The morning came far too soon.
The castle was still and gray, shrouded in a silence so heavy it made even the crows forget how to scream.
Evelyne hadn't slept.
She stood barefoot beneath the old sycamore tree, where Luke's body swung gently from a low branch.
The rope creaked with every breeze. His boots shifted against the bark; head bowed unnaturally like he was simply resting.
But he wasn't.
Last night, they had stood under this very tree, laughing like they used to.
Before the world demanded she wear a crown. Before it demanded she bleed for it.
She had wanted to believe him.
That the curse wasn't real.
That loyalty could defy fate.
That love could stay.
But the morning had come and with it, heartbreak.
The sycamore tree where they had once carved their initials now bore only one thing.
Luke's lifeless body.
Hung. Swinging gently with the wind. His chest torn open, his heart gone.
Her handkerchief gripped tight in his dead hand, like a cruel tribute. A final message from fate itself.
It was the same scene. Again.
Her first husband. Her second. Her third.
Dead men. Ravens. Always ravens.
But this time, it was different.
This time, it was Luke.
Her oldest friend. The only person who saw her as more than just a cursed heir.
A broken sound escaped Evelyne's lips half sob, half scream. She clutched her chest, gasping, as if her lungs had suddenly remembered what it meant to hurt.
Behind her, the castle began to stir.
Servants hovered at her door. Whispering. Crying. Some in shock, others angry.
Even the guards, the strongest among them stood pale and furious.
"He was our best," one muttered. "Our friend."
"He died for her," another snapped, voice trembling with grief.
"Like the others."
The queen's ladies-in-waiting stood nearby, some sobbing, others glaring at Evelyne with open hate. One of them, Seraphina spoke loud enough for her to hear:
"She's cursed. She's death."
"She didn't deserve him," another whispered.
"She doesn't deserve anything."
Still, Evelyne stood frozen, as Luke's blood dripped slowly onto her nightgown and stained her bare feet. Her body shook, but she didn't fall.
The butler, Maurel, arrived with smugness clinging to his posture. His lips curled into mockery the moment he saw her.
"She hasn't moved since dawn," a maid whispered.
"Don't bother,"Maurel said sharply. "Let the North deal with their problem."
The maids flinched.
"No one is to touch the cursed princess," he continued.
"She belongs to them now."
They all stepped back.
Even the bravest of them. Too afraid. Too disgusted. Too broken.
And still, Evelyne stood there, hearing none of them only the voice of her father in her head
"Everyone who loves you dies. That is your curse, Evelyne."
It cut deeper than the slap he once gave her. Deeper than the wine he flung in her face. Deeper than the silence after her mother's funeral.
She clenched her fists.
Then let no one love me ever again.
A trumpet blared beyond the gates.
"The Hand of Duke Vale Lord Severin!" a herald announced.
The castle froze.
Severin stepped through the courtyard, his midnight-blue cloak trailing behind him, flanked by Northern guards in silver and charcoal armor.
His eyes scanned the chaos with the disinterest of a man already bored.
He smiled sharp as a blade and turned his gaze to Maurel.
"A shame," he said dryly,
"how the mighty tremble behind silk curtains and gossip like fishwives."
Gasps rang out.
He looked to the guards, then to the servants, the finally to the balcony where the king stood watching in silence.
"Oh, don't worry, Your Majesty," Severin said, voice like cold iron.
"If it's war you want, Vale would be honored to send one."
Maurel's face twisted in fury. "How dare—"
Severin silenced him with a look. Just a look.
Then he turned toward Evelyne.
She stood like a ghost in the castle Garden blood on her gown, sorrow in her eyes, and Luke's memory clinging to her skin.
Her voice, when it came, was hoarse but clear.
"I hear the North is at war with the East," she said.
"Are you ready to show your commander the Grand Duke of Vale this?"
She stepped aside.
Let Severin see Luke.
Severin's eyes flicked to the body. His smile faltered.
Then he bowed low.
And offered his hand.
"Don't worry, Princess," he said softly. "You're not alone in this war."
Gasps echoed. Some stepped back in fear. Others in outrage.
