Evelyn did not answer.
Not because she didn’t want to.
Because there was no answer that wouldn’t sound insane.
Who was she?
She could say Evelyn Valemont.
That was technically true.
She could say she was a woman from another world who had somehow awakened inside a fictional character.
That was also true.
Unfortunately, truth and sanity were not always compatible.
Lucien waited.
The soldier remained by the door, visibly uncomfortable.
Evelyn looked between them.
“Can we speak privately?”
Lucien nodded.
The soldier bowed and left.
The door closed.
Silence filled the room.
Evelyn slowly exhaled.
Lucien remained standing.
“Well?”
She looked toward the map.
“I guessed.”
“You guessed correctly.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed.
“You knew the village would be attacked.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Before the messenger arrived.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Evelyn looked at him.
“Because…”
She stopped.
She couldn’t tell him.
Not yet.
She needed to understand the world first.
Lucien moved closer.
“You are not afraid of me.”
Evelyn frowned.
“I am.”
“No.”
He stopped several feet away.
“You are afraid of what I might do.”
Evelyn didn’t respond.
“That’s different.”
She looked down.
He was right.
She wasn’t afraid that Lucien would hurt her.
She was afraid of what she knew he would become.
Lucien studied her for several seconds.
Then he stepped back.
“I won’t force you to answer.”
Evelyn looked surprised.
“But?”
“But I will find out.”
That sounded much more like the man from the novel.
She almost smiled.
“Fair.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You agree?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“No.”
His expression softened slightly.
“You don’t.”
The attack on the village became the center of the household’s attention.
Lucien left immediately.
Evelyn remained in the study.
She looked at the map again.
The village was not supposed to be attacked until much later.
At least, according to the novel.
That meant something had changed.
Or perhaps the novel had never told the truth.
She couldn’t decide which possibility was worse.
By evening, Lucien returned.
His coat was dusty.
There was a shallow cut near his temple.
Evelyn noticed immediately.
“You were attacked?”
“Nothing serious.”
“You have blood on your face.”
Lucien touched his temple.
He looked at his fingers.
“Apparently.”
Evelyn walked toward the cabinet.
“Sit.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Sit.”
Lucien actually obeyed.
Evelyn found a cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic.
She cleaned the cut.
He didn’t move.
“How many people were injured?”
“Seven.”
“Dead?”
“Two.”
Evelyn’s hand stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
Lucien looked at her.
“For them?”
“Yes.”
Something changed in his expression.
It was subtle.
Almost impossible to notice.
“Thank you.”
She continued cleaning the wound.
After a moment, she asked:
“Who attacked them?”
“We don’t know.”
“Bandits?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“There were no valuables taken.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Then why attack?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
She finished wrapping the cut.
Lucien touched the bandage.
“You’ve done this before.”
“A few times.”
“Where?”
“In another life.”
She froze.
Lucien looked at her.
Evelyn laughed awkwardly.
“I mean… before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I became your wife.”
He studied her.
Then nodded.
Evelyn returned the supplies to the cabinet.
She realized something as she did.
The mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
There were servants everywhere, but nobody seemed nervous.
Nobody whispered about Lucien.
Nobody avoided him.
The servants spoke to him normally.
They brought him reports.
They asked him questions.
Some even joked with him.
That contradicted everything she remembered.
In the novel, the Valemont estate had been described as a place of fear.
A fortress ruled by a tyrant.
But this mansion wasn’t like that.
It was simply a household.
A strange, serious household.
But a household.
Evelyn began paying attention.
The cook complained about rising grain prices.
The stablemaster argued with a servant about a horse.
The head maid scolded a young footman for running through the hall.
Lucien occasionally stopped to speak with them.
He remembered names.
He knew their families.
He asked whether someone’s daughter had recovered from an illness.
He didn’t behave like a man who considered everyone beneath him.
That unsettled Evelyn more than cruelty would have.
Because cruelty would have been easier.
If Lucien had been exactly as terrible as the novel described, she could have hated him.
Instead, she kept finding reasons not to.
That was dangerous.
One evening, Evelyn wandered into the gardens.
The sun was setting.
