The General's eye
787 Words
My heart was shattered.
And somehow, it was still beating.
One moment I was tossing a lifeless body off a bridge—his blood drying on my skin, my thoughts an electrified fog—and the next, I was back in the palace. Gold. Marble. Gilded perfection.
Everything looked the same.
But I wasn’t.
The velvet corridors were too bright. The chandeliers too loud. Each step echoed like a gunshot. I kept waiting for someone to scream:
She did it.
She killed him.
But no one screamed.
They bowed.
They smiled.
They called me Your Highness.
My dress clung to me with sweat… or blood. I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Evelyn!”
I froze.
That voice. Thunder wrapped in velvet.
My father.
General Ardan Ravencroft, Supreme Commander of the Royal Armed Forces—feared by enemies, revered by allies. But to me, just… Papa.
He strode across the throne hall like war incarnate—boots silent, medals gleaming, eyes locked on mine.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
Don’t flinch.
Don’t crack.
“I needed some air,” I said softly.
His brow creased, studying me too closely. “You look pale.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t lie well when he looked at me like that.
Then he stepped forward and cupped my cheek.
His hand was warm. Gentle. Always gentle with me. He handled me like I was made of glass. Or maybe a grenade.
“You’ve always been strong, Evie,” he said. “I know this life can feel like a cage. But you’ve never failed me. You never will.”
“I won’t, Papa.” I swallowed. “I’ll make you proud.”
He smiled.
And my heart broke all over again.
Because I already had.
I just didn’t know how to tell him.
A soldier stormed in, saluting crisply.
“Sir. A body was found at Eastbridge. No ID. Brutal wounds. Scene’s still fresh.”
My blood ran cold.
My father’s face shifted. The Commander replaced the father. “Alert Voss. Get the dogs. I want every inch of that bridge covered before dawn.”
He turned back to me.
“Stay inside today,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “It’s bad out there.”
“Of course.”
But my stomach twisted.
He was going to the scene.
My scene.
My crime.
What if I missed something?
What if he found it?
Back in my chambers, I stripped everything off. The dress. The gloves. The panic. It all landed in the steel-lined fireplace.
I lit a match. Watched it all curl and burn.
But I could still feel the blood.
It clung to me like a second skin.
I scrubbed my hands raw—again and again—until the scent of bleach masked everything.
Then the door opened.
“Evelyn?”
Cassian’s voice. Smooth. Steady. Dangerous in the way kindness always is.
“In here,” I said, wiping my face.
He stepped in, tall and sharp in his uniform. Ever-alert, ever-golden. Not just my bodyguard.
My person.
“I brought you something.” He held out a cup. “Cocoa. Figured you could use a little peace.”
I took it with shaky fingers.
“I heard about the body,” he said quietly, studying me.
“And?” My voice cracked.
“Your father’s taking it personally. Some say he’s never looked so furious. They say the killer made it messy.”
I blinked fast. “Messy?”
“Blood trail was unsteady. Like they were panicked. Like they didn’t want to do it—but did it anyway.”
He said it carefully.
Too carefully.
“You’re shaking, Evelyn.”
I nodded, hugging the cocoa tighter.
“I just… hate violence.”
A half-truth. The best kind of lie.
Cassian tilted his head, his voice a whisper. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
I looked up at him.
“Would you still look at me the same if it was?”
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t answer.
Later that night, my father called me.
I answered immediately.
“Evie,” he said. “I just returned from the bridge.”
My whole body froze.
“Whoever did this,” he continued, voice like steel, “knew how to cover a scene. But they were afraid. They rushed it. There’s blood, but no ID. No prints. But…”
A pause.
“Something was missing.”
My throat went dry.
“We’ll find out what soon,” he added. “Goodnight, Evelyn.”
The call ended.
But the panic didn’t.
What was missing?
What did he mean?
Or worse—what had I forgotten?
- Writer
