Her silk gown was torn, stained at the hem with soot and blood. She hadn’t seen Kayden or Leon since the chaos began. And when she finally reached the exit of the tunnel, heart thudding in her ears, the last thing she expected was to stumble out into her parents’ arms.

“Evelyn!” her mother cried, rushing forward to wrap her in a trembling embrace. Her father stood nearby—supported by two guards, pallid and dazed, his side heavily bandaged. The Duke of Brighton was alive… but barely.

Evelyn clutched her father’s hand. He was conscious, but weak. Eyes half-lidded, breath shallow. Alive—but not truly there. And worst of all, there was no sign of Leon. The moment she asked, her mother’s face darkened.

“Count Edverard took him,” she said, voice hollow. "I don't even know where he is anymore...."

"What...?" 

Her knees almost buckled, the grief hitting her like a crashing wave. Cassian had won this round. 

Their strategy had failed because the communication lines—meticulously planned between guards, allies, and scouts—had been sabotaged. Their messages never reached the right hands. Their plans were rerouted and intercepted. They were outplayed from within.

Yet no one seemed to question Cassian’s rise. He had, after all, “taken charge” during the infiltration. Now he walked the palace halls like a savior—gathering the frightened, rallying the nobles, giving speeches under the pretense of loyalty. The Emperor and Empress were both too ill—conveniently so when in reality the Emperor was given heavy doses of duskroot poison and the Empress was forced to live in seclusion. 

Meanwhile, At the Royal Palace, A cloaked man emerged from the shadows near the garden entrance—his steps silent but confident. He bowed once, his dark Renoan armor barely visible beneath the cloak.

“My prince,” the man said. “You sent for us.”

Cassian didn’t turn immediately. Instead, he gazed at the moonlit city beyond the palace grounds.

“There’s been enough bloodshed,” he finally said, voice calm. “You’ll leave now.”

The man blinked, surprised. “You said the Emperor—”

“I said you’d have your distraction,” Cassian interrupted coldly. “And I delivered. The nobles fear collapse. The Emperor is half-dead. The council practically begged me to take command. Your job is done.”

“But we haven’t secured—”

“I don’t need chaos anymore,” Cassian said, turning now. His eyes gleamed like ice. “I need legitimacy. And the moment they suspect I’m working with outsiders—traitors—they’ll turn on me.”

The man hesitated. “We lost more than we were promised. Half our men died for your crown.”

Cassian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then take the rest and go. I’ll send the final payment as agreed. You’ll retreat quietly across the eastern path before dawn. If you’re seen, I’ll deny you. And if you disobey… I’ll burn your name from the records of this land.”

-------

Across the empire, the events of the ball had shattered the illusion of peace.

“Renoan Assassins Breach the Heart of the Empire!”

“Where Was the Royal Guard?”

“Crown Prince Saves the Day—Or Did He?”

Newspapers flew through the markets like startled birds, every stall and corner humming with fear and speculation. Nobles retreated into their estates. Peasants prayed for order. And the council chambers in the palace burned long into the night.

Though the enemy had been driven back, the scars were permanent.

Two weeks passed. No word from Leon. No body. No ransom. Just absence.

And in the quiet corridors of the Brighton estate, Evelyn began to realize that silence could be more suffocating than screams.

The drawing room was dim, curtains drawn. A teapot sat untouched between them, steam long since faded.

“Evelyn,” her mother said finally, voice low but unwavering, “I’ve sent word to Lord Ashenbert.”

Evelyn blinked. “Lord Ashenbert?” Her mind struggled to follow, still heavy from grief. “Why—?”

Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “Because the Crown Prince will come again. And next time, he will not give you the choice to refuse.”

The words were ice, but Evelyn knew they were true. Cassian had visited once already, his smile polite but his eyes cold, speaking of unity and protection—words that meant possession.

“You think marriage to Lord Ashenbert will stop him?” Evelyn’s voice cracked. “Do you think he’ll just… let me go?”

“It is the only way for now.” Her mother leaned forward, her clasped hands white-knuckled. “Once you are wed to Kayden, even the Crown Prince will not risk openly undoing a legal union between noble houses without turning the court against him. It buys you time, at least until we can recover your father… or find Leon.”

Evelyn’s chest tightened. “And if Leon is—” She stopped. The word dead stuck in her throat like glass.

Her mother looked away, her silence speaking louder than grief.

Evelyn pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath her palm.

If she married Kayden… it wouldn’t be for love. It wouldn’t be for politics.

It would be a shield. A fragile one. But the only one left.

The moonlight fell cold on her pale cheeks as Evelyn lay on her bed that night. The mattress no longer smelled like home. The blankets felt unfamiliar. She curled up slightly, facing the ceiling.

It used to be warm.

That room had once echoed with laughter. She remembered chasing Leon through the corridors, her parents dancing slowly in the drawing room, the scent of orange blossom tea her mother always brewed in spring. Her father ruffling her hair. Her brother teasing her for climbing the estate walls just to see the city beyond.

So many smiles. So much warmth.

And now—this.

Just because one man craved a throne more than peace.

Her throat tightened.

The world had changed in an instant. From light to shadow. From joy to survival.

And yet…

For her family—what was left of it—she would survive. No matter the cost.

Her voice was barely a whisper against the ceiling.

“…Just a little longer.”