ALISTAIR
The chamber was dim and heavy with smoke. The fire in the grate burned low, more shadow than flame, casting the walls in restless amber light. Alistair Montclair sat before it, a glass of untouched brandy in his hand. The night outside was silent, the city beneath the palace sleeping under its own deceit.
He had summoned Count Marlowe hours ago. The man arrived late, as he always did, making his entrance with the kind of confidence that came only from those who mistook cunning for intelligence.
When Marlowe entered, the air itself seemed to turn colder. His cloak brushed the marble floor, and a faint smile played on his lips as he bowed.
"You called for me, Your Grace," he said, his tone polite, but his eyes were sharp and gleaming.
Alistair gestured toward the chair across from him. "Sit, Count. I hear your clever hand is behind the new wave of accusations against the Everleighs. I had not realized our plan would move so quickly."
Marlowe sat and adjusted his gloves. "The King's auditors needed little encouragement once the rumors began. All they required was proof, and I was kind enough to provide it."
"Forged proof," Alistair said, his voice flat.
"Proof nonetheless," Marlowe replied with a shrug. "Truth is only as useful as the one who wields it. The Everleigh name will be dust before the week ends."
Alistair leaned back in his chair. "You act as though this pleases you."
"It does," Marlowe said. "Once the Everleigh estate is seized, their trade routes will return to the southern ports, which happen to be under my management. The King restores order, the Crown Prince gains influence, and I secure what I am owed."
Alistair's expression did not change, though his jaw tightened. "And what of your daughter?"
Marlowe's smile deepened. "Selina has been most patient. The Crown Princess favors her, and after the fall of the Everleighs, Lord Ravenscroft will need to repair his family's reputation. What better way than to marry into a house loyal to the throne?"
"So that is it," Alistair said quietly. "All of this, the forged ledgers, the raids, the whispers—it was all so your daughter might wear the Ravenscroft name."
Marlowe inclined his head. "We all serve different gods, Your Grace. Mine happens to be survival."
"And mine," Alistair said, "happens to be justice."
The Count laughed softly. "Is that what you call this? Justice? You mean vengeance. And I cannot fault you for that. The girl wounded your pride. Her family mocked your generosity. The court laughed behind your back when she chose Ravenscroft instead of you. Tell me, was that justice too?"
Alistair's hand tightened around his glass until the crystal creaked. "Careful, Count."
Marlowe smiled. "I only speak what everyone already knows. You want to show her what defiance costs. You want her to see her family fall and to know that you could have stopped it. That is the truth of your justice."
Alistair stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone floor. "Do not presume to know my mind."
"But I do," Marlowe said, unfazed. "You wish for her to come to you when the dust settles. You wish her to beg for the mercy she once denied you. And when she does, you will give it, but not freely. That is who you are, Montclair. You are wounded, but you also wait."
Alistair turned away, staring into the fire. The shadows flickered against his face, drawing the lines of fatigue that even pride could not conceal. "You play a dangerous game, Marlowe."
"I play to win," the Count said simply.
Alistair glanced over his shoulder. "You use the Crown Prince's ambition as your shield, but if this treason spreads too far, it will consume you as well. The King's patience is shorter than you think."
"The King is old," Marlowe replied. "His patience matters less than the Prince's loyalty. And the Prince wants order restored. The Everleighs will be the example that keeps the rest in line."
"The Everleighs were never traitors," Alistair said.
"They were convenient," Marlowe corrected. "And in court, convenience is stronger than innocence."
Alistair turned fully then, the weight of his anger pressing into the space between them. "You have gone too far. You set this fire, but it is spreading faster than you can control. The Queen's circle suspects manipulation, and Ravenscroft is gathering evidence. If he brings it before the King, your name will be the first one written in the ledger."
Marlowe's expression remained calm. "Then you had better make sure he does not reach the King."
The words hung in the air.
Alistair's eyes narrowed. "You would risk open rebellion?"
"I would risk what I must," Marlowe said. "You forget who feeds your silence. Without the Crown Prince's favor, you would already be in exile. Without my influence, your allies would abandon you. The only reason you still stand in the council chamber is because I find you useful."
Alistair stepped closer, his voice low. "And when you no longer find me useful?"
Marlowe's smile was small, cruel. "Then you will fall beside the Everleighs."
For a moment, neither spoke. The fire cracked, sending a small burst of sparks into the air.
At last, Alistair turned away again. "I will not see her destroyed, Count."
"Then stop pretending you can save her," Marlowe said. "You have already set the storm in motion. The only question now is who survives it."
Alistair did not answer. He stared at the flames, watching them shift and curl as if they might reveal a path through the ruin he had helped create.
Marlowe stood. "I will take my leave. There are letters to deliver, and the Crown Prince expects my report. If you are wise, you will stay silent until this is done."
He bowed lightly, mockingly, and left the room.
The door closed with a quiet click.
Alistair remained by the fire for a long time, motionless. The smell of smoke clung to his clothes, and the shadows seemed thicker now that Marlowe was gone.
He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. Evelina's reply. He had read it a dozen times, and yet each word struck like a blade anew.
Your Grace,
You speak as if silence were safety. It is not. It is surrender. My family may fall, but it will not be by my cowardice. Whatever happens next, I will not betray truth for comfort.
Evelina Everleigh
He read it again, slower this time, until the words blurred.
"You think truth will save you," he whispered. "You think love will protect you. You do not understand what this world does to both."
He crumpled the letter slightly in his hand but did not tear it. The thought of destroying it felt too final, too much like admitting she had won.
The firelight caught the edge of the paper, and for a moment, her words seemed to burn without flame.
She would hate him for what came next. He knew that. But perhaps, when everything was gone and she stood among the ashes, she would understand.
He set the letter down on the table beside his gloves and took a deep breath.
The King's council would meet in three days. By then, the Everleighs would be formally charged, and Lucian Ravenscroft would be too busy defending himself to protect her.
It would be brutal. It would be cruel.
But it would be the only way to make her see what choosing him had cost.
He poured the brandy at last and raised the glass to the fire.
"To reason," he said quietly. "And to ruin."
The drink burned down his throat. Outside, the wind howled faintly against the stone walls, carrying with it the sound of something breaking far away.
Perhaps it was the storm beginning.
Or perhaps it was his own heart finally giving way.