QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 95: Sparkling eyes and similar tastes

Chapter 95 - Evelyn POV

"So, Lady Daphne, huh?"

I flinch at my sister’s words.

"What about her?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

"Hmmmnnn, nothing, nothing," she says, her voice far too casual to be innocent.

I continue brushing my hair, trying to ignore her, when I feel her hands gently on my shoulders. She takes the brush from me and begins brushing my hair herself. It’s comforting—something we haven’t done in years.

"You can lie to anyone, Evelyne," she says softly, "but you can’t lie to me."

I don’t respond. I stare at the mirror. At my own eyes. I try not to blink.

"I saw the way you looked at her," she continues.

"You love her."

My hands clench the fabric of my nightgown. I’m not ashamed. Not of the love. But of how it sits in a world that has no place for it. A world where our kind of happiness is unspoken, forbidden.

"It doesn’t matter," I say, voice barely above a whisper.

She stops brushing.

"It matters to me. You’re my sister. And I know you."

I feel her fingers trail lightly through my hair again, slower this time.

"I saw you," she murmurs, amusement thick in her voice.

"You were like a young little maiden, blushing all over the place."

"I saw you," she murmurs, amusement thick in her voice.

"You were like a young little maiden, blushing all over the place."

"I wasn’t," I say—much too quickly.

She laughs, the sound rich and full of affection, echoing softly off the painted walls of my chambers. It’s the kind of laugh that belongs in the past, from days when we were just two girls hiding from tutors and duty under bedcovers with candlelight stories.

"There it is again. That awful lying voice of yours."

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "You love teasing me."

"And you make it so easy."

A moment of quiet passes between us. She picks up the hairbrush from where it had been discarded and resumes brushing my hair, slow and gentle strokes that tug a little at the knots. The rhythm is soothing, grounding.

"You don’t think it’s weird?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

She pauses. Just long enough to make me hold my breath.

"What’s weird?" she asks softly.

"...me and her..." I murmur. The words taste like fear. I don’t remember the last time something made me feel like this. Vulnerable. Small.

She’s silent for a while. Then:

"Do you laugh in her presence?"

I blink. "She’s ridiculous. And dramatic. She teased me over the way I hold a spoon."

My sister chuckles. "Do you feel safe with her?"

"Once, I scraped my arm on a stone. You’d think I’d lost a limb, the way she panicked. She demanded every physician in the estate be summoned. Over a scratch."

"Do you think she loves you?"

I think about it. About the way Daphne stares at me when she thinks I’m asleep. About the way she memorizes every detail of my expressions, as though she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

"...Yes," I whisper. "She does."

"And more importantly—do you love her?"

My heart stutters. I don’t even pause. "I do."

She moves around the chair and kneels in front of me, her warm hands cupping my cheeks. I meet her gaze—steady, proud, fierce.

"Then what should it matter in what form that love arrives, when your eyes sparkle so?"

Tears well in my eyes. I try to blink them back.

But she sees.

And she smiles.

"Be happy, Evelyn. The world will always find fault. Let it. You’re my sister. And I’ve never seen you shine like this."

***

Crown Princess POV

"Are you insane? I can’t meet her like this."

The voice behind the hedges is panicked—nervous, even. I lean closer, careful not to step on any twigs.

"Daphne, for the last time, my sister doesn’t care. Come on, she’s leaving tomorrow morning. Will you not do this one thing for me?" Evelyn’s voice is wheedling, coaxing. Manipulative in the way only younger sisters know how to be.

There’s a pause, then a sigh.

I quickly retreat a few steps, just in time to straighten myself before Evelyn appears from around the corner, dragging a figure beside her.

At first, I blink in confusion. A young man with dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, dressed in a simple white shirt and trousers. Why is she introducing me to a servant?

Then the young man turns toward me.

Ah.

Lady Daphne.

Suddenly it makes sense. The posture, the confidence, the fluidity between form and presence. And my, my—she looks good like this. Like my favorite librarian in the royal archives. Hm. It seems Evelyn and I share similar tastes. Blood, after all, runs deep.

Evelyn pulls Daphne closer with a hand around her wrist. Daphne bows, low and respectful.

"Your Highness, it’s a pleasure once again. Forgive me for coming to you in this state."

Even her tone has shifted—calmer, more grounded. And dare I say, more authentic. Fascinating.

"No, no, it’s fine," I say, waving my hand and opening my fan with a practiced flick.

"I heard the conversation. There was no way you were winning against her."

Daphne smiles, and—oh. Oh dear. My heart skips a beat. I lift my fan to cover the way my lips part. That smile is far too charming.

Evelyn clears her throat.

"Sister, Daphne is an amazing painter. And since you’re returning to the capital—"

"I told you, I don’t paint for recognition," Daphne cuts in, exasperated.

"They’re just collecting dust in that tower!" Evelyn argues.

"Regardless—"

"No. I will not hear a word."

I smile behind my fan. Oh, she is completely smitten. Daphne grumbles but eventually folds.

"Do whatever you want."

Evelyn beams like she’s just won a war. "Thank you, sister. As I was saying—her work deserves to be seen...."

---

Back at the palace, I check on my son. He sleeps peacefully, his curls spread over the pillow. I smooth a hand through his hair, and for a moment I think: a daughter wouldn’t be so bad. But not in this place. Not in the royal family. No. Let someone else bear daughters for the Prince.

I step into my chambers and spot a stack of canvas wrapped in cloth resting against the wall. Right—I had them brought up.

I lift a lamp, letting the golden light spill across the nearest painting.

And then I stop breathing.

Realism is one thing. But this... this is like walking into a memory. A dream made tangible.

"Oh wow," I whisper.

For once, the galleries in the capital might just be worthy of their patron.