News of Prince Lucien's visit to Ashthorn Manor spread through the court like ink in water tainting every whisper, staining every alliance.
Some said he'd gone to threaten her.
Others claimed he'd gone to beg.
But Evelyne didn't need the court's rumors. She had truth now and the means to wield it.
That night, she met her inner circle in the manor's old war gallery, a chamber long unused, its walls lined with portraits of ancestors who'd died in service or scandal.
She lit a single lantern and spoke without preamble.
"Lucien is in. Or at least he's listening."
Julian folded his arms. "Listening isn't loyalty."
"He brought me back my mother's pin," she said. "And he warned me the Queen is preparing a formal denouncement."
Rowan frowned. "He's putting his head on the chopping block for you?"
"No," Evelyne said. "He's putting it there for himself. But if our paths align, I won't stop him."
Maren leaned forward, voice sharp. "Then it's time."
Evelyne nodded.
"Tomorrow, we release the second dossier."
The documents were more damning than the first.
Detailed accounts of bribery, political manipulation, and stolen war funds all tied to the Queen's most trusted ministers. Every page traced back to the throne.
Evelyne didn't sign her name.
She didn't have to.
The nobles knew exactly who held the knife.
That morning, three ministers resigned under "sudden illness." One was found dead in his study. The city trembled.
But the Queen?
She remained silent.
Which made the silence more dangerous than any decree.
That evening, Lucien returned.
Not in secret.
Not in shame.
He walked through the front gates of Ashthorn Manor without guards.
Julian opened the door. They stared at each other, unblinking.
Then Julian stepped aside.
"She's waiting for you."
Lucien found Evelyne by the window of her old bedroom, watching the snow fall over the edge of the garden wall. She didn't turn when he entered.
"I read the documents," he said.
"You mean you recognized the names."
He stepped closer. "What are you planning?"
She looked over her shoulder.
"A reckoning."
He studied her, heart caught between regret and awe.
"I should have saved you," he whispered.
"No," she said. "You should have believed me."
The space between them felt vast and yet, he took another step.
"I do now."
Her gaze softened, barely.
"Then prove it."
He didn't reach for her.
But he didn't leave.
And sometimes, that was how trust began.