Chapter 19: A Dance with Shadows

The echoes of whispered conversations and hushed gasps still lingered in the grand ballroom as the killer was escorted away. The heavy weight of revelation sat thick in the air, leaving nobles shifting uncomfortably in their embroidered finery. Evelyne watched, her sharp eyes following the murderer’s every movement, the tension in her shoulders refusing to ease.

The ballroom, once filled with the melodies of a waltz, now carried only the murmurs of scandal. The police and detectives had finally arrived, their presence parting the crowd like a knife through silk. Officers in dark uniforms methodically wove between nobles, questioning those nearest to the crime scene. The air was laced with the crisp scent of ink and parchment as scribes recorded testimonies.

Yet Evelyne’s mind was elsewhere. A single question gnawed at her like an itch she could not scratch.

How had the killer gained entry?

The noblewoman—no, the murderer—had played her role flawlessly, blending into high society with unnerving ease. Her invitation had been legitimate—or at least, it appeared so. And yet, there was something unnatural about it. Something missing.

Before Evelyne could pursue the thought further, a voice, smooth as silk and laced with undeniable intrigue, drifted against her ear from behind.

“You are not Evelyne.”

A shiver coursed down her spine, but not from fear. She turned, emerald eyes locking onto the golden gaze of Prince Alaric Varellion. The glow of candlelight cast shifting shadows over his silver hair, his expression unreadable, yet his words burned into her mind.

He did not phrase it as a question.

“The Evelyne I have seen at balls before—before she fell ill—was timid, shy.” His voice was quiet, for her ears alone. “The Evelyne I see now is the complete opposite.”

Evelyne’s pulse quickened. It was no idle observation; Alaric had struck the very heart of the matter. But before she could summon a response, a sharp voice interrupted.

“Lady Evelyne.”

Evelyne exhaled slowly, turning to face the man addressing her. The lead detective of the case had finally deemed her worthy of questioning. He was a stocky man, his dark mustache bristling as he regarded her with poorly disguised skepticism.

“Detective,” she greeted coolly, folding her arms as she met his gaze.

“I must say, it is rather fascinating.” He tilted his head, studying her as though she were a curiosity under glass. “That a noblewoman—worse, a woman—solved this case before trained professionals could.”

A ripple of amusement flickered across Alaric’s face, though he said nothing.

“Are you sure you solved the case?” the detective continued. “Or was it the prince?”

Evelyne’s lips curled in something between amusement and irritation. “If the prince had solved the case, I assure you, he would have taken full credit.”

Alaric raised a brow at her but did not refute the claim.

The detective scoffed. “Then tell me, Lady Evelyne, if you truly solved it, how did the killer manage to enter the ballroom undetected?”

There it was—the very question that had plagued her. She could not ignore the sense of something amiss, something that did not quite fit the puzzle.

Evelyne turned her gaze back toward the retreating figure of the killer. If she were to find the missing piece, she needed to speak with her.

“I need to question her.”

The detective blinked. “Question the killer?”

“Yes.”

His expression twisted in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “The case is solved, Lady Evelyne. The culprit is caught.”

“But not understood,” she countered. “There are gaps in the story—pieces that don’t align. If you’re satisfied with knowing half the truth, by all means, dismiss me.”

The detective ground his teeth, clearly unimpressed, but Alaric intervened smoothly. “It would not hurt to listen, would it? If Lady Evelyne is incorrect, then you have wasted nothing more than a few minutes.”

With an aggravated sigh, the detective waved a hand. “Fine. But if she tries to manipulate you, do not say I did not warn you.”

Evelyne wasted no time, following the guards who led the killer toward an antechamber, a room designed for private discussions. The accused woman sat stiffly in a chair, her hands shackled, though she did not seem troubled by it. Instead, she met Evelyne’s gaze with something almost resembling amusement.

“You’re quite the little detective,” the woman mused. “I should have known someone like you would be the one to notice.”

Evelyne studied her. “Your invitation was real, wasn’t it?”

A slow, knowing smile spread across the woman’s lips. “Of course it was. If it weren’t, I never would have made it past the gates.”

“Then how?” Evelyne pressed. “How did you acquire an invitation when your name was not on the guest list?”

The woman leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “Why should I tell you?”

Evelyne did not hesitate. “Because if I figured this out, then someone else might, too. And if someone else knows how you got in, then you are no longer just a murderer. You are a loose end.”

The woman’s smirk faltered ever so slightly.

“Who gave you the invitation?” Evelyne asked, her voice steady, yet firm.

A beat of silence stretched between them before the woman chuckled. “You truly are sharp.”

Evelyne waited, her patience a steady force.

Finally, the woman sighed. “It was slipped under my door. No name. No note. Just a perfectly legitimate invitation.”

Evelyne’s blood ran cold.

Someone had orchestrated this.

Someone had wanted Lord Hawke dead and had used this woman to accomplish it.

Evelyne pressed on. “And you didn’t think it suspicious?”

“Oh, I did.” The woman’s expression hardened. “But I didn’t care. It was an opportunity.”

Evelyne exhaled, her mind rapidly piecing together the implications. Someone had enabled this woman, ensuring she could get close enough to strike. But why?

Before she could push further, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped in. Alaric.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, but his golden eyes were sharp. “I believe you’ve gotten what you needed.”

Evelyne frowned but nodded. The killer had been a pawn. A dangerous pawn, yes, but a pawn nonetheless.

As they exited the antechamber, Alaric regarded her with quiet amusement. “You truly are different.”

Evelyne sighed, exhaustion creeping into her limbs. “If you’re going to accuse me of not being myself again, save it.”

Alaric tilted his head. “It was merely an observation.”

She scoffed. “Then observe something else.”

He chuckled but said nothing more.

The night was far from over, and now Evelyne knew one thing for certain.

Lord Hawke’s murder was only the beginning.

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