Blades & Lies

The ride back to Velthorne Manor was uneventful, but the silence between Damien and Evelyn was anything but.

Evelyn didn't press him.

Not yet.

But she had seen his reaction—the way his silver eyes had frozen on the dragon, the way his fingers had curled into fists. She had felt the shift in him, the way his usual arrogance had faltered, if only for a moment.

And she hadn't missed how Alistair Veyne had noticed too.

They arrived at the manor just as the sun began to sink toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Servants took their horses, and Velthorne gestured for them to follow him inside.

"I imagine you'll want to rest before dinner," he said smoothly, his usual amused tone laced with something else now—something sharper, more calculating.

Evelyn inclined her head. "That would be appreciated."

Velthorne smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then I'll leave you to it."

With that, he strode down the hall, disappearing into the depths of the manor.

But Alistair lingered.

The king's enforcer watched them carefully, his gaze flicking between Damien and Evelyn like a man who had already decided they were hiding something.

Evelyn didn't move. She simply held his stare, refusing to be the first to break.

Eventually, Alistair tilted his head slightly, almost… amused.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

Evelyn exhaled.

Damien let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as they made their way toward their chambers. "Well, he definitely doesn't trust us."

Evelyn shot him a look. "Can you blame him?"

Damien grinned. "No. But I do love a challenge."

The moment they stepped inside their chambers and shut the door, Evelyn rounded on him.

"Start talking."

Damien arched a brow, unfastening the cuffs of his sleeves. "About what?"

"You know what."

He smirked. "You're going to have to be more specific, love. I have so many fascinating qualities—"

Evelyn slammed her hand against the table, rattling the silver tray set atop it.

Damien went still.

She wasn't playing games.

She folded her arms, voice low and sharp. "That dragon. It wasn't just some random sighting to you, was it?"

Damien's smirk was carefully in place, but his eyes—his eyes were far too guarded.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Evelyn took a step closer. "You froze, Damien. You don't freeze. Ever."

"I was admiring the view."

"Liar."

Damien sighed dramatically, leaning against the edge of the bed. "I didn't realize you cared so much about my emotional well-being."

Evelyn clenched her jaw. "You're deflecting."

He tilted his head, studying her. "And what if I am?"

Evelyn took a breath, forcing herself to stay calm. She didn't want to push him into shutting down completely.

So she tried a different approach.

"You recognized it, didn't you?" she asked, voice quieter now.

Damien's fingers stilled where they rested against his belt.

A flicker of something passed over his face—so quick, so fleeting, Evelyn almost thought she imagined it.

But she hadn't.

It was there.

The truth, buried deep beneath all his clever words and easy smiles.

"I don't make a habit of getting to know dragons personally," Damien said lightly.

Evelyn exhaled slowly. "Then why did you look like you'd seen a ghost?"

Damien's smirk faded entirely.

For a moment, he just… stared at her.

Then, finally, he turned away, walking toward the window. The last light of day glowed against the glass, casting his silhouette in shadows and gold.

"You ever have a moment," he murmured, "where the past decides to crawl out of its grave and remind you of something you'd rather forget?"

Evelyn swallowed.

She knew exactly what that felt like.

"…Yes," she admitted.

Damien let out a soft laugh, but there was no amusement in it.

"Then you already know why I don't want to talk about it."

Evelyn frowned.

But before she could press further, a knock echoed from the door.

Damien turned his head slightly, and in the space of a breath, the tension was gone—buried beneath the mask of the charming rogue once more.

Evelyn hated how good he was at it.

She opened the door.

A servant bowed low. "Lord Velthorne requests your presence in the dining hall."

Evelyn nodded. "We'll be there shortly."

As the servant left, she turned back to Damien.

His silver eyes met hers, cool and unreadable once more.

But she wasn't fooled.

Whatever ghosts had surfaced today—they weren't gone.

And if there was one thing she knew about ghosts, it was this:

They always came back.

Later That Night

Evelyn had almost fallen asleep when she heard it.

A murmur. Low, quiet.

She opened her eyes.

Damien was still awake, sitting by the window, his silhouette outlined against the moonlit glass.

His back was turned, but his hand rested against his chest—right where his hidden scars lay beneath his shirt.

And then—he whispered something.

A name.

Evelyn barely caught it.

But she knew it wasn't hers.

Then—another name.

Velthorne's.

Her blood ran cold.

She pushed herself up slowly, careful not to make a sound.

Damien's shoulders were rigid. His usual ease was gone.

And then she saw it—his gaze was locked on something outside.

Evelyn followed his line of sight—

To the prison beneath Velthorne Manor.

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

The dragon. The mission from his past.

And now—the prison.

It was all connected.

And Damien knew something she didn't.

She should have called him out on it. Should have demanded he tell her everything.

But instead—she watched.

Watched as Damien Aldric, the man who never let anything get to him, sat in silence, gripping his chest like he was trying to hold something broken together.

And for the first time, she wondered—

Who had he lost in that place?

And how much of his past had Velthorne buried beneath those stone walls?