He took her hand in his, steady and sure.
Evelyne lifted her chin.
"I am Princess Evelyne Rosenthal of house Eirenthal "she said coldly, voice cutting through the whispers.
"Thorn Princess of the North."
Severin flicked his fingers.
Two Northern guards moved swiftly, cutting down Luke's body with care and reverence. They carried him to the roots of the sycamore tree and began digging.
"He'll be buried where he belongs," Severin said.
"Where he can rest."
Evelyne didn't move.
She didn't blink.
She stood as blood pooled at her feet and the wind whipped through her hair.
Then came Seraphina's voice sharp and mocking.
"She brings death to everything she touches."
"Curse-born,"one of her ladies hissed.
"Even her tears are poison."
But before Evelyne could reply, a great horn sounded from the gates.
The earth trembled.
Massive soldiers in black and silver armor marched through the entrance, bearing the standard of Vale: a silver wolf under a stormed moon.
At their center rode a man cloaked in shadow and fury, his presence too heavy for the air around him.
The guards shouted:
"The Grand Duke Acheron Vale!"
The king gripped the balcony railing above, eyes wide with disbelief.
And Seraphina paled.
Evelyne's lips curled just slightly.
The North had arrived.
The cold swept in with them not from the air, but from presence alone.
A silence fell over the courtyard like frost, thick and unmoving.
Soldiers stood rigid. Maids dared not whisper. Even the ravens overhead circled lower, as though waiting for something or someone to die.
Severin dismounted first, his dark armor catching what little light the overcast sky offered.
He scanned the courtyard with casual disdain, then smirked as his eyes landed on the king's platform.
He strode across the stone with sharp, deliberate steps and bowed shallowly before the throne's shadow.
"Your Majesty," Severin said, voice like cold iron.
"The North sends you its regards and its wrath."
Then he turned, walking back to the armored procession
.
The crowd watched breathlessly as the next rider dismounted.
The man who removed his helmet was not what they expected.
He was too young.
Too calm.
Too terrifying.
Duke Acheron Vale, the Warden of the Frozen Pass, bore no sigils, no excess ornaments.
Only the burnished steel of a man who needed no decoration. His hair, jet-black, was tousled from the helm, and his eyes storm-gray and unreadable swept the court like a blade.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
Except Evelyne.
She didn't look away.
Her fingers gripped her gown, blood long dried at the hem. Her heart stuttered as she saw him. And now here he was.
Acheron tilted his head, his gaze locking with hers.
"I didn't expect the Princess of Eirenthal to look like this," he said aloud, voice unimpressed but curious.
A scoff broke the silence Seraphina, clinging to her composure like a veil. She stepped forward with a practiced smile, one hand resting near her corset as she dipped into a delicate curtsy.
"She's dangerous, your Grace," she said with syrupy sweetness.
"You must be cautious. The princess is clever… and more than a little cursed. I would know I've had to deal with her little games since marrying into the royal house."
Acheron didn't reply.
He didn't even blink.
His eyes turned toward her like a sword unsheathed. And Seraphina paled.
One look.
One look was all it took to turn her bones to ash.
"Who is she?"Acheron asked Severin without looking away.
Severin chuckled under his breath.
"The king's second wife," he replied with amusement.
"Queen Seraphina of Eirenthal."
Acheron arched a single brow. "They allow vermin to wear crowns here?"
Gasps echoed through the courtyard.
Some nobles turned away, others bowed their heads in nervous silence. Seraphina stood trembling, lips parted but no words coming.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
Acheron turned back to Evelyne, the only one who hadn't flinched.
Then, without a word to the royal court, he raised a hand.
"Prepare to leave," he said to his men.
"We leave. Immediately. I have no desire to entertain Eirenthal's rotting court."
"But—" a courtier began.
Severin raised a gloved hand, silencing him with nothing more than a glance.
Maurel, standing at the head of the king's advisors, stepped forward, face tight with offense.
"You may be in our kingdom, Your Grace," Maurel said sharply,
"but you will obey our king's summons. This is a sovereign land, not some frozen pass where men do as they please."
