Ashes of a Viscount’s Daughter

The chandeliers of the palace hall faded from Evelina’s vision as memory pulled her away, back into the past she had never escaped.

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The Memory of Her Mother

She had been four when the world lost its color.

Before then, life had been soft. Evelina remembered the gentle hum of her mother’s voice as she brushed her long, white hair each night. Lady Elira always smelled faintly of roses, her hands warm, her eyes kind.

“My little star,” her mother would whisper, kissing her forehead. “You must grow strong, Evelina. Stronger than me. Promise me.”

The child Evelina would giggle, clutching her doll. “I promise, Mama.”

But promises made by children cannot stop death.

Her mother’s illness came suddenly, stealing her voice, then her smile, and finally her breath. Evelina remembered standing at her bedside, too small to understand, watching the light vanish from the only person who had ever truly loved her.

That day, Evelina’s world turned cold.

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Seraphina’s Arrival

Her father, Viscount Adrian Duskbane, did not mourn long. Within months, he brought another woman into their home—Lady Seraphina.

Seraphina was beautiful in a sharp, glittering way. Her hair the color of polished bronze, her lips painted red, her gowns cut in the latest fashion. But her eyes, pale and calculating, had never once looked at Evelina with warmth.

She brought with her a child of her own—Lillian. Barely three, with golden curls and wide green eyes, she was paraded around the estate as though she were a precious jewel.

From the moment they arrived, Evelina felt the shift.

One evening, Evelina ran to her father’s study, clutching a drawing she had made of their family—her, her father, and her late mother. She wanted him to hang it above his desk.

But when she entered, she saw him lifting Lillian onto his lap. Seraphina stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Father!” Evelina called happily, holding up the drawing. “I made this for you.”

Adrian glanced at her, then at the paper. His mouth tightened. “This again? How many times must I tell you, Evelina? Do not cling to the past.”

“But Mama—”

“Enough.” His voice cracked like a whip. He waved her away, his arm tightening around Lillian. “Go to your room. Do not disturb us.”

Evelina’s small hands crumpled the paper. She lowered her head, retreating. Behind her, Seraphina’s quiet laugh floated through the door like a knife.

From that day, Evelina understood: she had been replaced.

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The Growing Cruelty

Years passed, and the cruelty grew.

Meals were served in the grand dining hall. Lillian sat at her father’s right hand, Seraphina at his left. Evelina, though the viscount’s true daughter, was pushed further down the table, sometimes left without so much as a slice of bread.

When Evelina accidentally dropped her fork one evening, Seraphina’s voice snapped across the room.

“Such clumsiness. Truly, Adrian, how long will you tolerate this embarrassment?”

Evelina flinched, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

But her father’s glare silenced her.

Later that night, Lillian crept into Evelina’s chamber, holding Evelina’s favorite porcelain doll. “Mother says I can have this now,” she said sweetly, before dropping it onto the floor. The doll’s head shattered against the stone.

Tears filled Evelina’s eyes. “That’s mine! Give it back!”

But Lillian only laughed and skipped away.

The servants soon followed their mistress’s lead. Orders for Evelina were ignored, her clothes poorly mended, her shoes never polished. Though a viscount’s daughter, she lived with less dignity than the lowest maid.

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The Banquet

By the time Evelina was fourteen, her beauty had begun to bloom. Her white hair had grown long and silken, her face delicate yet striking.

Her father noticed—and decided to use it.

“You will attend the banquet tonight,” Adrian ordered one afternoon, his eyes glinting with calculation.

Evelina hesitated. “Father, I… I don’t feel well—”

His hand struck her cheek, sharp and stinging.

“You will do as I say,” he snapped. “Lord Ferren will be there. Smile at him. Make him want you. If he invests in our lands, you will have finally proven your worth.”

Evelina’s throat closed, but she nodded.

That evening, she was dressed in a gown too low at the bodice, too thin at the sleeves. She stood beside her father as nobles mingled in the glittering hall.

“Ah, this must be your daughter,” Lord Ferren said, his gaze heavy on her. He leaned close, the smell of wine thick on his breath. “Such rare beauty. White hair, like the moonlight itself.”

Evelina forced a smile, her stomach churning.

“Yes,” her father said proudly, though his tone was cold. “She is… useful.”

Lord Ferren chuckled, his hand brushing Evelina’s arm. “Indeed. Perhaps she might visit my estate sometime. I would enjoy her company.”

Evelina wanted to recoil, but Adrian’s grip tightened on her shoulder.

“She would be honored,” he said smoothly.

That night, when she refused to sneak into Lord Ferren’s chambers as her father ordered, she was locked in her room without food for three days.

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The Lies

It was Lillian who worsened her torment. Sweet and smiling in public, venomous in private.

When jewels went missing, Lillian whispered, “It was Evelina.”

When a vase broke, she cried, “Sister did it!”

When she wished to be praised, she would mimic Evelina’s handwriting and claim Evelina had insulted her.

Each time, Seraphina would sigh dramatically, her hand pressed to her chest.

“Adrian, how much longer must we endure this child? She is nothing but trouble.”

And each time, her father’s hand would fall hard across Evelina’s cheek.

Rumors spread in noble society.

“She is shameless,” the ladies whispered.

“A temptress,” the men murmured.

“A disgrace to her house.”

Evelina’s heart shriveled under their scorn. She avoided mirrors, for she could not bear the sight of the beauty that had brought her nothing but pain.

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The Bargain

At seventeen, Evelina was summoned to her father’s study once more.

Adrian sat at his desk, Seraphina sipping wine nearby, Lillian perched like a little queen in her chair.

“You will marry the Duke of the North,” Adrian declared.

Evelina froze. “The Duke… Kael Ravenwood?”

Her father smirked. “Yes. He needs reinforcement and food for his barren lands. I offered him both—in exchange for taking you as his wife.”

Evelina’s breath hitched. “But… no one wants to marry him. They say he’s cold… heartless…”

Seraphina’s laugh was sharp. “Do you think you deserve better? The Duke is doing you a favor.”

Lillian leaned forward, her green eyes glittering with malice. “Maybe he’ll finally break you, sister.”

Adrian’s voice was final, cruel.

“You will marry him. And if you refuse, Evelina… then you may rot here. Dead or alive, it makes no difference to me.”

Tears burned her eyes, but Evelina held them back. Crying never softened him—it only made him despise her more.

She lowered her head, whispering, “Yes, Father.”

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The Present

And now here she stood.

In a hall far grander than the one in which she had been humiliated so many times. In a gown heavier than chains, a veil that suffocated more than it adorned.

Her father had sold her like livestock. And her groom was the Duke of the North—the man society feared as a monster in human skin.

As the nobles whispered and the chandeliers burned above her, Evelina felt her past pressing down on her shoulders, heavy as stone.

She was no bride. She was an offering.

Ashes of a viscount’s daughter, wrapped in silk and pearls.

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