Wolfric looked across the table solemnly. If Wolfric had wanted to, this could have been the moment where he told the entire council that Apollo had never actually come back from the dead, but he didn’t.
And although Apollo didn’t like it, he had to concede that Wolfric was correct. People were less likely to make plays for the throne when there was a clear successor in place. Having an heir would also protect his relationship with Evangeline. Once she had his child, there was no way she would leave him. But he didn’t want to force her into staying this way.
“Evangeline still doesn’t remember me,” Apollo said.
“Does that really matter? You’re a prince,” Belleflower inserted. “The girl should feel lucky to be married to you. Without you, she would be no one.”
Apollo shot him a dirty look, and he wondered briefly if there was more to his disdain than the suspicion that Evangeline had worked with Jacks to kill him. “Evangeline isn’t no one. She’s my wife. I’ll work on an heir after she feels more comfortable.”
“And how long will that take?” Belleflower raised his voice, clearly trying to rally the others to his cause. “I was there yesterday. Your wife looked like a frightened ghost beside you, all pale and quivering! If you cared about this kingdom, you’d rid yourself of her and find a new one.”
“I am not replacing my wife.” Apollo shoved up from his chair hard enough to rock the pitchers of wine and make a number of grapes spill from their platters on the table. This conversation was moving too far out of bounds.
It was also veering too far from what really needed to be discussed.
“Evangeline is no longer a topic of conversation. The next person who disparages her will not say another word at this table. If anyone in this room really cares about the kingdom, they’ll stop worrying about Evangeline’s loyalty and start looking for Lord Jacks. Until he’s dead, no one is safe.”
Chapter 5
Evangeline
In the light of a fresh day, everything felt less like a blurred fever dream and more like a picture-perfect stained-glass window. Evangeline’s room smelled of lavender tea, buttery pastries, and some unidentifiable grassy sweetness that made her think of exquisitely manicured gardens.
For one beautiful moment, she found herself thinking: This is what perfect feels like.
Or it should have felt that way.
The broken bits inside of her warred with this elegant scene. A small but firm voice in her head said, This isn’t perfect, this isn’t right. But before the voice could say much more, it was drowned out by a host of other perkier sounds.
They started out softly on the other side of Evangeline’s door. Then, like a pop of soft flowery fireworks, the owners of the voices entered her suite.
Seamstresses, three of them, all smiling as they greeted her:
“Good morning, Your Highness!”
“You look so refreshed, Your Highness!”
“We hope you slept soundly, for your day will be busy, Your Highness!”
The women were trailed by a parade of servants carrying bolts of fabric, spools of ribbons, baskets of baubles and feathers, strings of pearls, and silken flowers.
“What’s all this?” Evangeline asked.
“For your royal wardrobe,” all three women said at once.
“But I have a wardrobe.” Evangeline looked questioningly toward the little alcove full of clothes that was situated between her bedroom and the bathing room.
“You have an everyday wardrobe, yes,” replied the head seamstress, or perhaps she was just the most vocal. “We’re here to fit you for special occasions. You’ll need something spectacular for your coronation. Then there will be your coronation ball, and the Hunt could happen any day.”
“Then of course you’ll be putting together your own council,” the tallest of the seamstresses chimed in. “You’ll need to be smartly dressed for each of those meetings.”
“And you’ll want some frothy gowns for all the upcoming spring festivals, and formal dinners,” said the third seamstress.
Then they all started chattering about how perfect her coloring was for spring, and wouldn’t it be lovely to make sure every gown she wore had at least a hint of pink to match her lovely hair?
In the midst of it all, more servants appeared. They wheeled in golden carts covered in snacks and treats as pretty as treasure in a chest. There were cookies shaped like castles, tarts topped in glistening pastel fruit, poached pears in a swirling golden sauce, candied dates wearing miniature crowns, and oysters on ice with pink pearls that glistened under the light.
“We hope this is all to your liking,” said one of the servants. “If there’s anything else you need, just ask. His Highness the prince wanted you to know that you can have whatever you wish.”
“And if you ever need a break, merely let us know,” said the tall seamstress before reaching into her little apron and pulling out a measuring tape.
It was shortly after this, when Evangeline’s arms were being measured for gloves, that she noticed the scar. It was on the underside of her right wrist, thin and white, shaped like a broken heart. And it had definitely not been there before.
As soon as the measuring was done, Evangeline lifted her wrist to examine the strange broken heart. She ran a finger over it carefully. Her skin prickled as she touched it.
In that instant, it was as if the precious bubble she was inside of burst. Pop. Pop. Pop.
The wonder of all the treats and sweets and beautiful fabrics faded as Evangeline stared at the little broken heart. She couldn’t remember it at all, but she did remember the little voice in her head from earlier, warning her that everything wasn’t perfect.
Evangeline continued to study the scar, trying hard to remember how she’d received it, until she caught the tall seamstress staring at her oddly. Evangeline quickly covered the scar with her hand.
The seamstress didn’t say anything about the heart. But something about the way she had stared at it made Evangeline feel inexplicably nervous. Then she noticed the woman covertly slipping away from the suite as the other seamstresses continued working.
Evangeline didn’t know if the scar was truly something to worry about, or if maybe she was just imagining the woman’s reaction. Evangeline had no reason to feel alarmed other than the voice in her head telling her that something wasn’t right. But maybe what was really wrong was that she was hearing a voice in her head.
Maybe she could have trusted it if she’d been tossed in a dungeon. But she was in a castle straight out of one of her mother’s stories and married to a dashing prince who’d come back from the dead and who was desperately in love with her. This new life was not just a fairytale—it was more like something from a legend.
While fabrics and feelings continued to swirl around her, another visitor arrived—one of the physician’s apprentices from yesterday. Evangeline remembered her name was Telma.
Evangeline didn’t know how long it was she’d been standing there. The current fitting was for a hooded raspberry cape made of deep velvet fabric that had been covering her eyes until a moment ago.