Acheron didn't blink.
He turned his head slightly.
"Severin," he said calmly, "kill him."
The command hung in the air, still and deadly.
Without hesitation, Severin stepped forward, unsheathing his sword with a hiss. Maurel stumbled backward, eyes wide in disbelief.
"No—wait—!"
But Evelyne stepped between them.
"No!"Her voice rang through the courtyard, clear and sharp.
"Don't shed blood in this place. Not here."
Severin paused.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then he lowered the blade, ever so slightly, and smiled at Maurel with cold contempt.
"You're lucky she grew up here," Severin whispered.
"Not me."
Maurel collapsed backward in relief,
The Northern gates stood open beneath the gray morning sky.
Beyond them, horses waited in orderly formation, their dark coats gleaming beneath the pale light. Silver wolf banners fluttered in the cold wind, marking the departure of the Northern army.
Evelyne stood beside Acheron's horse, her bloodstained gown brushing against the stone beneath her feet.
She had already said her farewells.
Not to the King.
Not to the Queen.
Not to the people who had spent years whispering about her curse.
Her goodbye had been beneath the old sycamore tree, beside the boy who had once promised to protect her.
Luke was gone.
And there was nothing left in Eirenthal that she wished to hold on to.
"Your Grace," Severin said, approaching his master. "The soldiers are ready."
Acheron nodded.
"Then we leave."
Evelyne reached for the Duke's offered hand.
But before she could mount, a familiar voice tore through the courtyard.
"EVELYNE!"
She stopped only long enough to steady herself.
Then she continued.
Maurel Thorne stood several paces away, staring at her as though he could not believe she would actually leave without seeking his permission.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Evelyne did not answer.
"Princess, I am speaking to you!"
She placed her foot in the stirrup.
Maurel's expression tightened.
For years, he had been able to summon her with a word. Even when she hated him, even when she trembled with anger, she had always been forced to acknowledge his presence.
Now she treated him as though he were a stranger standing among the crowd.
Worse, she seemed entirely indifferent to his anger.
"Evelyne, stop this foolishness."
Nothing.
"You cannot simply abandon your kingdom because of one unfortunate death."
At the mention of Luke, Evelyne's fingers tightened around the handkerchief in her palm.
But she did not turn.
Maurel noticed the movement.
His gaze fixed on the small piece of embroidered fabric, and something bitter twisted inside him.
Even now, she was thinking about Luke.
Even now, after everything Maurel had said and done, she was mourning the man who had stood between them.
"Put that away," he snapped.
Evelyne continued mounting the horse.
"Evelyne!"
His voice rose.
"Put it away!"
She ignored him.
The court watched in growing discomfort.
A few maids exchanged uncertain glances. The guards who had served Maurel for years had never seen anyone disregard him so openly.
And yet the princess did not appear to be challenging him.
She simply did not care enough to respond.
That realization was more humiliating to Maurel than any insult she could have offered.
He strode forward.
"You will not leave me like this!"
Acheron turned his head.
His storm-gray eyes settled on Maurel with quiet displeasure.
"Is there a reason you continue shouting at a woman who has made it clear she wishes to leave?"
Maurel glared at him.
"This is none of your concern, Your Grace."
"Then stop making it everyone's concern."
Severin lowered his gaze, hiding the faintest hint of amusement.
Maurel noticed.
"Something amusing, Lord Marell?"
"Not at all, my lord."
Severin's expression remained perfectly composed.
"I merely admire your persistence."
The sarcasm was subtle, almost polite.
It made Maurel's expression darken all the same.
"Mind your tongue."
"Of course."
Severin stepped back without another word.
Evelyne was now seated on the horse.
Acheron mounted behind her, gathering the reins while allowing her enough space to sit comfortably.
Maurel watched the scene with growing desperation.
The Duke had arrived only hours ago.
He had barely exchanged a handful of words with Evelyne.
Yet she had accepted his assistance without hesitation.
She had listened when he spoke.
She had chosen to leave with him.
And she had not spared Maurel a single glance.
"No," Maurel muttered.
