The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Blackthorn Manor, its warm golden rays doing little to dispel the tension that clung to the air. Servants moved about with practiced efficiency, their voices hushed, their steps quick as they worked to restore order after the chaos of the night before. But the unease lingered, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone within the estate.
Isla—or rather, Lady Evangeline—stood in the small sitting room adjacent to the library, staring out at the sprawling gardens below. Her reflection in the glass betrayed her restless thoughts. Her dark hair had been pulled into a low bun, though a few strands had escaped to frame her face. She wore a simple dress of deep green today, one that suited her far better than the dramatic crimson gown from the ball.
Her hands gripped the windowsill as she tried to make sense of it all. Rosaline's injury, Adrian's cryptic revelation about the royal family, and the strange tightening in her chest whenever she thought about him. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control, and she didn't know how to stop it.
"Eva."
The sound of Clara's voice behind her made her flinch. She turned to see her friend standing in the doorway, a tray in her hands with tea and biscuits. Clara was dressed in a pale yellow gown that made her look like a beam of sunshine, though her face was drawn with worry.
"I thought you could use this," Clara said, setting the tray down on the small table by the window. Her voice was soft, her usual cheer dimmed in the wake of everything that had happened.
"Thank you," Isla said, forcing a small smile.
Clara poured a cup of tea and handed it to her, but instead of sitting, she crossed her arms and fixed Isla with a pointed look. "You've been avoiding me all morning."
"I haven't—" Isla started, but Clara cut her off.
"Yes, you have," Clara said firmly. "And don't bother denying it. You always disappear into some quiet corner of the house when you're upset or overthinking. So, spill it. What's going on?"
Isla sighed, sinking into one of the armchairs by the window, her teacup resting in her lap. "I just... I don't know, Clara. Everything feels so wrong. Rosaline shouldn't have been hurt. She's the heroine. She's supposed to be safe. And Adrian—"
She broke off, unsure how to explain the tangled mess of emotions she felt whenever she thought about him.
Clara perched on the edge of the chair opposite hers, her expression softening. "Adrian what?"
Isla hesitated, staring down at the tea in her hands. "He's so frustrating. One moment he's cold and distant, and the next he's... kind. Thoughtful, even. I don't know what to make of him."
Clara's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Sounds to me like someone's getting under your skin."
Isla shot her a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying," Clara said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "You're spending an awful lot of time thinking about him for someone who claims to dislike him."
"I don't dislike him," Isla admitted reluctantly. "I just don't understand him. And I don't know where I stand with him."
Clara tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. "Have you tried asking him?"
Isla let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, sure. 'Hey, Adrian, I know you don't like me much, but could you clarify your feelings so I can stop losing sleep over you?' That'll go over well."
Clara chuckled. "Okay, maybe not like that. But you're not going to get anywhere if you keep waiting for him to make the first move. He's not exactly the most forthcoming person, is he?"
"No," Isla said quietly. "He's not."
Clara reached over and squeezed her hand. "For what it's worth, Eva, I think he does care about you. He just doesn't know how to show it."
Isla looked up at her, surprised. "You really think so?"
Clara smiled. "I do. But you'll never know for sure unless you talk to him."
---
Later that afternoon, Isla found herself standing outside Adrian's study, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn't planned to come here—at least, not so soon—but Clara's words had stuck with her.
She raised her hand to knock, but before she could, the door swung open, and she nearly collided with Adrian himself.
"Evangeline," he said, startled. His gray eyes flicked over her, taking in her flushed cheeks and hesitant posture. "What are you doing here?"
"I…" Isla faltered, suddenly unsure of what to say.
Adrian arched an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
"No," she said quickly. "I just wanted to talk to you. If you're not busy."
He studied her for a moment, then stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "Come in."
The study was as imposing as the rest of Blackthorn Manor, with high ceilings, dark wood paneling, and shelves upon shelves of books. A large desk sat near the window, papers neatly arranged across its surface.
Adrian closed the door behind her and leaned against it, his arms crossed. "What's on your mind?"
Isla hesitated, suddenly feeling very foolish. What was she supposed to say? That she couldn't stop thinking about him? That she felt like she was drowning in emotions she didn't understand?
"I wanted to thank you," she said instead, her voice quieter than she intended.
Adrian frowned. "Thank me? For what?"
"For being there," she said, meeting his gaze. "Last night, with Rosaline. You stayed with her. You made sure she was safe. I don't think I could have handled it on my own."
His expression softened slightly, and he pushed off the door, walking toward her. "You're stronger than you think, Evangeline. You would have managed."
"Maybe," she said with a small shrug. "But I'm still grateful."
Adrian studied her for a long moment, his gray eyes searching hers. "Is that all you came here to say?"
Isla hesitated, her pulse quickening. This was her chance to ask him, to get the answers she so desperately wanted. But the words caught in her throat, and she found herself shaking her head.
"No," she admitted. "But I don't know how to say the rest."
Adrian's brow furrowed, and he took a step closer, his voice softening. "Evangeline, what's going on? You've been… different lately. Distracted."
She let out a shaky laugh. "You're one to talk. You're always distracted."
That earned her a faint smile, though it quickly faded. "I'm serious."
"So am I," she said, meeting his gaze. "You're always so closed off, Adrian. You keep everything bottled up, like you're afraid to let anyone in. And I can't tell if that's because you don't trust me or because you don't trust yourself."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might brush her off. But then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.
"You're not wrong," he said quietly. "I do keep people at a distance. It's easier that way."
"Easier?" she repeated, her voice soft. "Or safer?"
"Both," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "When you let people in, you give them power over you. And in my position, that's dangerous."
Isla stepped closer, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. "Not everyone wants to hurt you, Adrian. Some people just want to help."
He looked up at her then, his gray eyes filled with something she couldn't quite place. "And what about you, Evangeline? What do you want?"
The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she couldn't answer. What did she want? To protect Rosaline? To find her place in this strange story she'd been thrust into?
Or was it simpler than that? Did she just want him to see her—not as Lady Evangeline, but as Isla?
"I don't know," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Adrian's gaze softened, and he took another step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was brief, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
"Let me know when you figure it out," he said quietly.
Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted them, and the door burst open to reveal Thomas, his expression grim.
"Your Grace," he said, his tone clipped. "We've received word from the capital. The king has summoned you."
Adrian's demeanor shifted instantly, his posture stiffening. "Did they say why?"
"No," Thomas said. "But the messenger implied it was urgent."
Adrian nodded, his jaw tightening. "Prepare the carriage. I'll leave immediately."
Thomas bowed and left, leaving Isla and Adrian alone once more.
"I suppose you have to go," she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.
"I do," he said, his tone unreadable.
She hesitated, then stepped forward, her hand brushing his arm. "Be careful, Adrian."
He looked down at her, his gray eyes softening. "I always am."
And with that, he turned and left, leaving Isla standing alone in the study, her thoughts more tangled than ever.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur, and by the time night fell, Isla found herself back in her chambers, staring out at the moonlit gardens below. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was brewing—something dangerous.
Clara had stopped by earlier, bringing tea and her usual optimism, but even she couldn't lift Isla's spirits.
Adrian was on his way to the capital, Rosaline was still recovering, and Isla was left with nothing but questions and doubts.