"I heard she threatened the servants."
"No—she protected a commoner girl. Can you imagine?"
"Lady Evelyne? That can't be right…"
The voices drifted through the ivy-covered hedges of the palace garden. I leaned against the marble railing, half-hidden in the shade, pretending not to listen.
But I was listening.
They were talking about her again.
Evelyne Ardent.
Even now, five years later, I remembered her as vividly as the first day we met. Polished. Dignified. Cold.
My fiancée by imperial decree.
The one I never quite understood.
I should've been used to the rumors by now. Court gossip always wrapped around her name like vines around a rose—beautiful and thorned.
But this time… something felt different.
"She scolded other noble daughters for bullying a servant girl," one courtier whispered, her voice hushed. "And gave the child her handkerchief!"
"A handkerchief?" another gasped. "That's practically a blessing!"
I frowned, lips tightening.
It didn't make sense. Evelyne never intervened. She never raised her voice unless necessary, never extended her hand to anyone outside the Ardent name.
What changed?
Was it an act? A strategy? Or… was there something more?
---
Later that evening, I passed her in the corridor. She walked with perfect posture, her pale hair pinned with pearls, her face unreadable.
Our eyes met for a second.
She said nothing.
And yet—for a single heartbeat—I swore I saw surprise flicker in her eyes.
As if she didn't expect to see me.
Or maybe… as if she didn't recognize me at all.
---
I didn't know why it bothered me.
But it did.
More than I wanted to admit.
---