Seraphina turned toward him.
"Maurel?"
He did not hear her.
"No. This cannot be happening."
His sister followed his gaze toward the princess.
For the first time, she began to understand that her brother's anger had little to do with the political consequences of Evelyne's departure.
He was not worried about the alliance.
He was not concerned about the King's authority.
He was terrified of losing access to Evelyne.
"Maurel," Seraphina said quietly, "let her go."
He turned toward her as though she had struck him.
"What did you say?"
"She has made her choice."
"She has made a mistake!"
"Then allow her to make it."
His expression twisted.
"You don't understand."
"No," Seraphina replied, her voice trembling. "I don't think I do."
Maurel stared at his sister.
For a moment, he looked almost offended by her inability to understand what he considered obvious.
How could they all stand there and watch Evelyne leave?
How could they allow her to disappear beyond the gates as though she were merely another noblewoman departing for a distant estate?
Did they not understand that he had spent years watching her?
Years learning her habits, her expressions, her fears.
Years convincing himself that he alone could understand her.
He had wanted her long before she understood the meaning of his attention.
He had wanted her when she was still young enough to believe that powerful men knew what was best for her.
And when she grew old enough to resist him, he had mistaken her fear for a challenge.
He had never asked himself whether she wanted him.
He had simply assumed that, given enough time, she would eventually accept him.
Now time w
"Evelyne!"
His shout startled several horses.
She remained still.
Maurel took another step forward.
"Do you intend to leave without even speaking to me?"
Nothing.
"After all these years?"
Her expression did not change.
The silence became unbearable.
Then Maurel did something no one in the courtyard expected.
He shouted the words he had kept hidden for years.
"WE WERE TOGETHER FOR YEARS!"
The entire courtyard froze.
A maid dropped the cloth she was carrying.
One of the royal guards turned sharply toward his companion.
The courtiers stared at Maurel, their expressions shifting from confusion to open disbelief.
Seraphina went pale.
"Maurel!"
He ignored her.
"She was mine long before that Northern bastard arrived!" he shouted. "We had a relationship! She cannot simply leave me and pretend that none of it ever happened!"
A stunned silence followed.
Then whispers began spreading through the courtyard.
"A relationship?"
"Since when?"
"Did the princess agree to it?"
"I have never heard of such a thing."
Seraphina stared at her brother in disbelief.
"You never told me this."
Maurel rounded on her.
"It was none of your business!"
"None of my business?" Her voice rose. "You are standing in the middle of the royal courtyard, publicly claiming that the princess was in a relationship with you, and you expect me to remain silent?"
"I don't care what you think!"
The words struck her into silence.
Maurel turned back toward Evelyne.
"I don't care what the court thinks! I don't care if the King strips me of my position! I don't care if the entire kingdom despises me!"
His voice cracked.
"I only want her back!"
The words echoed across the courtyard.
For a moment, even the Northern soldiers seemed taken aback by the sheer desperation in his voice.
He was no longer speaking like the King's Hand.
He was speaking like a man who believed the world had stolen something that rightfully belonged to him.
And he could not accept that the world had never promised him anything.
"Evelyne!" he cried. "You cannot do this to me!"
She looked toward the road beyond the gates.
Maurel's face contorted.
"Do you hear me? I said I want you back!"
Severin glanced at the princess, then at Maurel.
"A remarkable declaration," he remarked mildly.
Maurel's head snapped toward him.
"What?"
Severin folded his hands behind his back.
"To be so certain of a relationship that the other person apparently wishes to leave without even saying goodbye."
His tone was polite.
Almost sympathetic.
"Such confidence is rare, my lord."
A few courtiers quickly lowered their heads.
Maurel glared at him.
"You think this is amusing?"
"No," Severin replied. "I think it is unfortunate."
He paused.
"Though I must admit, I have never seen anyone work so hard to convince an entire court that a woman belongs to him."
Maurel's face reddened.
"Stay out of this!"
"Gladly."
Severin stepped aside.
"But perhaps you should consider doing the same with her life."
The words were quiet, but Maurel heard them.
