Chapter 122

Evelyn

Finally, the palace gates cam into view on the horizon and loomed ahead, tall and dark against a bruised evening sky. Our horses trotted over the cobblestones, as the path beneath us turned from the thin, travel-worn path of packed earth to paved road.

We were silent as we approached, each of us mutely thinking of what had happened and what was still to come. Scott’s chains clinked behind me, every sound a reminder that he still breathed. Occasionally, a low moan of pain was emitted from where he was slung, bound and unmoving on across the horse’s backside like a bag of feed.

He was laid out across the back of Logan’s horse, and Logan proceeded onward without ever acknowledging the wordless complaints from his travel companion. If anything, the sounds of Scott’s pain seemed to please him for the miles it took to trek home.

When we passed through the gates and entered the palace courtyard, Alex was waiting for us. His posture radiated tension with his fists clenched at his sides. I could see even from a distance how tensely his jaw was set. The moment he saw Scott, he began striding over to us, meeting us halfway across the courtyard.

He didn’t hesitate when we stopped before him. He didn’t even break stride as he pulled his fist back and brought it down on Scott’s already-mangled face. The prisoner couldn’t do more than grunt at this new pain.

“Traitor!” Alex roared. His fist collided again with Scott’s jaw so hard that the sound was jarring.

This second strike jostled Scott from where he was lying across the saddle and sent him falling to the hard cobblestones, chains rattling and blood spilling from his mouth where his tongue used to be. When he collapsed on the ground, he writhed with a pained, animal moan. It was a grotesque reminder of Logan’s blade and the damage it had dealt.

“Enough,” Logan said, his voice firm but calm. He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, steady but not unkind. “He’ll get what’s coming. I’ve already taken his tongue so he can speak no more treachery. This will be over soon.”

Alex’s chest heaved as he glared down at Scott. “Not soon enough.”

I couldn’t blame my brother. Every ounce of fury he carried, I felt too, but mine burned quieter, buried slightly following Scott’s mutilation.

Logan gave a curt nod. “Should your father be approving—and I don’t see why he wouldn’t be—we end this tonight.”

The words landed heavy and final. My stomach knotted, but I didn’t argue because I didn’t disagree with him. It had to be done. And sooner rather than later.

“I will see our father and get his blessing. I wish to talk with him first anyway,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. “Before… before it happens.”

There was a sense of finality that hung heavily in the air. The three of us were quiet for a beat, assigning this moment the weight it deserved. This was the beginning of the end. Truly, this time.

Logan’s gaze flicked to me, steady and unreadable. Then he inclined his head. “Go. I will keep watch over the prisoner.”

I didn’t wait for more encouragement. I turned and hurried into the palace, letting the corridors swallow me. Every step toward my father’s chambers made my chest tighten. I followed the familiar path to his rooms and gave a single knock. He invited me in and I took a breath to steel myself for what I would find beyond the door.

When I entered, he was sitting up in bed, pale but awake. His eyes lifted to meet mine with an expectant expression. Thankfully, despite the recent drugging, his eyes were clear.

“Evelyn,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but strong enough to make me want to weep. I was so grateful he was alive, despite the odds and the cruelty he had endured at Scott’s hand.

I hurried to his side, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “You’re awake.” My throat burned. “How do you feel?”

“Like a man pulled from the grave,” he said with a faint smile. “And that’s thanks to you.” He reached for my hand, his fingers rough and warm. I could feel the callouses on his palms from years of swordwork. “If you hadn’t found that cure… I’d be gone.”

Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. How long had I hoped to hear something similar from him?

“I couldn’t let you die,” I said, but that didn’t encapsulate all that I felt. I had found the cure for wolfsbane poisoning, sure, but I could never have imagined how personally important it would become. I had once been poisoned by the same drug, but seeing someone else succumb to it, someone that I loved…. It was too much.

He squeezed my hand gently. “I am proud of you, Evelyn. So proud. More than words can ever say. I owe you my life.”

That undid me. The tears broke free, slipping down my cheeks as I bowed my head. They dropped onto the silk bedspread like little freckles.

“I wanted to kill him, Father,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Scott. I wanted to make him pay for what he did to you. It was the first time in my life I wanted to hurt someone, really hurt them. For what he took from us: our sense of security. But…” My breath hitched. “I can’t. Logan took his tongue, but his execution… I don’t have it in me to swing the sword myself.”

My father’s thumb brushed away a tear like he used to when I was a child. “Because you are not a killer,” he said softly. “You are a healer. That is your gift, Evelyn. And there is no shame in that. Some of us were simply meant to deal out the wounds you tend to.”

I swallowed hard, my heart aching with equal parts relief and sorrow. “But someone has to do it.”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze steady on mine. “And it will not be you. I am still too weak to raise the sword, but there are others who are just as qualified. In truth, it should be Alex. He has felt significant anger because of Scott’s attack, too. And as the prince and my heir, it should be his duty to deliver justice.”

I nodded slowly, the weight in my chest settling into something I could bear. “Alex, will do it then. Tonight.”

“Alex will do it,” my father agreed with a solemn nod.

I rose, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Rest. I’ll make sure this ends this evening. I’ll go tell Alex now.”

“I will be in attendance,” my father reassured. “Though I cannot risk making a spectacle and drawing attention to my presence in such a state. I will be toward the back of the crowd, though. Watching.”

“As you should be,” I said. He deserved more than anyone to see Scott brought to justice.

As I turned to leave, my father’s voice followed me, warm and unwavering.

“You are stronger than you know, Evelyn.”

Maybe he was right. But as I stepped back into the corridor, one truth pressed hard against my ribs: strength wasn’t always about bloodshed. Sometimes it was about knowing when to pass the blade off to someone else.