The journey to the Imperial Palace should have taken no more than an hour.
But to Evelyne, it felt like a lifetime.
Each turn of the wheels stirred old memories—of marble floors that echoed with disdain, of cold eyes that never saw her as more than a political pawn. Of siblings who looked at her as if she were a parasite… or a threat.
She had once walked these halls in chains.
Now she returned in silence, veiled and cloaked, but with a gaze steady and clear.
The palace gates opened with a creak that split the morning air.
The guards stood straighter as she passed—but their eyes darted to one another, nervous. Whispers followed her like shadows.
> "Isn't that…?" "The fallen empress…" "I thought she died."
She held her head high.
---
The throne room hadn't changed.
Columns of gold and crimson flanked the long path to the imperial dais. At its peak, the Emperor sat—older now, with silver streaking his once-jet hair. His expression was unreadable.
Evelyne knelt before him, calm and graceful.
"You summoned me, Father."
A pause. Then:
"You've grown."
A strange start. One she hadn't expected.
"You saved your own executioner from death," the Emperor said quietly. "Even after all the Empire did to you."
Evelyne said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"That act has shaken the court. And now… now the nobles whisper your name again."
She finally looked up. "Let them whisper."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because this time," Evelyne said softly, "I'm not here to serve their game."
---
Later, in the quiet of the old gardens, Evelyne walked beneath the cherry blossoms, remembering a time she used to play here with—
"Evelyne."
She turned, and her breath caught.
A boy stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, with pale green eyes and black hair tied back in a neat ribbon.
Not a boy anymore.
Lucien Valastra.
The Duke's heir. Her once-fiancé.
The one who'd betrayed her.
And the first to kneel before her coffin when it was over.
His voice shook. "You're alive."
Evelyne tilted her head. "Disappointed?"
Lucien stared. "No. I—"
She didn't wait.
She brushed past him, her steps sure.
"Whatever you've come to say, Lucien," she said, not looking back, "it's five years too late."
---
To be continued...