The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

27. Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

Madam Evangeline

As the carriage strolls through the gates of the royal palace and back home, Madam Evangeline's smile is a thin line of revenge. Her husband looks at her with wide eyes, waiting.

"So? How did it go?" His tall frame bows within the carriage, careful not to smack into the roof when hitting bumps along the road.

"Just as I planned." Madam Evangeline eyes her husband as if he's a mere subject of hers, instead of her chosen partner in life. She knew he would never compare to her first husband or Ariella. Even on his best days, her current husband lacks the depth that drew Evangeline to the loves of her life. The love she felt for her first husband, Snow’s father, was one of platonic devotion. He was the other half of her heart and soul. But Ariella—she was a force that disrupted everything within Evangeline. It was a love that could not be tamed. A passionate, painful love that left Evangeline defenseless and completely enraptured.

The ache in Evangeline’s chest that bloomed when she decided to let Ariella go was the catalyst that started the hardening of Evangeline's blackened heart. That ache haunts her every second of every day, never relenting or giving Evangeline a moment of grace.

But, in truth, Evangeline prefers it that way. She wants the reminder of all she gave up to get where she is today. She never wants to forget the burning love that was Ariella. Never wants to forget the sacrifice she made, which is why she will be damned if she lets Snow ruin it.

Now she looks across the carriage at her husband and wonders how she endures all that she does. Sometimes she wonders what her life would be like if she chose differently.

"The king’s hand has agreed to dispatch his royal soldiers to the surrounding warrior camps in search for wanted fugitives of the crown." Evangeline glances out the window, eying the people of the court. Mere peasants. Most of them are completely oblivious to the inner workings of the great Roselaria. "If a huntsman just so happens to come across that wretched girl while completing their task, then so be it. What a pleasant surprise for all."

She says this as if everything weren't perfectly planned out in advance. As if the huntsmen contracted with Evangeline wouldn't be amongst the chosen soldiers dispatched to the warrior camps. As if each of them wasn’t given specific instructions if the girl was found in the camps. As if each huntsman wasn't promised a handsome reward for completing the task.

"How did the king’s hand take the tip-off?" For some reason, Evangeline's husband has always been great at believing her success is his success, even if their relationship has never suggested such a partnership. Her high status is his high status. Her respect amongst the court—across the country—is his as well.

"Quite well, actually. It was simple to report gossip gathered amongst the patrons at the orchard. Believable enough as I get business from all across the land." Pleased with herself, Evangeline relaxes in her seat, letting her shoulders drop just slightly, but never enough to seem unpoised or improper.

Her husband smiles at her like they’re somehow in this together. But despite his wandering eyes, his loyalty to her is unwavering. He knows she wouldn't tolerate anything else. He knows he is a lucky man to even be in her presence.

"Well, it sounds like it's only a matter of time now." He reaches his hand out to grasp hers. "Maybe then we can focus on what comes next for you and me." His brows raise in suggestion, and Evangeline tries not to recoil at his touch. For years he has been hounding her to create a family of their own, to raise a child of his own flesh and blood. It is no secret that he never saw Snow as his own child, but rather a poisonous flower in his home, a thing of beauty he knew better than to touch.

Evangeline would not— could not create a child with him. It was hard enough feigning interest in her husband on the rare occasion that they would bed, but to grow a life inside of her after her experience with the last one? No. It was out of the question. The child would probably grow to betray her, just as her first one had.

Evangeline couldn't say in full truth that lying with her husband was miserable, nor her late husband either. In truth, she finds the company of a man quite pleasurable. But it is like scratching an itch that continues to itch even after you've scratched your skin nearly raw. What Evangeline craves is forbidden in her mind, and she will never gamble with her reputation, even if that means she will never truly be satisfied.

Sure, she's had her fair share of female lovers, but to allow herself to truly have what she wants would be social suicide, and that is a price she isn't willing to pay. She has made her bed. Now she must lie in it.

She will drink her cider to prevent any lingering possibility of creating a family until her maternal window closes for good, which should be in the next year or two if her premonitions are any indication. She just has to be convincing enough to not have him suspect her foul play. Truthfully, Evangeline can't see much of anything past getting her revenge. All she has dreamed about for years is holding her daughter's cold, dead heart in her hand finally knowing that justice is served.

And once again being the most powerful fuzer in the land.

That night, Evangeline doesn't come to bed like she usually does, stripping off her robe and turning out the light after finishing her post-supper drink. Instead, she finds herself in her study overlooking the manor garden, sheltered from the orchard that sprawls over the rest of the land. Its quaint, pebbled trail is lined with thorny rose bushes. The center fountain still runs despite the cold.

Her gold rings clink against the chalice as Evangeline sips her night cap staring down at the Book of Magic filleted on her desk, its ancient pages worn and weathered from years of use and time itself. A few chapters towards the back of the book are in Evangeline's own handwriting as she has added spells over the years it has been in her possession. The earlier chapters are so ancient that some of the original words have been inked over again with fresh black to enhance their legibility.

It has been years since Evangeline has read through the entire book, absorbing the information like a hungry student. But now she's desperate, searching the script for something specific, already memorizing what she deemed the most important texts. She scans the pages written by men and women over the years who were born with such gifts to manipulate and alter reality. To change what most people cannot. For years, this book has been passed down from fuzer to fuzer, with new pages and chapters added with each new owner.

Evangeline's fingertips find their way to the jagged scar just under her chin, as they always do when she's concentrating. Given to her by her mother, the scar was made when she was just a child, backhanded for something her brother had done. The prongs of her mother's ring broke the skin on contact, forever marking her with a reminder that sometimes you pay the price for other’s wrongdoings.

As her fingers graze over the hardened skin, Evangeline remembers the first time she saw the leather-bound book the day it was passed down to her. Her maternal aunt came over for a visit just after Evangeline's twelfth birthday with a very special gift. Tea and a light lunch were served in the gardens when her aunt arrived, and her mother left them to enjoy the afternoon together.

"Evie, you're a woman now, and it is time you begin your studies." Evangeline's aunt pours more brandy into her steaming cup of black lavender. Evangeline always thought her aunt looked like a witch, with her black-as-night hair hanging slick straight down her back and her piercing green eyes. Witches weren’t unheard of in Roselaria, but Evangeline knew better than to assume her aunt was one. No, her aunt was something quite different. She was a fuzer.

"This book has been passed down for generations, filling with new knowledge as the years go by. It is now time for it to meet its new owner." The book looked the same as it did now, leather-bound and black. Thick with worn pages. "You can add to it any new discoveries if you are so lucky to come across something not already in here."

Evangeline remembers the excitement coursing through her at the endless possibilities of what lay inside. She wanted to run around the gardens, screaming at the top of her lungs. But instead, she nodded, fingers twitching to grab the book and open it up, devouring everything inside. Evangeline had always had a hunger for power, and anything inside the Book of Magic would give her more. So much more.

So, Evangeline flips through the very first of the pages, memories swirling around her mind as she skims. She is about to give up when she flips to a page much thicker than the others, almost as if it has been made of some other material. Evangeline squints to read the worn words, likely skipping this page in the past due to its illegibility, and pulls out an eyeglass to further inspect.

An icy chill runs down Evangeline's spine as she interprets the faint writing.

"Under no circumstances, attempt any form of magic while with child, as the effects are unknown and unpredictable. It could lead to dark magic or powers that are otherworldly. Linking to any inherited magic flowing through the mother's veins, it is possible the powers within the fetus could be limitless."