My Husband Never Dies - Chapter 3
1. Marriage
The clinking chains were undone.
Evelia, who had been glaring at the metal shackles that had bound her wrists and ankles, turned her gaze toward the elegantly dressed man.
His golden hair gleamed, radiant as the sun. Her own golden locks were matted and stained with dust and grime, and she couldn’t help but envy the brilliance of his.
That honeyed, deep blonde was a rare color even on the continent. And it was this very hair that had led to her capture, sending her to the dreaded cells of Zelakent.
A prison for death row inmates or those convicted of heinous crimes. In Zelakent, Evelia was a figure feared by all.
Even with soot smeared across her face, her striking beauty and slender, delicate frame caught the eye. At first, many underestimated her.
But whenever a fight broke out, Evelia always emerged victorious. No matter how large or intimidating the men were, they stood no chance against the brutal killing techniques she had honed since childhood.
She had lost count of how many she had killed. What did it matter when they were all condemned to die in this hell anyway?
Even so.
In the end, Evelia was locked in solitary confinement, her arms and ankles restrained.
Her horrific killing techniques had no regard for friend or foe, but Evelia never once thought of giving up her own life. With the venomous resolve that she would one day escape, she endured each day.
She simply thought to herself that as long as she didn’t die, it would all be worth it.
And once again, Evelia emerged victorious.
Even in the foul-smelling, filthy depths of Zelakent, a visitor came to seek her out.
The man, with hair nearly the same shade of blonde as hers, did not reveal his identity, but Evelia quickly sensed that he was no ordinary person. After all, she had lived for 20 years in a place where only those who could read the room survived.
It was also not surprising that he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated in the presence of one of the most vicious inmates in Zelakent.
It wasn’t just that — those who surrounded him were clearly knights. Their movements were precise, without flaw, and the sharp energy surrounding them seemed capable of piercing through her, ready to kill without a second thought.
Despite the hostile atmosphere, the man himself showed no signs of caution. He likely had lived a life in a sheltered world, unaware of threats.
“Evelia Locke.”
Finally, the man who had been observing her for so long spoke. His voice was cold, emotionless, with a touch of disdain. But honestly, that didn’t matter to Evelia.
“I have one last request for you.”
“Request?”
She almost let out a scoff. To give a death row inmate a request — this had to be some task that teetered on the edge of life and death, with a success rate approaching zero.
But Evelia didn’t sneer, nor did she reject the idea outright. If she could just get out of Zelakent, she was confident she could live freely.
She could easily ignore the request. She had already devised countless escape plans in her mind. Once she was out, she’d deal with that damn blond first…
However, what came out of the man’s mouth was an absurdity she hadn’t even imagined.
“From now on, you will take the name Evelyn Dalbury and marry.”
Evelia stared at the blond man with a dumbfounded expression. Even though her eyes clearly showed her disbelief, the man didn’t seem bothered at all.
Evelyn Dalebury?
Marry?
Living under someone else’s name wasn’t so difficult. She’d killed so many people and had spent most of her life as a fugitive, so hiding her true name was second nature. But marriage…?
“So… the request is marriage?”
“It’s a simple request for a notorious killer like you, surely.”
Though the man called her a “notorious killer,” his tone was mocking, which made Evelia’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“You will marry Duke Brumfield by order of His Majesty the King.”
Evelia blinked, the words spilling from the man’s lips were too bizarre to comprehend.
The King, Duke Brumfield, and marriage.
These were words that seemed so far removed from the life she had lived — a life of an assassin, an orphan who had made killing her trade.
“Kill the Duke. That’s the real request.”
“Is it really necessary to go through the trouble of marriage just to kill someone?”
“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t have bothered pulling you out and forging a fake identity.”
Evelia’s brows furrowed. Sending a corpulent nobleman like Brumfield to the other world in the blink of an eye would have been easy. Why, though? The question lingered for only a moment.
The man twisted his lips into a smirk and continued.
“Should you succeed in eliminating him, a new identity will be created for you. That’s the reward.”
Though she had sometimes encountered foolish clients who, after having their targets removed, would try to betray her, Evelia could sense that this man wasn’t one to speak in contradictions. And besides, escaping from sticky situations was second nature to her.
Evelia nodded.
It was, without question, an offer she couldn’t refuse.
