Chapter 16
(Evelyn’s POV)
Logan breaks something in me that I didn’t even know was still fragile.
I try to pretend I’m fine as I leave the seminar. I even smile at one of the younger healers who thanks me for my teachings. I nod, murmur a kind “you’re doing well,” and retreat to my quarters in the palace like I haven’t just been gutted.
But the moment the door closes behind me, the air shifts.
It becomes unbearable.
The silence presses in like water over a drowning head. Every breath feels heavier.
Thicker. My chest tightens, and I grip the edge of my writing desk to steady myself.
I can still hear his voice.
“You inserted yourself into my life.”
As if I were nothing more than an inconvenience. A shadow creeping too close to his spotlight.
I’d loved him. Gods, I had loved him with a devotion I’d buried in every quiet moment, every soft smile, every simple act of care. I gave him parts of me I’d never get back—and he reduced all of it to suspicion and strategy.
I shove open the drawer of my desk and rip out the journal hidden beneath my old apothecary sketches. My fingers hesitate for a heartbeat. It’s worn now—the edges frayed, the spine cracked. I open it to a page I know by heart.
A newspaper clipping, yellowed with age but preserved with care. Logan, standing tall, his shoulders squared, triumphant as he officially became Alpha after challenging his father and winning.
I’d been so proud that day. I’d clipped that article with shaking hands and glued it into my journal, whispering a prayer for his strength, for his future, for our future—even if we weren’t together.
I stare at it now, and my vision blurs. But not from sentiment.
From fury.
I rip the page out. Clean. No hesitation. Then I tear it in half. And again. And again. Until it’s nothing but tiny, crumpled pieces I throw into the fire blazing in the hearth.
They crackle and curl into ash, vanishing just like the version of Logan I’d held onto all this time.
One by one, I hunt down every reminder of him. Every recessive memory, like a cancer that rattles around in the back of my brain.
Let it break. Let everything break.
I stand in the center of my quarters, breath ragged, heart pounding. But I feel somehow lighter. Cleaner. Like I’ve cut out a tumor that was silently poisoning me.
He’s not mine anymore. He hasn’t been for a long time.
So why does it still hurt?
The next day, I do what I do best: I drown in work.
I wake before sunrise and spend hours in the royal library, poring over old war journals and obscure healing texts.
I train the junior healers until they’re gasping and glowing with strain.
I prepare new antidotes, design training modules, and even start drafting a proposal for expanding the medical barracks near the eastern border.
I don’t think of him.
Not when I’m busy.
Not when I’m focused.
Not when I’m pretending I’m fine.
Days pass, and the palace feels… manageable again. There’s still a hollow space inside me, but at least it’s not bleeding anymore.
“Evelyn.”
The mindlink tingles through.
“Yes, Father?” I pause mid-note, quill hovering over parchment.
“Logan proposed joint military training between our warriors.”
The words land like a bucket of cold water over my head. I go completely still.
“Will he be coming as well?” I ask before I can stop myself. My voice sounds neutral. Too neutral.
“No. Just his pack warriors.”
There’s a pause. I can sense my father watching my thoughts carefully through the link.
“Why?” I press.
“Because I refuse to have him sully your heart a moment longer than necessary.”
I bristle. “Then why have him at all? Why agree to these terms? Surely we’ve trained diligently enough. No true alliance is necessary.
He sighs.
“Evelyn, your brother and I have been stretched thin for years. Our focus has been split between diplomacy and defense. Logan’s pack, however, has been sharpening its blades nonstop. Their training is relentless. Precise. Effective.”
I think of Logan sparring in the sand pits, the way his body moves like instinct and strategy fused into one.
It was true, he never let up. Never cut corners. He’d return with bruised ribs and split knuckles and act like it was nothing—just part of the job. Just part of being Alpha.
“Still,” I say, voice tight. “I cannot see the need.”
There’s a pause. My father’s voice softens slightly.
“He’s dedicated to his people, Evelyn. You know that better than anyone.”
Do I?
“The rogues are growing bolder,” my father continues. “Their attacks have doubled since last winter. We can’t ignore this any longer.”
I think of the old scars on my back—the ones I never talk about. The ones I got when I was kidnapped by rogues as a child. Before I was trained.
Before I could fight back.
I remember the darkness. The fear. The way they laughed when I screamed.
Rogues don’t show mercy.
My breath catches in my throat.
“You want me to go, don’t you?” I whisper.
“Not as a daughter. As the future Chief Healer. As the Luna of this pack, yes, I would require it. Our medical units are outdated, Evelyn. We need you to organize a proper hospital at the camp. To train field medics. To prepare us.”
I close my eyes. A long silence stretches between us.
I have never made a habit of questioning my King father, but in this moment, the question haunts me—can I submit to his demand?
“Though I cannot say when or if he will choose to be present, there is an element of control over one’s pack. He cannot wilfully abandon them within my grounds…our grounds.”
“Which means…”
“That you will inevitably cross paths, though it pains me to say it. But it makes no matter, Evelyn, you are stronger now, you are free and are able to make decisions in this grand game of wills and power on your own terms. For that, I am not worried.”
He’s right.
I am stronger now.
But gods, the idea of being near Logan again makes my stomach twist. What if he looks through me again like I’m a stranger? What if Emma’s draped over his arm, smug and satisfied, while I bleed behind my polite smile?
No.
I won’t let them see me bleed.
I open my eyes, straightening.
“Although you will have to face your bastard ex-husband, the royal warriors do need this opportunity, for the greater good. Would you be willing to go and organize the military camp hospital?”
“I’ll go,” I tell him. “For the good of the kingdom.”
Let the past stay buried.
Tomorrow, I ride out—not as Logan’s once-love. Not as a girl waiting on hope.
But as the heir to the Royal Healing Line.
And God's help anyone who underestimates me now.
