prince Cael."
---
Evelyne arrived in the greenhouse to find Cael, the First Prince, watering white lilies. He wore no crown, no finery—just a simple navy coat soaked from the rain.
"I thought you hated flowers," she said.
"I hated how they were used," he replied, setting the watering can down. "You always said lilies were symbols of new beginnings."
Evelyne approached slowly. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything about you."
The air grew still.
He looked at her—eyes full of regret, longing, something dangerously close to love. "If I had turned against them then… would you have lived?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
Cael stepped closer. "I won't lose you again."
The thunder cracked overhead.
And somewhere in the shadows, someone else watched them… eyes glowing beneath a hood.
---
To be continued...