POV: Evangeline
Alexandro tells me in the corridor where the sound carries.
That alone should have warned me.
He corners me between the tapestry of our ancestors and the tall window overlooking the inner court, his face flushed with something that looks like victory but feels like panic when I step closer.
“I’m telling Father,” he says.
I blink. “Telling him what?”
“You know what,” he replies, breath quick. “About Lina. About marrying her.”
My stomach drops so hard it feels like the floor tilts beneath us.
“No,” I say immediately. “Alex, no.”
He frowns. “That’s not how this works. You said you believed in me.”
“I believe in you,” I say, lowering my voice. “I don’t believe in this.”
He crosses his arms. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes,” I say, honest. “I am.”
He laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “You always are when something matters.”
“That’s not fair,” I reply. “I’m afraid because I see what you refuse to.”
“And what is that?” he challenges.
“That Father doesn’t argue,” I say. “He decides.”
Alexandro steps closer, his shadow cutting across mine. “He can’t decide who I love.”
“He can decide what happens to you if you defy him,” I counter.
“He won’t exile his heir,” Alexandro says. “He needs me.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he insists. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“You’re acting like one,” I snap, then regret it instantly.
His jaw tightens. “Say that again.”
“I won’t,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I just—Alex, please listen to me.”
He turns away, pacing. “Lina deserves to be chosen openly. Not hidden. Not whispered about.”
“Did she ask for this?” I ask.
He stops. “She doesn’t have to.”
“She does,” I insist. “Alex, love doesn’t erase consent.”
“She hasn’t refused me,” he says stubbornly.
“She hasn’t accepted you either,” I reply. “And you’re about to gamble everything on the idea that she will.”
He scoffs. “You sound like Father.”
The words sting.
“I sound like someone who wants you alive and whole,” I say.
He turns back to me, eyes blazing. “You don’t trust me.”
“I trust you,” I say. “I don’t trust the path you’re on.”
“That path is mine,” he says. “You don’t get to veto it.”
“I’m not trying to,” I plead. “I’m trying to slow you down.”
“Why?” he snaps. “So I can suffocate here like you do?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t suffocate.”
“You settle,” he says. “You always have.”
“That’s cruel,” I whisper.
“It’s true,” he presses. “You accept what they give you and call it survival.”
“And you burn everything and call it courage,” I shoot back.
We stare at each other, breathing hard, the distance between us suddenly enormous.
“I love her,” he says, quieter now. “I won’t keep pretending I don’t.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend,” I reply. “I’m asking you to think.”
“I have,” he says. “For months.”
“Then why does this feel rushed?” I ask.
“Because waiting is killing me,” he admits.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Alex, look at me.”
He does.
“Father will not listen,” I say carefully. “He will not negotiate. He will hear defiance and respond with punishment.”
Alexandro’s mouth twists. “You don’t know that.”
“I know him,” I say. “We both do.”
He looks away.
“Tell me,” I press, “what happens if he forbids it?”
Alexandro lifts his chin. “Then I leave.”
My heart lurches. “Leave where?”
“Anywhere,” he says. “With her.”
“You don’t even know if she’ll go with you,” I say.
“She will,” he insists, too quickly.
I grab his arm. “Alex—”
He pulls free. “I’m doing this.”
“Please,” I say, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “Please don’t.”
He stares at me like he’s seeing something unfamiliar. “Since when do you beg?”
“Since the stakes became you,” I reply.
Silence presses in around us.
“I need you to trust me,” he says finally.
“I need you to trust me,” I counter. “I’m not your enemy.”
“I know,” he says. “But you’re standing in my way.”
The words land like a blow.
“I’m standing between you and a cliff,” I say. “That’s different.”
He steps back, shaking his head. “You’ve always been afraid of heights.”
“And you’ve always mistaken falling for flying,” I snap.
He flinches, then hardens. “I’m going to him tonight.”
“No,” I say, reaching for him again.
He catches my wrists, not rough, but firm. “Don’t do this.”
“Alex,” I whisper. “If you tell him, everything changes.”
“That’s the point,” he replies.
Footsteps echo at the far end of the corridor. We freeze, instinctively separating.
A servant passes, bowing quickly, oblivious to the fracture unfolding in front of her.
When the sound fades, Alexandro exhales. “You don’t have to agree with me,” he says. “Just don’t stop me.”
My voice shakes. “I can’t promise that.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once, as if accepting a challenge.
“Then stay out of the way,” he says.
He turns and walks toward Father’s study without looking back.
I stand there, hands clenched, chest aching.
This is it.
The moment I feared and tried to delay and failed to prevent.
I press my palm to the tapestry, grounding myself, and whisper his name like a prayer that no longer knows where to land.
For the first time since we were children hiding in alcoves, I understand something terrifying:
I cannot protect him from his own choices.
And as the door to Father’s study closes at the end of the hall, sealing my brother inside with the man who will break him if given the chance, I realize that loving someone does not mean standing beside them forever.
Sometimes it means watching them walk straight into the fire.
And knowing you may never get them back.