Blades & Lies

Evelyn sat in silence as the Nyxian Gryphor soared through the misty skies, carrying them toward Lord Velthorne's estate. The wind rushed past, ruffling her cloak, but her mind was elsewhere.

Something about this mission felt off.

King Verrin was calculating, always three steps ahead. He wouldn't send them on a simple diplomatic errand—no, this was a trap waiting to be sprung.

And tests in a kingdom like Veridorn usually came with a body count.

Behind her, Damien sat far too comfortably, one arm loosely around her waist as if this was a joyride and not a potential death sentence.

"You're unusually quiet," he mused.

Evelyn gripped the reins tighter, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Thinking."

"Dangerous habit," Damien teased, leaning in slightly. "Wouldn't want you overworking that sharp mind of yours."

She exhaled sharply. "I swear, Damien, if you get me killed on this mission, I'll come back and haunt you."

Damien chuckled, but then—

He froze.

For just a moment—a fraction of a second—his body tensed behind her.

Evelyn felt it.

The shift in his posture. The way his fingers twitched slightly against the fabric of her cloak.

And that's when she realized.

The words she had just said—they had struck something deep.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, expecting to see his usual smirk, that infuriating ease he carried.

But his face was blank. His silver eyes, usually full of amusement or mischief, were now clouded—distant, unreadable.

Evelyn frowned. "Damien?"

He didn't respond at first, just stared at her with an expression she couldn't place.

Then, as if snapping himself out of whatever thought had gripped him, he blinked once, twice, and the smirk returned—though this time, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ah, I see," he murmured, voice softer than before. "So you're trying to kill me emotionally now. That's cruel, love."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "You're deflecting."

"I'm adjusting," he corrected, shifting slightly. "Very different things."

But Evelyn wasn't fooled.

She had seen Damien in battle. In negotiations. In the presence of ruthless kings and mercenaries alike.

Never—not once—had she seen him look so struck by something so small.

Something wasn't right.

She turned back to the road ahead, but now, her thoughts were spinning.

The way he had reacted—it wasn't just shock. It was recognition.

Like he had heard those exact words before.

And that meant…

Someone had said them to him before.

Evelyn's mind raced through the possibilities. A friend? A fellow knight? Someone from his past missions?

But no. That expression—that haunted look in his eyes—it was too personal. Too deeply buried for it to be just another comrade.

This was someone he had cared for.

Evelyn pressed her lips together.

She could have let it go. Could have ignored the way his entire demeanor had changed in that one instant.

But she didn't.

Instead, she spoke.

"You don't like ghosts, do you?" she asked casually, her voice carrying through the wind.

Damien was silent for a long moment.

Then, finally, he chuckled—but it was forced.

"I find them inconvenient," he admitted.

Evelyn nodded, keeping her eyes forward. "Who was she?"

Damien's grip on her waist tightened slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Evelyn felt it.

Felt the hesitation.

And that was all the confirmation she needed.

So there was a she.

He didn't answer immediately, but she didn't push.

She just waited.

Finally, after a long pause, Damien exhaled slowly.

"She was someone who also thought haunting me would be a good idea," he muttered, his voice quieter now.

Evelyn felt something tighten in her chest.

She knew that tone. That hollow, distant weight in someone's voice when speaking of someone who was gone.

She had heard it before—in fellow knights who had lost comrades. In widows speaking of fallen husbands.

She didn't know why, but the thought of Damien carrying that kind of loss unsettled her.

Evelyn swallowed. "Did she?"

Damien was silent.

And that silence told her everything.

He didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.

By the time they arrived at Velthorne Manor, the moon was already high, casting eerie silver light over the fortress-like estate.

Evelyn barely had time to take in the towering black spires before the gates creaked open, revealing a line of armored guards waiting to receive them.

The entrance hall was just as imposing—polished marble floors, towering crimson banners bearing the Velthorne crest, and a massive chandelier of twisted iron and glass.

At the end of the hall, a tall figure awaited them.

Lord Castien Velthorne.

He was younger than she expected, perhaps in his late thirties, with sleek dark hair and calculating blue eyes. His tailored black coat was lined with gold trim, and though his posture was polite, there was something dangerous about him.

"Lord and Lady Aldric," he greeted smoothly, his voice pleasant yet unreadable. "I must admit, I was surprised to hear of your visit. Newlyweds rarely travel so soon after their wedding."

Evelyn forced a smile, slipping seamlessly into her role. "Duty calls, my lord. My husband and I are honored to be here."

Damien, of course, placed a casual hand on her lower back, leaning in with that damnably perfect smirk.

"Honored," he echoed. "And deeply curious."

Velthorne's gaze flickered between them, as if measuring something unseen.

Then he smiled faintly.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "Come. Let's discuss business over wine."

As they followed him deeper into the manor, Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking straight into another trap.

And beside her, Damien had yet to speak another word.

His usual charm was flawless, but she could feel the underlying tension in him.

Whatever ghosts had surfaced tonight—

They hadn't left him yet.

And Evelyn had the sinking suspicion that this mission was about to drag them even further into the past he wanted to forget.