Lucas had never seen Evelynn this quiet before. She sat beside the hearth in his private chambers, her posture stiff, hands resting motionless on her lap. The fire cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the subtle tremor in her lips that betrayed the turmoil beneath her composed exterior.
He leaned against the heavy oak door he'd bolted shut behind them, every muscle in his body tense. Outside those walls, the entire noble court was likely burning with whispers. Evelynn Thorn had been condemned—and yet she was very much alive, hidden inside the estate of the man she was supposed to despise.
Lucas paced slowly, each step deliberate as if weighing the gravity of what he'd just done. The defiance in the parlor had cost him more than he let on.
He had broken a sacred vow.
"You shouldn't have interfered," Evelynn said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. It was the first thing she'd said since he spirited her away. "Now they'll come after you too."
"They were already coming after me," he replied. "I just gave them a reason to be open about it."
She turned to look at him, her emerald eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You didn't have to throw your life away."
Lucas crouched in front of her, resting one hand gently on her knee. "I'm not throwing anything away. I'm making a choice."
"That's the same thing."
A silence stretched between them, thick and strained. Evelynn's breaths were shallow, and Lucas could see the weight of what almost happened pressing down on her shoulders like iron chains.
"You were ready to die for me," she said softly.
"I was ready to kill for you," he corrected, just as softly. "Still am."
Evelynn's breath caught in her throat, and she looked away, the firelight catching the sheen of tears at the corner of her eyes. "Why?"
"Because you're the only thing in this place that feels real."
The confession hung in the air like smoke, curling between them, too intimate to name. But there was no time to dwell on it—not when a storm was coming. And it was.
Lucas stood again, walking toward his writing desk, where a letter lay unopened. A black wax seal marked it—one he recognized immediately. The sigil of the Inner Circle.
"They already know what I did," he muttered, breaking the seal and scanning the contents. "They're summoning me to the Catacombs at dusk."
Evelynn's head snapped up. "The Inner Circle? They'll kill you."
He nodded grimly. "Unless I give them something they want more."
Evelynn rose from her seat. "Which is?"
"You."
Her body went still. "You're going to hand me over?"
Lucas didn't flinch, but his jaw clenched. "No. I'm going to offer them a deal. Your survival… in exchange for your silence."
Evelynn blinked. "You want me to pretend none of this happened? That the Blood Oath doesn't exist?"
"I want you to live," he said flatly. "And right now, that means playing by their rules."
Her laugh was hollow. "So I'll be free as long as I keep my mouth shut? Be a good little noblewoman and forget I ever learned the truth?"
"Temporarily," he said. "Until I can dismantle them from the inside."
"You're dreaming."
"I'm planning."
He crossed to her again, standing so close she had to tilt her head to look up at him.
"They won't trust you after this," she said. "You defied them in front of everyone."
"I know," he murmured. "Which is why I need you to do something even harder."
Evelynn narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"Pretend to hate me."
She blinked. "What?"
"They'll believe I brought you here to interrogate you, not protect you," he said. "But only if we sell it. I'll tell them I broke you. That you confessed everything. That you begged for mercy."
Evelynn recoiled. "You want me to humiliate myself just to save my neck?"
"I want you to survive," he repeated, louder this time. "You can call it humiliation. I call it strategy."
She paced away from him, running both hands through her hair, frustration and fear leaking through every movement.
"You don't understand," she snapped. "They wanted me dead. Not imprisoned. Not blackmailed. Dead. This isn't about control anymore. It's about sending a message."
"And that message will change," Lucas said, his tone sharper now, more forceful. "If the council believes you're mine. If they think I've tamed you. They'll wait. They'll watch."
"You want me to be your pet."
"I want you to play a part."
Evelynn turned to him, fury flashing in her eyes. "You think this is a game?"
"No," he growled, stepping closer. "I think this is war. And if we don't play smart, we lose."
The words struck her hard. Her lips parted, but no sound came. And then, finally, she nodded—slow, reluctant, full of rage but also understanding.
"I'll do it," she whispered. "But this doesn't make us allies."
Lucas didn't argue.
Because she was right.
This was not an alliance. This was survival.
—
That evening, Lucas stood at the stone archway of the Catacombs, Evelynn at his side. She wore a plain black cloak, her head bowed, her hands bound—an illusion, of course, but a convincing one. Her wrists bore fresh bruises, not from his hands, but her own—she had drawn them with pressure and ink, to look like she'd been dragged here unwillingly.
Inside, the stone corridor was cold and damp, lit by torches embedded in walls carved with arcane symbols. Figures in hooded robes lined the walls, silent, faceless, watching.
At the center of the chamber, the council waited. The Grand Inquisitor stood among them, his mouth curled into that familiar cruel smile.
Lucas shoved Evelynn to her knees, hard enough that she landed with a thud.
"She's mine now," he announced. "I've extracted everything."
The Grand Inquisitor approached slowly. "Has she confessed?"
Lucas nodded once. "She named names. Gave locations. She's more valuable alive."
"And do you think your act of rebellion can be wiped clean by offering us this… gift?"
Lucas didn't blink. "I didn't rebel. I tested her loyalty. She failed."
Evelynn raised her head just enough to glare at him through her lashes. The look was perfect—betrayal, loathing, pain. If Lucas hadn't known it was fake, even he would've believed it.
"She wants to live," Lucas continued. "She'll say nothing more. As long as she remains under my supervision."
The council murmured amongst themselves. The Grand Inquisitor studied them, then studied Evelynn.
"Very well," he said at last. "She lives. But her every movement is now bound to you, Lord Blackwood. If she speaks out, if she acts against us again… it will be your blood we spill beside hers."
Lucas bowed his head slightly. "Understood."
He reached down, grabbed Evelynn's arm, and pulled her to her feet. She staggered but didn't fight. They exited in silence, the echo of their steps swallowed by the cavern.
When they emerged into the cold night air, Evelynn ripped her arm from his grip.
"That was the last time I play weak," she hissed.
Lucas looked at her, his voice quiet but edged with steel. "Good. Because the next part is even more dangerous."
She blinked. "What part?"
"The part where we make them think we've won—just before we tear them apart from the inside."