Blades & Lies

Evelyn had seen many horrors in her time as a knight—battles fought on bloodstained fields, innocent lives lost in the chaos of war, the cruel hand of power crushing those who stood against it.

But the prison beneath Velthorne Manor?

That was something else entirely.

It was systematic cruelty. Control in its purest form.

And Velthorne had shown it to them on purpose.

She sat by the crackling fireplace, still turning over the events of the night in her mind. Across from her, Damien lounged against the headboard of the bed, one arm behind his head, looking completely at ease.

But she knew better.

She knew his mind was elsewhere—just like hers.

"You're quiet," Damien mused, watching her from across the room. "That's usually my job."

Evelyn exhaled slowly. "I'm thinking."

"Again?" He smirked. "Careful, love. You might hurt yourself."

Evelyn ignored the bait, instead tilting her head slightly. "You knew what we'd find in that prison, didn't you?"

Damien's smirk didn't falter, but something in his silver eyes did.

"I had a suspicion."

Evelyn narrowed her gaze. "And yet, you weren't surprised."

Damien let out a soft chuckle, but it was empty this time. "There are worse things than a nobleman keeping political prisoners, Evelyn."

She frowned. "And I suppose you would know?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face, gone just as quickly as it came.

"Perhaps," he said lightly. "Or perhaps I'm just hard to shock."

Evelyn didn't believe that for a second.

She had seen how he looked at those prisoners. Not with curiosity or pity, but with something else—something colder.

Recognition.

She stood up, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. "How long were you in a cell like that?"

Damien's smirk faded entirely.

For the first time in the time she had known him, he looked caught off guard.

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to brush it off with some clever remark, but Evelyn didn't give him the chance.

She stopped in front of him, arms crossed. "I need to know, Damien."

A long silence stretched between them. The only sound was the crackling fire, casting shadows across his face.

Then—

"I was seventeen."

Evelyn's breath caught.

Not because of his words, but because of the way he said them—quiet, detached, as if reciting a fact that no longer belonged to him.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, but she forced herself to remain still. "Who put you there?"

Damien smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it.

"The same kind of people who put those prisoners in Velthorne's dungeon," he murmured. "People in power who needed to make an example out of someone."

Evelyn clenched her fists. "For how long?"

Damien's silver eyes flickered with something dark and distant. "Long enough."

Evelyn hated how much those words unnerved her.

Long enough.

That could mean weeks. Months. Years.

And the fact that he wouldn't give her a straight answer told her exactly how painful that time had been.

She sat down beside him, keeping her voice steady. "And you survived."

Damien let out a soft laugh, but it lacked its usual warmth. "Obviously."

She studied him for a moment before speaking again. "Did anyone come for you?"

He didn't answer.

And that was an answer in itself.

Evelyn felt something tighten in her chest.

She had always known Damien was more than just a charming liar and skilled fighter. There had always been something deeper beneath the surface, something he never let anyone touch.

But she had never expected this.

And she hated how much it bothered her.

Damien suddenly turned to her, tilting his head slightly. "Why do you care, Evelyn?"

She froze.

She hadn't expected the question. Hadn't expected him to turn the interrogation on her.

Evelyn had never been good at words, at expressing thoughts she barely understood herself.

But something about the way he was looking at her now—

Something about the way his silver eyes searched hers for an answer—

It made her feel trapped.

So she did what she always did when she didn't have an answer.

She deflected.

"I care because you're my partner on this mission," she said, voice firm. "And if there's something I need to know about you—"

Damien leaned in, just slightly. "Then what?"

Evelyn swallowed.

Damn him.

Damn him and his dangerous proximity.

She forced herself to hold her ground, but her next words came out softer than she intended.

"Then I should know it."

Damien studied her for a long moment.

Then—he did something unexpected.

He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a fraction too long.

Evelyn's breath hitched.

Her mind screamed at her to move, to say something, to break the moment—

But she didn't.

Because for the first time since this entire fake marriage began, she realized something.

The part of her that wanted answers about Damien's past—

That wasn't the only part of her that wanted something.

And that realization terrified her.

Damien let his hand fall back to his lap, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Some doors shouldn't be opened, Evelyn."

And just like that, he was back to himself—smirking, teasing, leaning back like he hadn't just shattered the careful balance between them.

Evelyn exhaled slowly, trying to gather her thoughts.

She needed to focus.

She needed to remember why they were here—to uncover Velthorne's true motives, to survive this mission, to return home in one piece.

But as she sat there, feeling the warmth of the fire on her skin, feeling Damien's gaze still lingering on her—

She realized this mission was already far more complicated than she had ever planned for.

And she wasn't sure how much longer she could pretend it wasn't.