enjoyebooks CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 39
POV: Evangeline
I lose track of how many days pass. Time bleeds together in my room—the curtains drawn, the candles burning low, the air heavy with grief. I stay curled beneath blankets that no longer feel warm. I don’t eat unless Georgina forces me. I barely sleep. When I do, nightmares claw at me, dragging me back to the moment Alexandro fell.
Every time someone knocks, I pretend not to hear. Most of the time, it’s Sebastian’s knock—quiet, careful, hopeful. I ignore him. He stops trying after a while.
I stare at the wall, letting my mind drift through memories that slice and soothe all at once.
Alexandro teaching me how to braid my hair as a child…
Alexandro sneaking pastries from the kitchen for me when I cried…
Alexandro taking my hand the day I married Sebastian, whispering, “If he hurts you, I’ll haunt him.”
My chest aches so deeply I can barely breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the empty room. “I failed you.”
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under. My breathing evens. My eyes close.
And suddenly—
I’m not alone.
Sebastian appears in front of me, but not the broken Sebastian from the graveyard. This version is warm, steady, impossibly gentle. His eyes soften when he sees me, and the ache in my chest swells into something dangerous.
“Evangeline,” he whispers.
He touches my cheek.
My breath shudders.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, leaning in. “Please… don’t cry anymore.”
Before I can speak, his lips press against mine—slow at first, then desperate, full of longing and apology. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer. Heat blooms inside me, startling and overwhelming. My fingers tangle in his hair. My heart races.
“Sebastian…” I whisper against his mouth.
He deepens the kiss, and for a moment—just a moment—I feel whole again, as if nothing is broken, as if Alexandro is alive, as if we are still us.
His hands move down my back, and the dream brightens, intensifies—
Then everything shatters into darkness.
I wake with a gasp.
My heart pounds. My lips feel warm, phantom-touched. For a moment I reach for him—but there is nothing. Only blankets. Only aching emptiness.
I cover my face with my hands. “Why am I dreaming of him now?” My voice cracks. “Why now, when I can’t even bear to look at him?”
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
“Evangeline?” Georgina’s voice drifts through the door. “I’m coming in.”
I don’t protest. I’m too tired.
She enters gently, closing the door behind her. Her eyes soften when she sees me sitting up, hair tangled, eyes swollen from crying. “Sweetheart.”
“I don’t want to talk,” I mumble.
“Then don’t talk,” she says, sitting beside me. “Just listen. The boys need you.”
My stomach tightens. “What happened now?”
“They’re fighting again.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Of course they are.”
She squeezes my hand. “Come. Please.”
I force myself out of bed. My legs feel weak, like I’ve forgotten how to stand. Georgina helps me dress and walks with me down the corridor. Every step aches.
When we reach the children’s room, the noise hits us instantly—shouting, stomping, something wooden hitting the floor.
Marc stands at one corner, arms crossed, face red with anger. Adrian stands opposite him, fists clenched.
Georgina groans. “Not again.”
“What is happening?” I demand.
Marc scowls. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Adrian fumes. “You yelled at me—again!”
“Because you’re jealous!” Marc snaps.
“I’m not! You just—”
“STOP!” I shout.
Both boys freeze. Their chests rise and fall with frustrated breaths.
I step farther into the room. “Marc. Adrian. How many times have I told you? You do not shout at each other unless someone is in danger.”
Adrian points. “He started it.”
Marc rolls his eyes. “He always says that.”
“I don’t care who started it,” I say sharply. “I want to know why you’re still fighting when your uncle just—”
My voice breaks before I finish. Georgina touches my back.
I regroup, turning toward Marc. “Why were you shouting at your brother?”
Marc looks away. “He’s just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“My new friend.”
Adrian’s face twists. “Your friend is creepy.”
“He is not!” Marc snaps back.
“Who?” I ask, confused. “What friend?”
Marc shrugs stubbornly. “Someone who wanted to play with me.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” I say, moving closer. “Marc, who is this friend you’re talking about?”
He hesitates, glancing at Adrian—who shakes his head frantically.
“Don’t tell her,” Adrian whispers. “Mama will freak out.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “Marc,” I say softly, kneeling to his height. “Who. Is. Your. Friend.”
He tilts his head innocently. “I told you already. His name is William.”
The world stops.
Georgina gasps loudly behind me. Adrian hides behind her, trembling. My throat goes dry.
“No…” I whisper. “Marc, that isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking,” he insists. “He came to the garden yesterday. He said he wanted to be my friend. He said he liked me better than Adrian.”
My skin goes cold. “William… spoke to you?” My voice trembles. “Here? In the palace?”
Marc nods. “Yes. He said he’d come back today. He said he wants to show me something.”
I grab Marc’s shoulders, panic flaring. “Marc, listen to me. If you ever see him again, you must come to me immediately. Do you understand?”
Marc frowns. “But he’s nice to me.”
“Marc!” My voice cracks. “Promise me.”
He startles, then nods slowly. “O-okay.”
I pull him into my arms, holding him so tightly he squeaks. Tears sting my eyes.
Georgina kneels next to me, whispering, “Evangeline… this is bad. This is very, very bad.”
I can only nod—heart pounding, world spinning—because the truth settles like ice in my veins.
William is inside our walls.
He has already reached my children.
And my family—already falling apart—is in far greater danger than I feared.