The morning rain had not stopped. It fell in a steady rhythm against the manor windows, soft enough to soothe but relentless enough to remind Evelina that the day would not bring ease.
When the summons came, it was not through a messenger or servant but her brother, Thomas. He had come to her sitting room quietly, his tone careful, his smile forced.
"Father would like a word," he had said. "In his study."
It was never a good sign when Father asked for a private meeting there. The study was his refuge, the one place in Everleigh Hall where the noise of politics could not enter unless he allowed it.
Evelina had tried to meet her brother's eyes, but Thomas looked away too quickly.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
He hesitated, then only said, "You should come. He'll explain."
And so she did.
Now she stood before the tall doors of her father's study, her hand hovering above the brass handle. She took a quiet breath before entering.
Inside, the scent of parchment and cedarwood filled the air. The hearth burned low, a quiet orange flicker casting shadows across the shelves. Marquis Everleigh sat behind his desk, his posture straight but not rigid. Beside him, Thomas leaned against the mantle, his expression guarded.
"Evee," her father said softly, using the name only the family ever did. "Come, sit."
She crossed the room and took the chair opposite him. The fire's warmth brushed her hands, though her chest felt cold.
For a long moment, her father said nothing. He studied her as though weighing which part of truth would wound her least.
Finally, he spoke. "There have been whispers at court," he said. "About you."
Evelina kept her face calm. "Whispers are nothing new, Father."
"These are different," Thomas said.
Her father's tone deepened, slow and deliberate. "They concern your association with Lord Lucian Ravenscroft."
Evelina felt her breath catch before she could hide it. "Association," she repeated. "That is an awfully careful word."
"It is the word being used," her father replied. "The court has begun to notice your closeness. Some have called it friendship, others something else entirely. They speak of private conversations, of glances exchanged in rooms too public to ignore."
Evelina lowered her gaze to the edge of the desk. Her fingers pressed lightly against her skirt. "And what do you believe?"
Her father sighed. "I believe you have always been an honest child. But honesty does not protect one from rumours. You are no longer merely a daughter of Everleigh. You have become a figure in a very dangerous game."
She met his eyes then. "Because of him."
"Because of who he is," her father said. "Lucian Ravenscroft is the brother of the Crown Princess, and her influence grows each day. He stands in open opposition to the Grand Duke's faction. He is clever, charismatic, and already half the court would follow his lead if given the chance. To be near him, Evee, is to be seen as choosing a side."
"I have chosen nothing," she said quietly.
Thomas crossed his arms. "Then you should make that clear. Before someone else decides for you."
His tone was not cruel, but it carried frustration. The kind only an older brother could have for a sister who walked too close to danger.
Evelina looked between them both. "You think I am careless."
"No," her father said. "I think you are young, and your heart still believes the world will forgive what it does not understand." He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me honestly. Do you care for him?"
The question hung in the air like a held breath.
Evelina hesitated. Every memory of Lucian came rushing to her, the way his voice softened when he spoke of himself, the way he looked at her as if the world slowed around them, the quiet conviction that lived behind his calm words.
"I do," she said at last. "I do care for him."
Thomas looked away, his jaw tightening. Her father closed his eyes briefly, then nodded, as though confirming something he already knew.
"And does he care for you?" the Marquis asked.
She wanted to answer without doubt, but the question struck deeper than she expected. Lucian had never spoken the words outright. He had shown her in glances, in moments of quiet understanding, in the way he listened when no one else did. But words were what the court required, not gestures.
"I believe he does," she said softly.
Thomas exhaled sharply. "Belief will not protect you when the court turns, Evee. They are already saying that Lady Selina Marlowe is to be named the next Duchess of Ravenscroft. The Crown Princess herself is said to favor her."
Evelina's pulse quickened. "Selina?"
Her father's expression was grave. "It seems she has made herself very useful to the Queen's household. If the Crown Princess wishes to see her brother wed, Selina offers a union both politically convenient and publicly adored. Her family's loyalty to the throne is unquestioned."
