EVELINA
The morning sun fell softly through the tall windows of Everleigh Hall, scattering gold across the floor. The house was quiet, save for the faint sound of servants moving beyond the doors and the distant hum of the city beginning to wake. Evelina sat at her writing desk, her thoughts still tangled from the night before.
Sleep had come lightly. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucian's face in the flicker of lantern light, the promise in his voice, the warmth of his hand when he had said he would protect her. She touched her lips, still half afraid the memory was only a dream.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
Her maid, Anna, stepped into the room carrying a polished wooden box wrapped in silk. "A delivery for you, my lady. It came from the Grand Duke's estate this morning. The messenger said it is to be received in your own hand."
Evelina turned, surprise flickering through her. "The Grand Duke?"
"Yes, my lady. He requested it be delivered with discretion."
Anna placed the box on the desk and stepped back, curiosity briefly visible in her eyes before she lowered her gaze. "Shall I fetch tea?"
"No, thank you. That will be all."
When the door closed, Evelina studied the box in silence. It was beautifully crafted, carved with the Montclair crest. The silk ribbon was a deep shade of crimson, tied with precision.
She hesitated before pulling the ribbon free. Inside lay a delicate necklace, the chain fine as spider silk, with a pendant shaped like a rose carved from dark red stone. It shimmered faintly in the morning light, almost alive.
Beneath it was a note written in a hand she recognized.
For Lady Evelina Everleigh,
May this token remind you that grace and beauty are best admired when kept close. The court may whisper, but I see you clearly. Wear this when next we meet, that I may know your loyalty remains as constant as your charm.
— Alistair Montclair
Evelina's stomach tightened. The words were polite enough, but beneath them she heard something else. A quiet possession. A claim.
She closed the box slowly and rose from her chair, pacing toward the window. Outside, the garden was bright and familiar, but the sight gave her little comfort.
It was not the first time the Grand Duke had sent her gifts. There had been flowers once, rare orchids from the southern provinces. A jeweled hairpin shaped like a phoenix. Each had arrived without warning and always with a note that balanced courtesy with something heavier.
Until now, she had told herself they meant nothing. A gesture of alliance, perhaps. A noble's polite admiration. But after last night, the weight of the gift felt different.
Her fingers traced the rose pendant again. It was beautiful, yes, but there was something about its perfection that unsettled her. It looked fragile, yet sharp. Like something that could draw blood if handled carelessly.
Her thoughts drifted to the last time she had spoken with Alistair in person.
It had been a week before the royal ball, during one of the council gatherings at the palace. The Grand Duke had found her in the corridor outside the library, where she had been waiting for her father.
He had approached with the same calm authority that seemed to silence every room he entered. His dark hair had been perfectly in place, his uniform immaculate, his smile composed.
"Lady Evelina," he had said, inclining his head. "You are far from the music hall. Have you grown tired of the court's chatter?"
"Only for a moment, Your Grace," she had replied politely. "I prefer quiet to noise."
"Then you are unlike most of them," he had said. "Noise is the only way they know they exist."
His gaze had lingered a fraction too long. She had felt it, the kind of attention that searched deeper than courtesy allowed.
"You carry yourself with grace," he continued. "It is no wonder the court has begun to speak your name."
Evelina had smiled carefully. "The court speaks many names. Most of them without reason."
Alistair had stepped closer. "Oh, I believe there is reason enough. You draw attention without effort, Lady Everleigh. It is a dangerous talent."
She had tried to shift the conversation toward safer ground. "I do not seek attention, Your Grace."
"Perhaps not. But others will seek you."
The words had hung in the air between them. There had been no warmth in his voice, only a quiet certainty that unsettled her.
When her father had arrived moments later, Alistair's expression had softened into his familiar charm. He had spoken of politics, of alliances, of how much he admired the Everleigh family's restraint in a world ruled by ambition. Yet even then, Evelina had felt his eyes return to her now and again, thoughtful and claiming.
Now, as she stood in her room with his gift, that memory pressed against her.
She lifted the pendant once more. The rose glinted under the light. She imagined Alistair's hand choosing it, his mind already shaping its meaning. A symbol of admiration to some, perhaps, but to her it felt like a leash.
A quiet knock at the door startled her. She turned quickly, closing the box before Clara reentered with a tray.
"My lady, your father asks that you join him for luncheon when you are ready."
"Tell him I will be down shortly."
When Anna left again, Evelina sat back at her desk, staring at the closed box.
She knew she should thank Alistair, if only to maintain appearances. To refuse a gift from the Grand Duke would be seen as an insult. Yet accepting it meant something else entirely. It meant allowing his gesture to go unchallenged.
Her mind drifted to Lucian. He would not approve of this. He had warned her once that the Grand Duke's kindness was never without purpose.
He does not give. He trades.
Evelina stood abruptly, her pulse quickening. She opened the box once more and looked at the rose, its beauty now cold and sharp in her hand.
"No," she whispered to herself. "I will not wear it."
She wrapped the pendant back in its silk and closed the lid firmly. It was only a small act of defiance, but it felt necessary.
Her thoughts returned to Lucian again, to the way he had looked at her in that dim shop, his voice steady as he promised to protect her name. He had spoken with a conviction that made her believe it was still possible to be safe in a world ruled by deceit.
But as she looked down at the box, she realized how fragile that safety truly was.
The court was a web of power, and men like Alistair Montclair did not lose easily. If he had decided she was to be his, whether for affection or ambition, then she was already part of his game.
A chill ran through her.
Later that afternoon, she joined her father in the sunroom for luncheon. The Marquis greeted her warmly, his manner calm as always, but she could see the concern behind his eyes. He had heard something.
"I received a gift this morning," she said carefully. "From the Grand Duke."
Her father looked up from his plate. "Did you?"
"Yes. A necklace. And a note."
He sighed quietly. "I had hoped he would not pursue this. Montclair has always taken an interest in you, but I believed it was political. Perhaps I was wrong."
"Father, I do not encourage him."
"I know you do not." His voice was gentle but firm. "Still, he sees opportunity where others see boundaries. You must be cautious, Evelina. The Grand Duke does not offer kindness for its own sake. He is capable of charm, but beneath it lies hunger."
Evelina nodded. "I understand."
Her father studied her for a long moment before giving a small, weary smile. "You remind me of your mother. She had the same resolve when faced with men who thought they could decide her fate. I trust you will know what to do."
After the meal, Evelina returned to her room. The box still sat where she had left it, gleaming faintly in the light. She reached for it once more, but only to push it deeper into the drawer of her desk, hidden from view.
That night, as she sat by the window, she watched the moon rise over the city. The garden below shimmered under the silver light. Somewhere beyond those walls, Lucian was preparing to face a world that sought to divide them.
And here, in the quiet of her chamber, a single gift from another man reminded her how easily love could be turned into possession.
She pressed her hand against the cool glass, her reflection faint against the dark.
"Whatever game you play, Your Grace," she whispered, "I will not be your piece."
The words left her lips softly, but the promise behind them felt stronger than anything she had spoken before.
The rose pendant gleamed faintly in the drawer, a beautiful thing that could cut without warning.
A gift of thorns, she thought.
And she would not wear it.