Comrade 19

Tension hung in the air like morning fog as Evangeline, Sebastian, and the boys hurried back to Prince Maximilian’s palace, their footsteps echoing through the cobblestone courtyard, as soon as Lady Cordelia disappeared the way she came.

Evangeline’s grip on Marcus and Adrian’s hands was like iron, her knuckles white with strain as she fought to maintain her composure.

The memory of Lady Cordelia’s taunting words still lingered in her mind, the venom in her voice making Evangeline’s heart race with mounting dread.

“If you cannot be mine, you cannot be anyone else’s,” Lady Cordelia had sneered, her threat hanging over Evangeline like an executioner’s blade. Since that moment, Evangeline’s pulse had been hammering like war drums, refusing to slow.

Sebastian walked beside her, his jaw clenched in a rigid line, his shoulders stiff with suppressed fury. His piercing blue eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, searching for any sign of danger, his entire being coiled and ready to strike. He moved not like a man walking, but like a predator stalking, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

When they finally reached Prince Maximilian’s palace, the massive oak doors creaked open, and the prince himself waited in the grand entrance hall, his dark eyes scanning them with a mixture of concern and sharp curiosity.

He took in their shaken expressions, the lingering fear in Evangeline’s emerald eyes, and the tension that crackled through the air like lightning.

“What has transpired?” Prince Maximilian asked, his voice sharp with concern, his tone like a gentle probe urging them to reveal the truth.

Evangeline could not find her voice—the weight of the encounter was still crushing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She felt as though she were drowning in a sea of terror and anxiety, unable to find solid ground beneath her feet.

It was Sebastian who stepped forward, his voice rough and gravelly, as if he were forcing each word past his throat. “Lady Cordelia,” he growled, her name like poison on his tongue.

Prince Maximilian’s expression remained carefully neutral, but his dark eyes narrowed dangerously, his gaze piercing through the veil of mystery. “Who is this woman?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

Sebastian drew a slow, heavy breath, his chest rising and falling like a blacksmith’s bellows, before his blue eyes met Prince Maximilian’s directly. “The mistress I abandoned Evangeline for,” he admitted, the words like a confession torn from his very soul.

Prince Maximilian’s face contorted with disgust, his noble features twisting in a mixture of shock and barely contained rage. “You mean to tell me that the woman you replaced Princess Evangeline with is the same woman who has been orchestrating murders and framing innocent parties?” he asked, his voice thick with incredulity.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened visibly, his eyes flashing with a mixture of fury and profound shame. “Yes,” he growled, the single word dropping into the silence like a stone cast into still water, sending ripples of consequence through the air.

Prince Maximilian released a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head in complete disbelief. “How remarkably ironic,” he observed, his tone dripping with bitter sarcasm.

Evangeline shot him a warning look, but there was no amusement in Prince Maximilian’s voice—only a cold, hard anger that simmered beneath his diplomatic facade.

Prince Maximilian turned his piercing gaze back to Sebastian, his voice growing colder now, his words carrying the weight of a royal decree. “Tell me everything that occurred,” he commanded, his eyes blazing with fierce intensity.

Sebastian clenched his fists until his knuckles went white with tension, then exhaled sharply before speaking. “She confessed to orchestrating everything. The bandit attacks on the trade routes, the diplomatic assassinations. All of it was her design,” he said, the words bursting forth like a dam breaking, releasing a torrent of terrible truth.

Prince Maximilian stiffened, his usual composed demeanor vanishing like morning mist, replaced by a cold, hard fury that made his dark eyes flash dangerously.

His entire bearing shifted, radiating the deadly authority of a man accustomed to command.

Evangeline nodded slowly, her voice soft but steady, like a candle flame that burned bright in surrounding darkness.

Prince Maximilian’s fingers curled into tight fists, his knuckles turning white with rage, his aristocratic face twisted in a mixture of fury and revulsion.

Sebastian continued, his voice gruff with self-recrimination. “I accused you because the palace oracle told me it was someone I despised who was behind the attacks. And I—” He hesitated before forcing the admission past his lips. “I failed to consider Lady Cordelia as a suspect.”

Prince Maximilian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disgust. “Of course you did,” he said, his eyes flashing with cold, hard anger. “So because of your blind rage and jealousy, you accused me, and innocent people died as a result.”

Finally, Sebastian exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand across his face. “I shall return on the morrow,” he said, his voice firm but not demanding.

Evangeline hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding slowly. “Very well.”

Sebastian cast one final glance at his sons, then turned and strode away, disappearing into the gathering shadows beyond the palace gates.

Evangeline released a slow breath, the tension leaving her shoulders, though the unease in her heart remained like a persistent ache.

Lady Cordelia was somewhere out there in the darkness. Watching. Planning. And she commanded an army of mercenaries under her control.

Prince Maximilian approached her side, his arms crossed, watching Sebastian’s retreating figure vanish into the night. “At least he possesses the wisdom to know when to depart,” he muttered.

Evangeline sighed softly. “He is their father, Maximilian.”

Prince Maximilian’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he offered no response. Instead, he turned toward the palace interior. “I must speak with the palace guards before nightfall. With Lady Cordelia lurking in the shadows, we cannot afford to take any risks.”

Evangeline nodded, appreciating his caution. Lady Cordelia was unpredictable and lethally dangerous. If tonight’s encounter proved anything, it was that she would not cease her vendetta until she achieved her twisted revenge.

“Go inside,” Prince Maximilian added, his tone gentler now. “You have endured enough for one day.”

Evangeline did not argue. With one final glance toward the darkening forest beyond the palace walls, she turned and walked back into the warmth of the castle.

The familiar comfort of the palace should have been soothing, but something about the way the corridors felt too quiet, too still, made Evangeline deeply uneasy.

The day’s harrowing events weighed heavily upon her mind as she moved toward her chambers, her thoughts tangled between Sebastian’s unexpected return, her sons’ emotional confusion, and Lady Cordelia’s chilling threats.

She was so lost in troubled contemplation that she almost failed to notice the elderly woman standing at the end of the torch-lit hallway.

Evangeline stopped abruptly, her breath catching slightly in her throat.

The woman stood hunched and frail, wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl, her thin hands gripping the edges of the fabric with desperate intensity. Her hair was long and silver, braided loosely over one shoulder in the manner of court ladies from decades past.

Her eyes, however, were the most unsettling feature—pale and glassy, as if she were staring into visions that existed beyond the mortal realm.

Evangeline recognized her immediately.

The elderly woman whom Prince Maximilian claimed suffered from dementia—a remnant of his court’s former days.

She had glimpsed her before, wandering the palace halls like a lost spirit, mumbling to herself, always watching with those haunted eyes.

Evangeline swallowed hard, forcing herself to offer a polite smile. “Good evening, my lady.”

The old woman did not respond immediately. She simply tilted her head, studying Evangeline with those hazy, unfocused eyes that seemed to peer into her very soul.

Then, she spoke with startling clarity.

“You shall meet the same fate as she did.”

Evangeline’s entire body turned to ice.

Her stomach plummeted, a cold wave of dread creeping up her spine like winter frost.

Her throat felt parched. “I beg your pardon?”

The old woman blinked slowly, as if emerging from a prophetic trance.

“The same fate,” she repeated, her voice eerily soft but crystal clear, filled with something that made Evangeline’s heart thunder against her ribs.

Evangeline’s fingers tightened around the silk fabric of her gown. “What are you speaking of?”

The old woman’s lips twitched into something that was not quite a smile. “The one who came before you. The one he loved. She believed herself safe as well.”