MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The corridor stretched before her like a throat waiting to swallow her whole.

Evelyn walked with measured steps, her morning dress whispering against the marble floor. The breakfast with Asher had lasted an eternity. Every smile had carved itself into her face like a wound. Every lie had tasted like poison on her tongue. But she had endured. She had played her part perfectly.

Now she just needed to reach her chambers without collapsing.

The palace felt different than she remembered. Wrong, somehow. The shadows fell at unfamiliar angles. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch her with knowing eyes. Or perhaps it was simply that she was different, and everything else remained exactly as it had always been.

She turned the corner toward the east wing.

The impact drove the air from her lungs.

Evelyn stumbled backward, her vision blurring. Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadying her before she could fall. The touch burned through the thin fabric of her dress. Her body recognized the threat before her mind could process it.

This was him. This was the man who had killed her.

Her heart hammered against her ribs like something trying to claw its way out of her chest. Panic flooded her veins, cold and overwhelming. She could not breathe. Could not think. Could only feel the phantom blade sliding between her ribs and the terrible certainty of death.

"Your Highness."

The voice was deep and utterly without inflection. Evelyn forced her eyes to focus, forced herself to look at the man who had ended her life.

Ian Magnus stood before her like a statue carved from shadow. Tall, impossibly tall, with shoulders that blocked out the light from the windows behind him. His face could have been handsome if it had held any expression at all. Instead, it remained blank and cold as stone. Gray eyes stared down at her without warmth or recognition.

He did not know her. Not yet. In this timeline, they had never met.

"Forgive me," he said, his hands still on her shoulders. "I did not see you."

A lie. Men like Ian Magnus saw everything. He had walked into her deliberately, testing her reaction, measuring her response. Asher must have told him to evaluate the princess. To see if she would be easy to control.

Evelyn tried to speak. Her throat closed around the words. Sweat broke out across her forehead despite the cool air. Her body remembered what her mind tried to forget. This man was dangerous. This man was death wearing human skin.

"I am fine," she managed, the words coming out breathless and weak.

Ian's eyes narrowed fractionally. The first crack in his mask. He was studying her now, truly looking at her. Seeing something that did not match whatever profile Asher had provided.

His hands released her shoulders and fell to his sides. The absence of his touch should have felt like relief. Instead, it felt like the removal of the only thing keeping her upright.

"Are you certain?" he asked. "You appear unwell."

Because you killed me. Because I can still feel your sword in my chest. Because every instinct I possess is screaming at me to run.

"I am merely surprised," Evelyn said, fighting to steady her breathing. "I was not aware the new Lord Commander had arrived."

"I arrived an hour ago," Ian said. "His Highness the Crown Prince wished to introduce me to the palace layout before the formal presentation."

Of course he did. Asher would want Ian familiar with every corridor, every exit, every hiding place. All the better to trap her when the time came.

"Welcome to the palace, Lord Commander," Evelyn said, falling back on courtly manners because they were the only thing holding her together. "I hope you find your quarters comfortable."

"I am certain they will be adequate."

Ian continued to stare at her. His expression remained neutral, but something shifted behind his eyes. Calculation. Analysis. He had noticed her reaction. He knew something was wrong.

Evelyn needed to leave. Now. Before she gave herself away completely. Before her body betrayed her with trembling hands or shallow breath or any of the thousand small tells that screamed trauma and foreknowledge.

"If you will excuse me," she said, stepping around him with careful precision. "I have an appointment I must keep."

A lie. She had nowhere to be. But she could not stand here any longer, could not feel his presence like a blade against her spine.

"Your Highness."

Ian's voice stopped her mid-step. She turned back slowly, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps I should escort you," he said. "Given your earlier distress."

No. No. She could not walk through these corridors with her murderer at her side. Could not make polite conversation while her heart tried to tear itself from her chest.

"That will not be necessary," Evelyn said, forcing steel into her voice. "I am perfectly capable of walking to my chambers alone."

Something flickered across Ian's face. Surprise, perhaps. Or interest. No one spoke to him that way, she realized. Everyone else treated him with either fear or deference. She had just done neither.

Mistake. She needed to be forgettable, not memorable. Needed to fade into the background until she had gathered enough strength to strike.

"As you wish," Ian said finally. He inclined his head in a gesture that might have been respect or dismissal. "I am sure we will meet again soon."

A promise or a threat. Perhaps both.

Evelyn did not trust herself to respond. She simply turned and walked away, feeling his gaze burning into her back with every step. She did not run. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

But the moment she turned the corner and left his line of sight, her knees buckled. She pressed her hand against the wall, gasping for air that would not come. Her entire body shook with adrenaline and terror and the awful certainty that she had just failed her first test.

Ian Magnus suspected something was wrong.

And men like him did not ignore suspicious behavior. They investigated. They hunted. They destroyed.

Evelyn straightened slowly, forcing her breathing to steady. Fine. Let him suspect. Let him watch. She would give him nothing to find. She would be perfect and empty and exactly what they expected.

Until the moment she was not.