Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate
Chapter 201: He Knows...

Chapter 201: He Knows...

Evelina didn’t go back to her room.

Not right away.

Her steps carried her straight through the quiet halls of the eastern wing, up the familiar curved stairwell and past the painted windows that reflected shards of moonlight across the marbled floor.

Her body was still humming with tension—Zade’s words looping in her mind like a slow, circling storm. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Confusion? Guilt? Defensiveness? Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it.

She didn’t realise how fast her heart was beating until she stepped back into Damian’s chambers.

The heavy door closed behind her with a soft thud, shutting out the rest of the world. Warm firelight spilled across the stone walls, chasing away the lingering chill from her encounter with Zade.

Inside, it smelt like cinnamon tea, leather, and the faintest trace of something piney—Damian’s scent.

He looked up from his desk when she entered, one brow raised, lips already pulling into that lazy, mischievous grin she was starting to expect—and maybe crave.

"Miss me already?" he said, pushing his chair back with one booted foot.

"I was gone ten minutes," she replied, not hiding her smile.

He crossed the room in two long strides and kissed her before she could say anything else.

His hand slid to her hip, the other cupping her jaw as his lips brushed hers—teasing, slow, full of heat that had nothing to do with the fire. She didn’t pull away this time.

"You’re getting bold," she murmured against his mouth.

"Blame the full moon," he said with a wink. "Or maybe I just like kissing my mate."

She laughed softly, then pulled back. "Zade stopped me in the corridor."

The air shifted immediately.

Damian straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. "What did he say?"

Evelina hesitated. "He asked if I trust you."

That got a snort out of him—dry, tired. "Of course he did."

She gave him a look. "Damian—"

"He’s always been like this," Damian said, walking toward the table and pouring himself a drink. "Every time I have something he doesn’t, he wants it. It’s like a sickness in him. Power, recognition, even affection." He paused, swirling the glass. "You."

"I’m not a prize," she said flatly.

"I know. But Zade?" He shook his head. "He doesn’t mean harm. Not exactly. But he’s drawn to things he thinks belong to someone else. Especially me."

Evelina moved to stand beside him. "He said I deserved to see the full picture. That you’re good at hiding things behind wine and charm."

Damian looked at her then—really looked. There was no grin this time, no teasing light in his eyes.

"I am good at hiding things," he said quietly. "But not with you. Never with you."

She reached up, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Then maybe you should stop pretending we’re just... whatever this is."

A beat passed between them.

He set the glass down and stepped closer. "Are you asking me to announce our engagement?"

"I’m not asking for anything," she replied. "I just think maybe it’s time."

His gaze softened. "Then tomorrow, I’ll do it. I’ll announce it before the entire council and every nosy courtier who’s been speculating for weeks."

He leaned in again, voice dropping to a whisper. "I’ll make it known you’re mine."

Evelina smirked. "Territorial, are we?"

"Extremely."

She kissed him again, deep and slow this time. When they finally pulled apart, they undressed in unspoken rhythm—familiar, practiced. He guided her to the bed, arms wrapping around her from behind as they curled beneath the thick furs.

"I don’t care what Zade says," she murmured. "I trust you."

Damian pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Good. Because you’re the only one who ever saw me for who I really am."

They fell asleep like that—tangled together, warm and safe.

But peace never lasted long for Evelina.

Something pulled her from sleep.

She slipped out of Damian’s arms gently, careful not to wake him. The fire was low, barely embers now. Outside, the moon was shining brightly and hanging high, casting a silvery light that illuminated the hallways.

Her feet began to move before she really understood why. Down halls she barely remembered, past closed doors and darkened balconies. Her senses buzzed with an unfamiliar urgency, like her wolf was tugging her forward.

And then she stood in front of Luther’s old chambers.

Luther’s chambers.

The guards had locked them down weeks ago. Still, the lock was weak—more ceremonial than secure. She pressed her fingers to the seal, and with a whisper of golden light, her magic slid into it. The bolt clicked.

Inside, the room was stale and heavy with dust. Curtains were drawn, casting the space in deep shadow. Shelves lined the walls, full of old texts and scrolls. A thick rug covered most of the stone floor, and the scent of burned herbs lingered faintly.

It didn’t feel empty.

It felt like it was waiting.

Evelina stepped carefully, her fingers brushing over an old desk scattered with parchment.

She moved to the centre of the room and reached into her coat, pulling out the dragon pearl Zade had given her.

It pulsed faintly against her skin.

Closing her eyes, she clutched it to her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she let her golden finger ability surge forth—channeling it through the pearl, reaching out, not just to the object—but through it.

A burst of heat flared through her core.

And then—

Darkness.

Then flickers of vision, not her own.

Standing in this very room as he spoke to himself... as he plotted; as he made plans. It was all in hushed or scrambled words; only one sounded clear in her ears.

"Transmigrated."

And then it all shifted.

A candle flickered.

Luther sat at the desk, scribbling quickly, angrily. His hand shook.

The paper bore names.

Evelina Drewstone.

Evelyn Matthews.

Her heart stopped.

The connection broke.

She staggered back, collapsing against the wall, gasping for air, the pearl slipping from her fingers and rolling across the floor. Blood dripped from her nose. Her head throbbed with pressure.

"He knows?" Relia’s voice whispered in her mind, sharp with warning.

Her fingers shook as she wiped the blood from her lip. The visions were gone, but the dread remained—twisting and curling in her gut like smoke.

Luther knew.

He knew who she was.

Not just Evelina, not just the woman Arcadia knew her as—but Evelyn Matthews. The name from a world before this one. From the lab, from the ashes.

Her old life.

Her real name.