The palace was awake before dawn.
Servants moved briskly through the corridors, lighting sconces and polishing the silver in the grand dining hall. A thin fog curled around the castle's spires, blurring the horizon in pale gray.
Evelyn adjusted her coat as she followed Prince Edward toward the throne room. The air was heavy with unspoken tension.
"You don't have to speak unless asked," Edward murmured. "My mother doesn't take kindly to interruptions."
"I'm not here to please her," Evelyn said, voice steady despite the knot in her stomach. "I'm here for the truth."
Edward gave a faint smile — part admiration, part worry. "That's what I'm afraid of."
The throne room opened before them like a stage.
High ceilings, scarlet banners, and a marble floor polished to reflection.
At the far end sat Queen Margaret Lancaster, regal and composed, her crown gleaming beneath the morning light.
Beside her stood General Harrington, tall and severe, his medals catching the light with every movement.
Evelyn's pulse thudded painfully in her ears.
The Queen's gaze fell upon her, calm but cold. "Miss Hartley. I've heard your name whispered more than once this week. A soldier's daughter, was it not?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Evelyn replied, bowing slightly. "Colonel William Hartley."
The Queen's eyes narrowed with a faint trace of curiosity. "A brave man. England owes him gratitude."
Her tone carried the kind of sympathy that hides distance.
Evelyn's hands tightened at her sides. "Then perhaps England also owes him justice."
The silence that followed was sharp.
Edward stepped forward quickly. "Mother, if I may—"
But the Queen raised a hand. "You may not."
Her gaze returned to Evelyn. "Justice is a noble pursuit, Miss Hartley. But the war left many wounds. Digging too deep can reopen them."
Evelyn met her eyes fearlessly. "Some wounds never closed, Your Majesty. My father's death wasn't a casualty — it was betrayal."
A murmur passed through the council chamber.
General Harrington stiffened but kept his composure. "Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "I assure you, Colonel Hartley's mission was sanctioned by the Crown. He died an honorable death."
"Then why," Evelyn demanded, "was his report sealed under false orders?"
Harrington's jaw flexed. "You tread dangerous ground, Miss Hartley."
Edward moved between them. "Enough. She deserves answers."
The Queen rose slowly from her throne, her presence commanding silence.
"Edward," she said, "you forget yourself."
Her voice softened, but her eyes were ice. "You meddle in matters beyond sentiment. Remember your duty."
"I am," he said, his voice low but firm. "My duty is to truth — not comfort."
For a heartbeat, mother and son faced each other — a quiet war between love and loyalty.
Finally, the Queen turned away. "This council is adjourned. Miss Hartley, you may remain under the palace's protection while the matter is reviewed."
The guards bowed. The sound of boots echoed as the hall emptied.
When the great doors finally closed, Evelyn exhaled shakily.
Edward turned to her, his jaw tight. "You shouldn't have spoken like that."
"I had to," she whispered. "If I don't fight for my father, who will?"
He looked at her for a long moment — the anger fading into something softer.
"Then I'll fight beside you," he said quietly.
For the first time, she smiled — not with triumph, but gratitude. "Even if it means standing against your own crown?"
He took a breath. "Especially then."
That night, Evelyn wandered the palace courtyard alone.
The moonlight shimmered across the fountains, and the wind carried faint music from the ballroom inside.
She thought of Edward — the way his voice trembled when he defied his mother, the look in his eyes when he said I'll fight beside you.
The distance between them was more than rank or power — it was fate itself.
And yet, as the night deepened, she realized she no longer cared.
The world might have drawn its lines between them, but her heart had already crossed them