His hands curled into fists.
"You know nothing about us!"
Severin did not argue.
He simply looked toward Evelyne, who remained entirely indifferent to the exchange.
Then he glanced back at Maurel.
"Perhaps not," he said. "But I know what a refusal looks like."
Maurel's expression hardened.
"She has not refused me!"
The words came too quickly.
Too desperately.
Seraphina stared at him.
"Maurel, she is leaving."
"She is upset!"
"She has been trying to leave this court for years."
"She doesn't know what she wants!"
"She has just told you what she wants without saying a single word."
Maurel turned toward his sister with such fury that she stepped back.
"Enough!"
Seraphina fell silent.
He faced Evelyne again.
"Evelyne, please."
His voice changed.
The anger gave way to something almost pleading.
"You don't have to do this. You don't have to marry him. You can stay here, and we can talk. We can settle this between ourselves."
He swallowed.
"I will change. I swear it."
Evelyne did not react.
"I will stop arguing with you. I will give you space. I will do whatever you want."
He took another step.
"Just come back."
Acheron's gaze sharpened.
"Do not approach her again."
Maurel ignored him.
"I don't care if you hate me," he continued. "I don't care if you never forgive me. You can despise me for the rest of your life, Evelyne, but I cannot let you disappear from mine."
His voice trembled.
"Please."
For several seconds, the courtyard remained silent.
Then Maurel's expression changed again.
Desperation became anger.
"You cannot throw away everything we had!"
Evelyne finally turned her head.
The movement was small, but it silenced everyone.
Maurel immediately straightened.
He looked at her with the desperate hope of a man who believed that, at last, she would give him what he wanted.
Acheron said nothing.
Severin fell quiet.
Evelyne met Maurel's gaze.
There was no affection in her expression.
No hesitation.
No hidden longing.
Only exhaustion and a finality that made Maurel's hope begin to falter.
"You keep calling it a relationship," she said, "but there was never a relationship between us."
Maurel's face went blank.
"You took advantage of my innocence and my fear because you thought my silence meant you could do whatever you wanted."
A horrified gasp escaped one of the maids.
Evelyne continued.
"I never promised you my heart. I never belonged to you. And I never will."
Maurel shook his head.
"No, Evelyne—"
She did not raise her voice.
"You were never mine to love, and I was never yours to own. Do not ever call what you did to me a relationship again."
Then she turned away.
That was all.
She would not argue with him.
She would not answer his excuses.
She would not spend another moment explaining why she had never wanted what he had forced upon her.
Maurel stared at her.
"Evelyne?"
She did not respond.
"Evelyne, wait."
Nothing.
"Please. You cannot mean that."
She remained facing forward.
His voice rose again.
"EVELYNE!"
She did not flinch.
Severin glanced at Maurel and gave a small, almost regretful shake of his head.
"I believe that was your answer, my lord."
Maurel turned on him.
"Shut your mouth!"
Severin immediately fell silent, his expression composed.
He had no need to continue.
Evelyne had already said everything that needed to be said.
Acheron gathered the reins.
"Open the gates."
The Northern soldiers moved at once.
The great doors swung outward, revealing the road that led away from Eirenthal.
Maurel suddenly lunged forward.
"STOP HER!"
Two guards caught him by the arms.
"Release me!"
"Lord Thorne, please calm yourself!"
"I AM THE HAND OF THE KING!"
His voice thundered across the courtyard.
"LET GO OF ME!"
The guards struggled to restrain him.
Maurel's eyes remained fixed on Evelyne as the horse began to move.
"EVELYNE!"
She did not look back.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT US! I DON'T CARE WHAT THE COURT THINKS!"
His voice broke.
"I ONLY WANT YOU BACK!"
The Northern procession began moving through the gates.
Silver wolf banners rose against the gray sky, and the thunder of hooves gradually swallowed Maurel's desperate cries.
Evelyne remained facing forward.
Her fingers rested against the handkerchief in her palm.
She thought of Luke.
Of his laughter beneath the sycamore tree.
Of the promise he had made her.
Of the one person who had never demanded that she prove