She sat beneath the same tree where Lucien had spoken to her.
A book rested in her lap.
She wasn’t reading.
She was thinking.
Three years.
If she wanted to change the future, she needed to know what caused the war.
The novel had never explained everything.
The official version was simple.
Lucien betrayed the emperor.
The northern territories followed him.
The imperial army marched north.
The war began.
But there had always been inconsistencies.
The empire accused Lucien of withholding taxes.
The Valemont family denied it.
Several northern lords supported Lucien.
Others remained loyal to the crown.
Then the capital was attacked.
The emperor declared Lucien a traitor.
And everything collapsed.
Evelyn had always assumed it was a political struggle.
Now she wondered whether it was a conspiracy.
Footsteps approached.
She looked up.
Lucien stood at the edge of the garden.
“You’re avoiding dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’ve barely eaten today.”
She looked at him.
“Do you always monitor what your wife eats?”
“No.”
“Then why now?”
“Because you’re behaving strangely.”
“That’s becoming your favorite sentence.”
“Perhaps.”
He sat beside her.
Not too close.
They remained silent.
Evelyn looked at the fading light.
“Do you ever wonder what people will remember about you?”
Lucien looked at her.
“That’s an odd question.”
“Answer it.”
He thought for a moment.
“Nothing good.”
“Why?”
“Because good deeds are forgotten quickly.”
Evelyn frowned.
“That’s depressing.”
“It’s realistic.”
“Not necessarily.”
Lucien looked at her.
She smiled faintly.
“People remember kindness.”
“Sometimes.”
“More than cruelty.”
“You’re optimistic.”
“I prefer that to being miserable.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“You’re different.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You’ve said that already.”
“I know.”
“Then why keep saying it?”
“Because I haven’t figured out why.”
She looked away.
The garden became darker.
For a few minutes, neither spoke.
Then Lucien said:
“You don’t need to be afraid of this place.”
Evelyn glanced at him.
“I don’t know if I am.”
“You are.”
She didn’t deny it.
“This mansion is your home.”
The words struck her strangely.
Home.
She wasn’t sure she had one anymore.
Lucien continued.
“No one here will hurt you.”
Evelyn studied him.
“What about you?”
He looked directly at her.
“I told you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you won’t hurt me.”
His expression changed slightly.
“But?”
“But I don’t know whether I can trust you.”
Lucien nodded.
“That’s fair.”
He stood.
“Trust takes time.”
Evelyn watched him walk away.
For some reason, she believed him.
That was becoming a problem.
The following morning, Evelyn received another surprise.
A servant delivered a key.
“His Grace asked me to give this to you.”
She stared at it.
“What is it?”
“The key to the household archives.”
Evelyn looked at the servant.
“Why?”
“He said you were interested in the accounts.”
She closed her fingers around the key.
That was unexpected.
The archives were located in the eastern wing.
Rows of documents filled the shelves.
Tax records.
Military reports.
Trade agreements.
Letters.
Evelyn spent the entire afternoon there.
She found nothing unusual.
Until she reached the oldest records.
One document caught her attention.
It was a report concerning the previous Duke of Valemont.
Lucien’s father.
Evelyn read it.
Then read it again.
The official record stated that he had died of illness.
But the date didn’t match.
According to the novel, the former duke had died suddenly.
His death had been one of the reasons Lucien inherited the title earlier than expected.
Evelyn turned another page.
A handwritten note had been attached to the report.
Only one sentence.
The official record is false.
Her pulse quickened.
She looked around the empty archive.
Someone had known.
Someone had deliberately hidden the truth.
She reached for the next document.
The door opened.
Evelyn turned.
Lucien stood there.
His gaze moved from her face to the document in her hands.
He became very still.
“You shouldn’t have found that.”
Evelyn swallowed.
“Why?”
He entered the room and closed the door.
For the first time since she had arrived, Lucien looked genuinely angry.
Not at her.
At the paper.
At the past.
At whoever had written the lie.
“Because,” he said quietly, “my father didn’t die of illness.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“Then how did he die?”
Lucien’s expression hardened.
“He was murdered.”
And suddenly Evelyn understood something.
The story had begun long before she arrived.