Page 137

Eve

The air was heavy, but I forced myself to look forward. At Jules. Her eyes were on me as well, unreadable in an eerie way.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but her hand came up.

"You don’t need to," she said. "It was not your fault. I’m just glad you are doing better."

I glanced down at the hands she folded in her lap. Every other part of her was as still as a statue, except for her fingers, which restlessly twisted together, betraying the calm expression she wore. The silence stretched between us, taut and thin, as if any wrong word might shatter it.

I wanted to believe her. That it wasn’t my fault. But the weight pressing against my chest didn’t lift.

"Jules…" I said her name softly, tasting the hesitation on my tongue. "I—"

Her fingers stilled. Her gaze flickered up to meet mine, sharp and searching.

"It’s in the past," she cut in, a small, practiced smile curving her lips. "No point dragging it out again, right?"

She was deflecting. I knew that smile too well. It was the same one I had given Hades countless times—the one that said I’m fine when I wasn’t.

"Maybe," I replied, though my voice lacked conviction. "But I still feel like I owe you an explanation."

Jules exhaled through her nose, a quiet breath, as if calming herself.

"Don’t," she insisted, her tone firmer now. Her hand brushed against mine for a second before she pulled back, clasping her hands tightly again. "Seriously, your highness. Let it go."

Your highness?

I nodded, but the unease between us didn’t dissolve.

"I should be the one apologizing for not respecting boundaries.

I know things have been cold between us lately, but I want you to know that I will always be your friend.

" For a moment, the dullness in her eyes receded, giving way to something lighter before it shifted once again.

"Even if I seem like a whole different person at times. "

A whole different person?

But with the way her expression suddenly closed off again, I knew better than to push. I wouldn’t get an answer—I just knew it. So I smiled, this time reaching for her hand.

Her skin was cold to the touch and clammy. She was far more anxious than I initially thought. She stilled at the contact, her eyes going wide.

"I guess we both have faults," I murmured softly. "But it just goes to show how far we’ve come from being strangers. Friends will always be a little messy, right?"

Jules didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes dropped to where our hands met, and for a fleeting second, I thought she might pull away. But she didn’t. Her fingers twitched beneath mine, and though her skin remained cool, she let the contact linger.

"Messy, huh?" she echoed quietly, almost to herself. "I guess so."

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but the guarded look in her eyes never fully disappeared.

"I mean it," I pressed gently. "You can tell me if something’s wrong. I don’t want to pretend things are fine when they’re not."

Jules’ lips parted, but whatever she intended to say died in her throat. Her eyes flickered toward the window, as if searching for an escape. There was something tragic in her gaze, something foreboding, and in my gut, it felt so familiar.

"You are a good person, Ellen," her voice softened, almost feather-light.

"Glad you think so," I said, though my smile turned shaky.

Her eyes snapped to mine, her gaze sharp but her words soft.

"No, I mean it. You are genuinely kind." Her gaze turned searching, as if trying to unlock something within the depths of my eyes. "You don’t blame, you don’t judge. Even when you should."

I swallowed, the weight of her words settling heavily over me. There was something raw in the way Jules looked at me—like she was holding back a truth too sharp to say aloud.

"I don’t see the point in judging someone I care about," I said softly. "Not when I know how much pain they’re already in."

Jules’ expression flickered just for a moment. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and she gave a short nod, as if my words confirmed something she already knew.

"You are the type to give pieces of yourself away until there is nothing left to give. You do it because you deem too many people worthy. Even when you bleed from the knife they thrust into your back."

A horrible chill ran up my spine. My palms turned clammy, and I found it harder to hold her gaze.

"You shouldn’t be so forgiving," she murmured, more to herself than to me.

"Maybe not," I admitted. "But I can’t change who I am."

For the first time that evening, Jules’ mask cracked. Her eyes shone with something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe, or guilt. She looked down again.

I didn’t ask. I knew she wouldn’t tell me.

"You call it forgiveness," she said after a long pause. "I call it dangerous."

The silence that followed was thicker than before, pressing in around us like fog.

"You’re not dangerous to me," I whispered, but the words felt fragile, even as I said them.

