The banquet ended in applause and murmurs, silverware clinking and laughter echoing into corridors. But Evelyn didn't stay for dessert, or the toasts, or the shallow compliments offered by half-interested nobles.
She slipped out the side hall, the sound of her heels softened by carpet and distance. Her heart thudded—not from fear.
From anticipation.
She knew he'd follow.
Alexander always let her walk away.
But not far.
She found herself in one of the Academy's garden wings—quiet, tucked behind glass walls and blooming moonflowers. A warm spring breeze rustled the leaves.
Then—footsteps.
Slow. Certain.
He didn't say her name.
Didn't need to.
She turned before he reached her, standing tall beneath a silvered arch of ivy. The tension between them felt like a held breath.
"You weren't supposed to come back," she said first.
"I know."
She looked at him—really looked. "Then why did you?"
A pause.
Long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then: "Because I couldn't stay away."
Evelyn blinked.
She hadn't expected him to say that.
"I told you I'd give you space," he said. "I meant it. I meant to leave and stay gone until you made your choice."
"And now?"
He stepped closer, shadows and moonlight slicing across his sharp features. "Now I'm wondering if that was a mistake."
"You said I'd have to choose," she murmured. "What if I haven't yet?"
"I'm not asking for your answer tonight." His voice was low. "But I won't lie and pretend I don't care anymore. I came back because the thought of leaving you behind felt worse than any war I've ever fought."
Her breath caught.
There it was again—that rare, raw honesty he only gave her.
"But you still don't say it," she whispered.
He frowned. "Say what?"
"That you want me."
Alexander's expression flickered—tension, regret, hunger, restraint.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"I want you, Evelyn." The words were like iron, forged in fire. "But I want you to want me without fear. Without doubt. I want to be chosen not because I stood beside you when no one else did—but because you feel something, too."
Her throat tightened.
"I do."
Silence.
Then—he reached forward, almost like he'd touch her cheek. But his hand hovered, barely there.
"Then say it."
Evelyn stepped closer, heart pounding.
"I feel it," she said quietly. "Every time you leave. Every time you look at me like you're afraid to lose control."
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
But neither closed the final inch of space between them.
Not yet.
Because if they crossed that line now—there'd be no going back.