Evelyn couldn’t look at Lucien.
Not after reading the inscription.
Not after seeing the words.
When he chooses her, the empire will burn.
It sounded absurd.
Prophetic.
Dramatic.
Exactly like something written by an author who enjoyed making people suffer.
Yet the golden symbols remained on the floor.
The house had been silent before.
Now the air seemed to hum.
Lucien crouched beside the inscription.
He examined it.
“Magic?”
“Probably.”
“Do you understand it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“Why is that good?”
“Because if you understood everything, I would have to worry.”
She laughed despite herself.
The tension broke slightly.
Lucien stood.
“Don’t believe everything written here.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“You believe the book.”
“I believe what we’ve verified.”
“And the future?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether we change it.”
Evelyn stared at him.
He walked closer.
“Your future isn’t my responsibility.”
She looked down.
“But?”
“But I won’t let anyone decide it for you.”
Something tightened in her chest.
She hadn’t expected that.
Not from him.
Not from anyone.
She turned toward the window.
“Adrian said I was the variable.”
Lucien’s expression darkened.
“He says many things.”
“He also said you were the constant.”
“I don’t like him.”
“I noticed.”
“He knows too much.”
“So do I.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
Then remembered something.
“The inscription said you choose love over vengeance.”
Lucien became very still.
Evelyn immediately regretted mentioning it.
“It could mean something else.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe love means loyalty.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or family.”
“Possibly.”
“Or friendship.”
“Likely.”
She looked at him.
“You’re avoiding the subject.”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“You admit it?”
“I’ve learned from you.”
They returned to the capital.
The political situation had changed.
The emperor had fallen ill.
Several ministers were demanding that Lucien surrender control of the northern territories.
Adrian had disappeared.
The Black Order was becoming more active.
And the book had stopped writing.
That frightened Evelyn most.
She opened it every morning.
Nothing.
No predictions.
No warnings.
No messages.
Just blank pages.
She began to wonder whether they had finally broken the story.
Then, one night, the pages changed.
Evelyn opened the book.
A sentence appeared.
Chapter Fifteen.
She held her breath.
The next words formed slowly.
The duchess chooses the duke.
Evelyn stared.
The page continued.
And that is where everything goes wrong.
She closed the book.
Too late.
Lucien entered.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at her.
“You always say that when something happened.”
She hesitated.
Then handed him the book.
He read.
His expression changed.
“Why does it say you chose me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you?”
Evelyn looked at him.
The answer should have been easy.
She had entered this world wanting to survive.
She had planned to escape him.
She had feared him.
But somewhere between the archives and the forest, between the letters and the midnight conversations, something had changed.
She trusted him.
She cared about him.
And if someone asked her now whether she wanted to leave…
She wasn’t sure she could.
“I don’t know.”
Lucien nodded.
“That’s honest.”
He closed the book.
Then he placed it on the table.
“We’ll ignore it.”
“Can we?”
“We can try.”
She smiled.
“You’re very confident.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I’m simply tired of letting a book decide what I do.”
Evelyn stared at him.
Then she understood.
Maybe that was the point.
The story had always been built around choices.
Lucien chose vengeance.
Adrian chose the throne.
Evelyn was supposed to die.
But perhaps the story had never considered one possibility.
That they would refuse to play their assigned roles.
Lucien extended his hand.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere without books.”
She laughed.
“That sounds terrible.”
“Then somewhere with fewer books.”
She took his hand.
They left the room.
Neither noticed the book opening by itself behind them.
A new sentence appeared.
The first choice has been made.
Then another.
Now the author is angry.
And beneath it:
Chapter Sixteen will begin with blood.