enjoyebooks CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 33
POV: Evangeline
“Marc! Adrian! Stop—both of you, stop right now!”
My voice cracks across the room as Georgina and I rush forward. Marc is on top of Adrian, fists slamming wildly; Adrian claws upward with equal fury, both boys red-faced and breathless. Their screams bounce off the walls like shattering glass.
Georgina grabs Adrian around the waist. I seize Marc’s shoulders and pull backward with all my strength. For a moment neither boy seems to recognize who is touching them—they kick and twist, still trying to reach each other even as we drag them apart.
“Enough!” I snap. “You will stop this instant!”
Marc finally breaks, his body shaking as he collapses against me. “He pushed me first!” he cries, voice cracking. “I wasn’t even doing anything—he shoved me and told me to move!”
“That’s not true!” Adrian yells back, kicking at the air as Georgina holds him firmly. “He punched me! He said I was stupid and slow and that I ruin every game!”
“I never said that!” Marc shouts.
“You did!”
“Quiet!” I command. Both boys freeze, panting, cheeks streaked with tears and dust. Elena sobs softly behind Viviana, who is still shielding her sister like a guard.
I lift Marc’s chin. “You do not hit your brother. You do not shove your brother. You do not attack each other like wild animals. Do you understand me?”
“He pushed me,” Marc mutters, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
“And Marc punched me first,” Adrian counters. “Hard.”
“Well, he shoved me for no reason—”
“Marc,” I warn. “Adrian.”
They snap their mouths shut.
I inhale slowly, forcing calm into my voice even as anger burns hot beneath my ribs. “Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves. We have guests in the palace. You frightened the girls. You could have hurt each other badly.”
“He started it,” Adrian whispers.
“No,” Marc insists. “He did.”
“You are both responsible,” I say sharply. “No argument will change that.” I look at each boy in turn, letting the disappointment in my gaze settle heavily. “And you will both be punished.”
Adrian stiffens. Marc’s eyes widen. “Punished how?” Marc asks.
“You will spend the rest of the day in the study room,” I say. “Books only. No games, no garden, no sweets, no swordplay, no visitors.”
“That’s not fair!” Adrian bursts out. “Marc—”
“Adrian,” I cut in, “fairness stopped the moment you threw your first punch.”
Marc opens his mouth to argue, but one glance from me silences him.
They hang their heads. “Yes, Mama,” they whisper together.
I turn to Georgina. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see—”
She waves me off gently. “They are children, Evangeline. Children who need their father’s attention as much as yours.”
Her words pierce deeper than I expect. “I know,” I whisper.
Marc sniffles. Adrian wipes tears angrily from his cheeks, refusing to look at his brother. My heart sinks at the distance between them—a distance growing faster than I can mend it.
“Go,” I say softly. “Straight to the study room. I will speak to you both later.”
They walk past me, dragging their feet, refusing to look at each other. The moment the door closes behind them, I let out a breath so heavy it seems to leave my bones hollow.
“Evangeline,” Georgina murmurs, placing a hand on my arm. “You’re doing your best.”
“Some days it feels like my best is not enough,” I admit.
Before she can answer, I spot a figure in the corridor—broad shoulders, weary posture, the weight of the crown visible even without the coronet.
Sebastian.
He hesitates when he sees me. It is the first time I’ve seen him all day.
I straighten. “Finally,” I say quietly.
He approaches slowly, his voice subdued. “I heard shouting. The guards said the children were fighting.”
“That’s a gentle description,” I answer. “They were brawling.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “They all right?”
“Physically.” I fold my arms. “Emotionally? As fractured as you and I.”
He stiffens. “Evangeline—”
“They need you, Sebastian,” I say before he can retreat behind that familiar wall of exhaustion. “They look to you. They measure themselves by you. And when you’re absent, when you walk past them without seeing them, they fight for your attention because they don’t know any other way.”
He exhales a long, tired breath. “I am doing everything I can.”
“You’re doing everything for the kingdom,” I correct softly. “Not for them.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It is fair,” I insist. “You haven’t eaten a meal with them in days. When they speak to you, you nod without hearing. When they fight, they do it because they’re desperate for something—anything—from you.”
“I am exhausted,” he says sharply. “Every day I wake to problems that didn’t exist the night before. Borders, treaties, trade failures, court disputes—Evangeline, I can barely breathe under the weight of it.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But the boys don’t. They’re too young to understand political burdens. They only understand when their father is missing.”
He presses his palm against the wall, head bowed. “I’m trying.”
“I am not asking you to be perfect,” I say. “I’m asking you to be present. Even for an hour.”
He looks up at me—eyes dark, ringed with sleepless shadows. “I don’t have an hour.”
“Then take ten minutes,” I plead. “Five. Anything.”
“I can’t,” he murmurs. “Not today.” He turns away as if turning from the entire conversation.
“Sebastian—”
He shakes his head. “I’m too tired, Evangeline. We’ll talk later.”
He walks off, the distance between us stretching with every step.
I stand in the corridor long after he vanishes around the corner, listening to the fading echo of his boots. The palace suddenly feels too large, too cold, too empty. I press a hand to my chest, trying to soothe the ache blooming there.
Behind the study door, my sons sit in punishment for a fight born from longing. And the man they long for has no strength left to give.
I close my eyes. Something has to change. Something must.