Jules’ gaze met mine, sharp and conflicted. There was something in her eyes—something she desperately wanted to say but couldn’t.

"Maybe you should stop trusting me so much, Ellen." Her voice was barely audible, but the weight of her words echoed loudly in my mind.

I stared at her, heart pounding. "Why would you say that?"

She hesitated for only a second. "Just… be careful. That’s all."

"I will," I whispered.

For the first time, she smiled at me, but I could have sworn there were tears glistening in her eyes. She blinked, and it was gone.

"Ellen," she whispered so low that I had to move closer to hear her.

I tilted my head. "Yes?"

"When I found you, I was scared. You were crying on the ground, your eyes closed, your body trembling. You were sobbing one name on your lips." There was an eeriness in her voice that made me hold my breath. Whose name would I have—? Then I froze. Ellen. It would be her name. Goddess, no—

"Ellie," Jules muttered. "You were whispering the name Ellie."

I blinked as if snapping out of a trance. "Ellie?"

Jules nodded, her eyes narrowing. "Yes, Ellie. There was so much pain in your voice as you said it. As if the name itself was breaking you apart."

"I—" I faltered, unsure of what to say. I could not believe my luck. She had heard Ellie, instead of Ellen.

"I was worried about who Ellie was and why the name would incite so much grief, so I asked."

"Who?"

"Beta Kael. He told me that Ellie was the nickname you gave Elliot Stravos, the late king’s son."

Relief flooded my veins. "Yes, Ellie." I let out a breath.

As if a switch had flipped, her sharp eyes softened. "I heard you saved him. You must have missed him a lot."

I did miss the little boy, but the pang in my chest wasn’t for him.

"I did," I said, forcing a smile. "Ellie was like a little brother to me." He was, for a little while.

Jules studied me carefully, but the suspicion that had lingered moments before faded. She nodded, as if satisfied with my answer, but something told me this wasn’t the end of her curiosity.

Her hand rested briefly on mine once more before she stood. "That’s sweet," she said softly.

The ache in my chest tightened, but I swallowed it down. "Thank you, Jules."

She hesitated at the door, glancing over her shoulder. "You know," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I thought for a moment… maybe Ellie was someone else. Someone you lost."

I forced a soft laugh. "No, nothing like that."

Her eyes lingered on me, searching one last time for cracks I couldn’t let her find. Suddenly, she burst into laughter. "Why are you so upright?"

Her laughter caught me off guard—light, but carrying an edge I couldn’t quite place. I blinked, unsure how to respond.

"Upright?" I echoed, trying to match her tone, but the tightness in my chest lingered.

Jules grinned, stepping away from the door and folding her arms loosely across her chest. "You always sit like you’re bracing for impact. Like someone’s about to throw a spear at you."

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Maybe I am."

Her laughter softened, but as it faded, something thoughtful flickered across her face. "Ellen, you don’t have to hold everything together all the time. You can relax, you know?"

I nodded, but we both knew it wasn’t that simple.

Jules studied me for a moment longer, her amusement dimming into something more introspective. "It was strange..."

My heart jumped into my throat again. "What was strange?"

"Seeing His Majesty that way. When he saw you on the ground. He looked—panicked. Desperate…" She almost mused. "He gathered you into his arms like the most delicate thing in the world. Like you were falling apart and he wanted—needed—to keep you together."

I swallowed, a painful lump forming in my throat at the mention of Hades. But more than that was the feeling of surprise. "He did what?"

"I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t been right there. It was the most beautifully tragic thing I’ve ever seen."

Jules’ words hung in the air, thick with something unspoken. I felt frozen beneath their weight.

Hades… desperate?

It didn’t seem possible. Not him.

"I didn’t think he…" I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

"Neither did I," Jules admitted softly, her gaze distant as if recalling the moment. "For a second, I thought he might tear apart anyone who got too close. I’ve never seen him like that before."

"He was just worried there might have been an intruder."

"Maybe… but if that were the case, he wouldn’t have whispered your name like a prayer or made a vow to you."

"A vow?"

Jules’ expression turned inscrutable, her voice almost ominous. "He vowed never to betray you."