Comrade 22

Evangeline clutched the leather journal against her chest, her hands trembling violently. Her heart pounded like war drums, but she forced herself to steady her voice as she met Prince Maximilian’s intense gaze with defiant determination.

“Tell me the truth, Maximilian.”

Prince Maximilian stood imposingly in her doorway, his expression dark and utterly unreadable.

The flickering candlelight from the corridor cast long, ominous shadows across his aristocratic features, making his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw appear even more intimidating.

Evangeline refused to retreat or show weakness.

“Who was Georgina?” she demanded with royal authority. “And why do you possess portraits of her with child? With you standing beside her like a devoted husband?”

Prince Maximilian’s jaw tightened visibly, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

For several tense moments, he offered no response, merely studying her as though deciding precisely how much truth to reveal.

Then, he released a heavy sigh and stepped fully into her private chambers.

“She was my betrothed.”

Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat.

“Your what?”

Prince Maximilian rubbed a weary hand across his face, his dark eyes filled with something she could not quite interpret—profound pain, bitter regret, something far deeper than mere sorrow.

“Five years past,” he said slowly, each word carefully measured, “Princess Georgina of Ravenna and I were formally engaged. She was carrying my children. Twins.”

Evangeline felt a cold weight settle in her stomach like lead.

Twins.

The same as she had carried for Sebastian.

She gripped the journal more tightly, her mind racing with terrible implications. “What became of her?”

Prince Maximilian exhaled heavily, his gaze dropping for the first time since entering the room. “She vanished without trace.”

Evangeline stared at him in growing horror. “Vanished?”

Prince Maximilian nodded grimly, his expression darkening like gathering storm clouds. “The very night she was expected to give birth, she disappeared as though she had never existed. No body was discovered, no signs of struggle or violence, nothing whatsoever. One moment she was within these palace walls, and the next… gone entirely.”

Evangeline felt her chest constrict painfully. “And the twins?”

Prince Maximilian’s face hardened to stone. “I never had the privilege of meeting them.”

Evangeline’s stomach twisted with sympathetic anguish. She could not fathom the agony of losing not only a beloved betrothed, but unborn royal heirs as well.

Yet still—he had never mentioned this tragic history before now.

She swallowed down the whirlwind of emotions, focusing on what mattered most in this moment.

“And Lady Cordelia?” she demanded, stepping closer with growing anger. “You knew she was your sister this entire time, and you chose not to inform me? Were you protecting her? Were you complicit in all her schemes?”

Prince Maximilian’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing dangerously. “What did you just accuse me of?”

Evangeline tightened her grip on the incriminating journal, her voice sharp with accusation. “Lady Cordelia. Your sister. You have been shielding her from justice, have you not?”

Prince Maximilian’s brows furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his aristocratic features. “Evangeline, I know no one called Lady Cordelia.”

Evangeline laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Truly? Because her portraits appear throughout this journal!” She frantically flipped through the pages, pointing at images where he stood side by side with the woman she knew as Lady Cordelia.

Prince Maximilian stared at the portrait, his expression becoming completely unreadable.

Then, his eyes darkened ominously, his entire powerful frame going rigid with shock.

“That is not Lady Cordelia.”

Evangeline felt her breath catch. “What?”

Prince Maximilian’s voice was sharp and controlled—but something deadly lurked beneath its surface.

“That is my sister, Princess Celeste.”

Evangeline felt the chamber spin around her for a disorienting moment.

“Princess Celeste?” she whispered.

Prince Maximilian nodded once, his expression grim as death. “My younger sister. She perished years ago during the plague.”

Evangeline’s blood turned to ice water in her veins.

Her mind reeled frantically, attempting to piece together this impossible puzzle. The old portraits, the striking resemblance, the woman she knew as Lady Cordelia…

No.

That could not be possible.

Lady Cordelia was undeniably alive.

She had been there threatening them, orchestrating attacks, causing widespread destruction across multiple kingdoms.

How could she possibly be Princess Celeste?

Evangeline’s voice emerged hoarse and shaken. “Maximilian, if she perished, then who in God’s name have we been fighting all this time?”

Prince Maximilian’s jaw clenched visibly, his eyes darkening with something she had never witnessed before.

Something resembling pure terror.

“I do not know,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “But if she bears Celeste’s appearance, then whatever she has become… she is no longer entirely human.”

Evangeline felt her entire world shift precariously as she stared at Prince Maximilian, her fingers still gripping the journal with desperate intensity.

Princess Celeste. Not Lady Cordelia.

Evangeline’s stomach twisted painfully. “Then how is she alive? You said she died.”

Prince Maximilian’s jaw clenched, his gaze growing distant. “She did perish. Or at least, that is what I believed with absolute certainty.”

Evangeline swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her writing desk for support. “Begin from the beginning.”

Prince Maximilian sighed deeply, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. His face remained unreadable, but his voice carried an edge of something she could not quite define—pain, regret, or perhaps fear itself.

“Princess Celeste was my youngest sister. We were raised together, trained in statecraft together. We were inseparable,” Prince Maximilian began, his voice low and carefully controlled, though Evangeline could detect the underlying emotion.

“Several nights before Princess Georgina’s disappearance… there was a devastating attack on our kingdom.”

Evangeline’s breath caught. “What manner of attack?”

Prince Maximilian nodded slowly. “Dark sorcerers from the eastern lands. It was not random violence. They came seeking something—or someone specific. I remember the screams of terror, the fires consuming our villages… and then…” His voice faltered momentarily before he drew a steadying breath.

“Then I discovered Princess Celeste’s body.”

Evangeline froze, observing him intently. His posture remained tense, his fists clenched with residual trauma.

“She was dead, Evangeline.” His voice was haunted, as though he were reliving that horrible moment. “I held her lifeless form. I felt her body grow cold in my arms. I buried her with my own hands.”

Evangeline’s chest tightened with sympathy. If that was truth, then who—or what—was the woman they had been confronting?

She forced herself to focus. “And then Princess Georgina vanished?”

Prince Maximilian nodded again. “Yes. Only a few nights afterward. One moment she was safely within the palace, and then she was gone. I searched everywhere, but there were no traces of her passage. No tracks, no signs of struggle. It was as though she had been spirited away by supernatural forces.”

Evangeline felt a sharp pang of unease. “And you never suspected these two tragedies were connected?”

Prince Maximilian’s eyes flickered with something dark. “At the time, I was blinded by overwhelming grief. I had just lost my beloved sister. The woman I loved and my unborn children were taken from me. I was not thinking with clear logic.”

Evangeline released a slow, shaky breath. The revelations were overwhelming.

Princess Celeste. Not Lady Cordelia.

A sister who had supposedly died.

And now she had returned—but not as the woman Prince Maximilian remembered.

Evangeline felt her mind spinning with terrible possibilities. If Princess Celeste had truly died, then the only explanation was that someone or something had brought her back from death itself.

But for what sinister purpose?

She looked up at Prince Maximilian, her voice barely above a whisper. “And the royal signet ring Sebastian wears? You said you recognized it?”

Prince Maximilian’s expression tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes.”

Evangeline frowned, confused. “How is that possible?”

Prince Maximilian hesitated before answering, his voice heavier this time. “Our grandfather bestowed those rings upon us as children. They were enchanted with ancient magic—symbols of our family’s royal bloodline. Only Princess Celeste and I possessed them.”

Evangeline’s blood ran cold.

Only Prince Maximilian and Princess Celeste had possessed them.

Then why did Sebastian wear one?