Evelina felt something inside her twist. "And mine is not?"
"Your loyalty has never been in doubt," her father said quickly. "But your heart complicates what should have been simple. You know the court. They will not see love, only leverage. You are the daughter of a Marquis whose alliances lean toward the Grand Duke's faction. To them, that makes you a threat."
Evelina stared at the fire. The heat blurred her vision. "So my feelings are a danger to you."
"They are a danger to you," her father corrected gently. "And to the peace of this house. The Everleigh name has always stood apart from the hunger of the court. I have no wish to see it dragged into their quarrels."
Thomas stepped closer. "If the Grand Duke moves against the Crown Prince's circle and he will, Ravenscroft will be one of the first to fall. You do not want to be standing beside him when that happens."
Evelina looked up at her brother. "You speak as though he is already guilty."
Thomas shook his head. "No. Only doomed."
Her father frowned but did not rebuke him. The room fell into quiet again, the fire whispering beneath the weight of their words.
Evelina rose slowly from her chair and walked toward the window. The rain had softened to mist, veiling the gardens below. Somewhere beyond that gray distance, the palace stood its towers and gilded gates bright even in stormlight.
She spoke without turning. "When I first met him, I thought he was proud. Everyone said so. But pride was not what I saw. I saw someone who carried the weight of every expectation, every judgment, and still managed to stand tall. He listens when others speak. He does not flatter. He sees the court for what it is and yet still believes it can be better."
Her father's voice softened. "That is what makes him dangerous."
She faced him then. "Is it wrong to believe in someone who wants change?"
"It is not wrong," he said. "But belief must survive the cost. And the cost, Evee, may be more than you are willing to pay."
Her throat tightened. "You think I should let him go."
"I think you should protect yourself," her father replied. "And if that means distance, then yes. Sometimes the hardest love is the one that steps away before the storm arrives."
For a long time, none of them spoke.
Thomas broke the silence first. "Selina's name will be announced soon, if the whispers are true. Once that happens, no one will remember what might have been said about you. It will fade."
Evelina's chest ached. "Fade," she repeated quietly, as though testing the word.
Her father stood and came to her side. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I will not command you, Evee. You are no child. But I ask you to think carefully. The man you care for stands on a battlefield far larger than either of you. When men like Montclair and the Crown Prince begin their war, hearts become casualties before swords ever do."
She closed her eyes, her father's warmth grounding her as the truth settled heavy in her chest.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "If he asked me to walk away from all of it, from the court, from the faction or if he asked me to leave it behind, I would."
Her father's hand lingered on her shoulder. "Then I pray he is wise enough not to ask."
The words stung, but she understood.
He kissed the top of her head, then turned back to his desk. "Go, my dear. Take the day. Walk the gardens if the rain breaks. You need peace before the court takes it from you."
She curtsied faintly, then crossed the room toward the door. Thomas met her eyes as she passed him. There was something unspoken there, a mixture of worry, and a brother's unwilling pride in a sister who had always been braver than he wished.
Outside, the corridor stretched long and silent. Evelina walked it slowly, her thoughts swirling like the rain against the windows.
They wanted her to stay away from Lucian. To pretend that the nights they had spoken beneath lanterns meant nothing. That the warmth in his eyes was something imagined. That the world would be safer if she forgot how to feel.
But she knew better. Love had always been the quietest form of defiance.
And though the court might twist it, though the storm was already gathering around them, Evelina could not help but believe that somewhere within it, there was still a chance to choose something real.
She paused at the window and watched the clouds drift apart, a sliver of light breaking through. It was faint, almost fragile, but it was there.
Evelina pressed a hand to the glass, as if she could hold that light steady.
"Let them whisper," she murmured to herself. "The truth will find its way."
And though she could not see him, somewhere beyond the rain and the palace walls, she hoped Lucian was looking toward that same sky, wondering if she still believed in him.
Because she did. With everything she had left.