QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 93: Happy

Chapter 93 - Evelyn POV

The castle is in full swing, a flurry of servants brushing down tapestries, polishing silver, and airing out rooms usually reserved for esteed guests. For once, I don’t have to give a single command. They all know why.

My sister is coming.

The Crown Princess.

She’ll be staying for two nights at the Callum estate. I should be anxious. Most duchesses would be, preparing for a royal visit. But I’m not most duchesses, and she’s not most royalty.

She is my sister. And it has been far too long since I last saw her.

Frida laces the back of my gown, tugging with quick, practiced hands.

"You seem... happy, Your Grace."

"Do I?" I murmur.

"Radiant," she says, and I roll my eyes but say nothing. Maybe I am.

I haven’t felt this kind of anticipation in a long ti. I missed my sister.

When the royal carriage finally arrives, I wait alone at the front steps, ignoring the collective bowing of the staff around . And then she steps out—tall and graceful, her long black hair tied up in a regal twist, her crown gleaming under the sun.

But when her eyes land on mine, she smiles like a sister, not a princess.

"Evie," she says, and I break protocol by walking forward and hugging her.

She squeezes tightly. "You look older."

"And you don’t age," I reply. "Unfair."

She laughs. That rich, confident sound I missed so much.

---

Later, we retreat to the royal guest wing, a private bath drawn and steaming with flower oils. Just like we used to, back when we were girls in the palace, sneaking in together after all manner of etiquette lessons.

"I had them prepare the bath with the oils you liked," I say, disrobing and slipping into the warm water.

"You rembered," she smiles and sinks in beside .

We sit in companionable silence for a mont, letting the heat relax us.

"So," she finally says, arching a brow, "tell about your mysterious Lady Daphne."

I blink, nearly slipping beneath the water.

"What?"

"Evie," she says in that older-sister tone I used to hate.

"You sent three letters over the past few months that ntioned her. Don’t think I didn’t notice."

"It’s not—she’s just... different."

"Oh? Different enough for the ever-composed Duchess of Callum to ntion her in multiple letters?"

I groan and splash a small wave at her.

She dodges it and grins.

"I just think she’s a kindled spirit and we get along," I say, choosing my words carefully.

"Get along, huh?" she says, in that tone that says she absolutely does not believe .

"Yeah. You know how lonely I’ve been... It’s nice to finally have a friend." I try to keep my voice even, calm. Safe. But she eyes with that sa suspicious glint.

"I will not intrude anymore. I’m glad, though. You seem... happy."

I look away, afraid that I’ll give sothing away with my expression.

"How is the palace?" I ask, changing the topic.

She groans, dramatic and imdiate.

"Horrible. There are snakes everywhere. The prince is an idiot. Not a mont of ease in that dreadful gilded cage. My only light is my son."

"Treason," I say with mock horror.

"Oh no, what will you do? Report ? Honestly, I wouldn’t be too sad. A trip to the guillotine would free ."

"I’m sorry," I say quietly. I an it. She married the crown prince so that I wouldn’t have to. So that I could have a life—not a performance.

"What for? You’re the most important person in my life—my son excluded ofcourse," she adds with a grin.

"Your happiness ans the world to . Seeing as to how won of our stature are all miserable, I wanted to make your life a little less miserable."

And it is. I do not have to cater to my husband’s needs. That alone sets apart from nearly every woman I know.

"Thank you," I say.

"That aside," she says, a little too casually, "is the relationship between you and the duke good?"

I look at her with imdiate disgust. "What?"

She doesn’t respond. Just looks down. And I rember—I rember Daphne’s need to bite, to suck, to leave evidence.

Oh dear.

I flush. Bright red.

"Uh... yes. It is," I say. It cos out awkward. Strangled.

She lifts her head and laughs. Loud and lovely.

"You really are the worst liar, Evelyne.".

I slide lower into the bath until only my nose peeks above the surface, avoiding her eyes. She doesn’t press further. But I know what she’s thinking. I can feel it in the amused silence radiating from her side of the tub. She’s always had that talent—pulling truth out of without even trying.

I blow bubbles into the water like a child and mumble beneath them, "I’m not a bad liar. You’re just annoying."

She snorts.

"If it helps your pride, I’ll pretend to believe that."

We sit like that for a mont. The bathwater is warm, laced with oils and dried rose petals, the scent of sothing herbal and grounding rising with the steam.

This used to be our favorite ti of day, growing up—when the servants were gone, and we were just two sisters in water, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

"You seem happy," she says quietly, her tone softer now.

"I an it."

"I am." I say it before I can stop myself.

She doesn’t comnt. Doesn’t mock. Just hums, a little pleased sound.

We both know what I ant. And we both know who that happiness is tied to.

I rest my head against the edge of the tub and close my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my bones.

"You deserve it, you know," she says after a while.

"Even if it’s not... sanctioned."

I open one eye to peer at her.

"You an, even if it’s dangerous and could destroy everything?"

She shrugs.

"It wouldn’t be love if it didn’t co with a little danger."

I hate how she’s always right.