The aftermath of the feast brought silence. Not peace never peace but the brittle quiet that comes before the storm. The nobles returned to their estates whispering rumors like prayers, unsure whether to kneel or flee.
Some said Lady Evelyne was plotting to marry the prince.
Others said she meant to kill him.
All of them were wrong.
Because Evelyne was not playing for hearts or thrones.
She was playing for truth and ruin.
In the west wing of the palace, Julian Ashthorn leaned against the doorframe of Evelyne's chamber, arms crossed.
"You keep stirring the pit," he said. "One day, the snakes will strike back."
"They already did," Evelyne replied, flipping through her notes. "They called it justice."
Julian exhaled. "You're changing, Evelyne. Even your voice sounds… colder."
"Would you rather I sound like the girl begging on her knees in chains?"
"No," he said quietly. "I just wonder if the girl I used to know is gone."
She paused. Her fingers stilled on the paper.
"She died," Evelyne said softly. "They burned her at the stake while the ones she loved stood silent."
Julian didn't answer.
Because he had been one of them.
Later that evening, Evelyne walked the palace gardens alone, trailing her hand over the marble banisters slick with rain. That's where she found him Rowan Dorne leaning on a statue of a forgotten king, chewing a piece of apple like it was stolen gold.
"You look like someone who just threatened a monarch," he said.
"She threatened me first," Evelyne replied.
Rowan tilted his head. "You planning to poison her next?"
"No," she said. "I want her alive. To see everything she built turn to ash."
He grinned. "Now that's the girl I follow."
"I'm not a girl anymore."
Rowan studied her, eyes darker than the night sky.
"No," he agreed. "You're a storm in silk."
In a high tower of the palace, Silas Marrow reported to Lucien in low tones.
"She's recruiting more than just spies now. She's gathering broken things. Orphans. Disgraced sons. Outcasts."
Lucien frowned. "A rebellion?"
"No. A reckoning."
Lucien closed his eyes. "How much time do I have?"
Silas's voice was grim.
"Enough to choose whether you'll stand in her way or beside her."
Lucien didn't answer. Because the truth already echoed through his soul:
He had lost her.
And now, Evelyne Ashthorn was no longer playing for justice.
She was playing for vengeance wrapped in roses.