POV: Evangeline
I know something is wrong the moment the palace goes quiet in the wrong way.
Not the deep, scheduled silence of nightfall, not the reverent hush Father demands after the candles are lowered—but a fractured quiet, one interrupted by hurried footsteps and doors closing too softly. I am awake, already dressed, sitting at the small desk by my window with a book I haven’t read in an hour.
Alexandro hasn’t come to say goodnight.
That alone twists my stomach.
I step into the corridor, the stone cold under my bare feet. A servant nearly collides with me, eyes wide.
“My lady,” she says quickly, bowing too late.
“Where is my brother?” I ask.
She hesitates.
That is answer enough.
I don’t wait for permission. I move past her, skirts gathered in my hands, walking faster than decorum allows. Alexandro’s chambers are at the far end of the eastern wing, close to the outer gardens. The closer I get, the more certain I become.
His door is open.
His room is wrong.
The bed is untouched. The traveling cloak is gone from its hook. The small wooden box where he keeps his personal seal is missing. The window is ajar, curtains fluttering faintly in the night breeze.
“No,” I whisper.
I step inside, my pulse roaring in my ears. I go to the window and look down. The ivy trellis below is disturbed, leaves crushed, rope fibers still clinging to the stone.
He’s gone.
“Alexandro,” I say, my voice breaking as I turn back into the room, as if he might still be there, hiding behind the wardrobe like a child playing a cruel joke.
I hear voices now—low, urgent, moving closer.
“What do you mean he’s not in his chambers?” Father’s voice cuts through the hall, sharp as a blade.
I step out just as he rounds the corner, flanked by two guards and the steward. His face is already thunderous.
“Where is he?” Father demands, stopping short when he sees me. “What are you doing out of your room?”
“He’s gone,” I say.
The words land heavy.
Father’s eyes snap to the open door behind me. He strides past me into Alexandro’s chambers, surveying the scene in one swift glance.
“Lock down the gates,” he barks. “Search the grounds. Horses, carriages—check everything.”
“He left,” I say again, louder this time. “He planned this.”
Father turns slowly. “You knew.”
It isn’t a question.
“I knew he was thinking about it,” I say. “I didn’t know he would do it tonight.”
“You let him,” Father snarls.
“I tried to stop him,” I say, my voice shaking. “You gave him no choice.”
His hand comes down on the desk with a crack that makes me flinch. “You dare accuse me?”
“You threatened him,” I say. “You pushed him away.”
“I gave him order,” Father snaps. “Something you clearly lack.”
The steward clears his throat nervously. “My lord, the guards report no sign of the Duke beyond the outer wall. He may have—”
“Run,” Father finishes coldly. “Like a coward.”
“He’s not a coward,” I shout.
The room goes still.
Father stares at me as if I’ve spoken a foreign language.
“He abandoned his name,” Father says. “He disgraced this house.”
“He chose love,” I reply, tears burning my eyes. “Something you’ve never understood.”
The slap comes fast.
My head snaps to the side, pain blooming across my cheek. The room tilts, but I don’t fall.
No one speaks.
Father’s chest rises and falls. “Go to your room,” he says. “Now.”
I don’t move.
“He’s gone,” I say again, softer this time. “And you’ll never forgive him. But I will.”
Father turns away. “Find him,” he orders the guards. “If he’s still within the borders, bring him back.”
The guards hesitate.
“And if he refuses?” one asks carefully.
Father’s jaw tightens. “Then he is no son of mine.”
I feel something tear inside my chest.
The palace erupts into controlled chaos. Servants whisper behind tapestries. Guards move in tight formations. Messengers are dispatched before dawn. I am confined to my chambers under the guise of protection.
I sit on the edge of my bed, hands clenched in my lap, staring at the door as if Alexandro might burst through it at any moment, breathless and laughing and triumphant.
“He’ll come back,” I whisper to the empty room.
But even as I say it, I know it isn’t true.
A maid enters quietly with a tray of tea I don’t touch.
“My lady,” she says gently. “The Duke has ordered—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “You can go.”
She hesitates. “Your brother—”
“Don’t,” I say. “Please.”
She bows and leaves.
Hours pass.
The candles burn low. Dawn creeps in pale and unforgiving through the windows.
I remember Alexandro at seven, tugging my sleeve when Father’s voice rose. I remember him at twelve, promising he’d protect me when he was Duke. I remember the way he looked at me yesterday—determined, frightened, resolved.
He chose this.
And I couldn’t stop him.
A knock comes at the door. I expect Father.
Instead, it’s Mother.
She steps inside, closing the door behind her, face composed in that careful way she wears when emotion is inconvenient.
“You should rest,” she says.
“I can’t,” I reply. “He’s out there.”
“Yes,” she says. “And that is no longer our concern.”
I look at her in disbelief. “How can you say that?”
She smooths the edge of her sleeve. “Because the house must endure.”
“Over your son?” I ask.
She meets my gaze evenly. “We have another.”
The words hollow me out.
“You mean me,” I say.
She doesn’t deny it.
“He ran,” Mother continues. “Your father will not chase a ghost forever. The focus will shift.”
“To what?” I ask, though I already know.
“To you,” she says. “You will carry the weight now.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want it.”
“You don’t need to want it,” she replies. “You need to obey.”
I laugh, a broken sound. “That’s what you taught him too.”
Her lips thin. “And see where it led.”
Silence stretches between us.
“He didn’t even say goodbye,” I whisper.
Mother looks away. “Goodbyes invite weakness.”
When she leaves, the room feels colder.
By midday, the truth settles into the walls of the palace.
Alexandro has fled.
The Duke’s heir has vanished in the night.
Rumors bloom like rot.
I stand at the window, watching the gates as riders come and go, my reflection pale and unrecognizable in the glass.
I press my forehead against the cold pane.
“I’ll find you,” I whisper. “Even if no one else does.”
But deep down, beneath the promise, a harder truth takes root.
I have lost him.
Not to death.
Not to war.
But to choice.
And the palace, in all its stone and order, closes ranks around the absence he leaves behind—already reshaping itself as if he never existed at all.