Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate
Chapter 226: How Long?

Chapter 226: How Long?

A soft knock echoed against the heavy oak doors.

"Come in," King Lucien’s voice called out firmly from within.

Damian squeezed Evelina’s hand reassuringly, giving her a small, almost imperceptible nod before pushing open the door.

It was Evelina’s first time stepping into the king’s private study, and despite everything weighing on her heart, she couldn’t help but look around.

The room was nothing like she had expected. It wasn’t grand, like the throne hall, or formal, like the council chambers.

Instead, it felt cosy and lived-in. Dark wooden shelves filled with books, scrolls, and neatly rolled maps lined the walls.

A long, sturdy desk made from a single piece of dark stone sat under a large window, where stormy light spilled across its messy surface.

On one wall, various weapons were displayed—swords, axes, and an enormous bow that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. A fireplace crackled softly, casting warm shadows over a couple of old chairs in front of it.

Lucien stood behind his desk, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, studying them as they entered.

"I’ve always known," he said quietly, "there was something different about you, Evelina."

She tensed slightly but nodded, standing straighter beside Damian.

Lucien gestured to the two chairs near the fire. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

They obeyed. Evelina folded her hands neatly in her lap, forcing her heart to slow. Damian sat beside her, relaxed but alert.

The king leaned forward, forearms braced against his desk.

"I want to understand," he said. "Tell me—how long have you truly been in our world?"

Evelina swallowed. "It’s... complicated. But the short answer is about two months now. I arrived in Arcadia’s timeline just before the first trial. The day of my arrest."

Lucien’s brows furrowed deeply. "That recently?"

She nodded.

Relia stirred softly in the back of her mind.

"And Evelina Drewstone..." she began slowly, voice steady despite the pounding in her chest, "the true Evelina—she was still here when I arrived. Barely. She had been beaten and poisoned when she was arrested. Just a few moments before her execution... she died. That was when I came in."

Lucien’s expression darkened, absorbing every word with grim focus.

Damian added, "Relia—the spirit wolf that bound herself to Evelina—confirmed it."

Lucien steepled his fingers under his chin. "And what about Luther?"

Evelina hesitated, exchanging a quick glance with Damian before answering.

"That’s the part we weren’t sure about at first," she said. "But it makes sense now. If Evelina’s death allowed me to... take her place... then logically, Luther must have experienced something similar. A near-death event."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly, thinking.

"The last hunting games," Damian said suddenly. "Before the most recent ones."

Lucien’s mouth tightened into a thin line. "He threw himself in front of me during the attack. Saved my life. Everyone thought he was going to die that day."

Evelina’s chest tightened. "And after that? How did he behave?"

Lucien leaned back in his chair, his face grim. "He recovered. But... he changed. A little colder. A little sharper. Less interested in court affairs and more... preoccupied with external threats. And his political ambitions grew stronger, more aggressive."

"That’s when it happened," Damian said quietly. "That’s when Tobias crossed over into this world. That’s when he became Luther."

Lucien sat back, heavy in thought. The fire crackled softly behind them, the only sound for a long beat.

"Do you have any idea what he might be planning?" the king asked at last.

Evelina nodded slowly. "It has something to do with the tunnels. With explosives. With destabilizing Arcadia from the inside. I’ve seen it. Maps, weapon caches. If he can’t rule it... he’ll destroy it."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "And the pearl?"

"It amplifies my visions," Evelina admitted. "Helps me see more clearly. But... if I have to, I’ll try without it. I can still sense traces of magic. I can still track his movements."

Lucien nodded slowly, but then he fixed her with a sharp, piercing gaze.

"Forgive me," he said in a low voice, "but I must ask. How can we trust you? How can we be certain you’re not fabricating all of this? That you’re not another agent sent to weaken us from within?"

The words didn’t sting. Evelina had expected them.

She met his gaze head-on.

"You can’t," she said honestly. "Not with certainty. Not yet. But actions speak louder than words, Your Majesty. And every choice I’ve made—every risk I’ve taken—has been to protect this kingdom. To protect the people who gave me a second chance when they didn’t even know they were doing it."

Her voice didn’t waver. Not once.

"I don’t expect blind trust," she finished. "I’m just asking for a chance to prove I’m worth it."

Lucien studied her for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.

Damian reached over and took her hand, giving it a light squeeze of silent support.

Finally, Lucien leaned back and said, "You’ll have it. But understand this, Evelina—there will be no more secrets between us. Not after tonight."

"I understand, Your Majesty," she said.

Lucien nodded once. "Good. Rest for now. We’ll move against Luther soon... and when we do, I’ll need every weapon at my disposal."

Damian rose and bowed his head respectfully. Evelina followed, her heart thudding hard but steady in her chest.

As they left the king’s study and headed back to Damian’s room, she felt the weight of what had just happened. But strangely, she didn’t feel overwhelmed by it.

Because for the first time, she wasn’t fighting alone anymore.

Beside her, Damian brushed his fingers lightly against hers.

"You did well, Evie," he murmured.

She smiled faintly, leaning into his warmth as they walked down the corridor together.

After a few minutes, Evelina tilted her head toward Damian with a small, mischievous smile.

"So how do you suggest we spend the rest of tonight?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.

Damian’s eyes sparked with matching mischief. "That depends," he said smoothly, tugging her a little closer by the hand. "Do you mean a long, heartfelt conversation... or something that involves far less talking and far more creative use of the bed?"