By morning, the storm had passed, but the palace felt colder.
Servants whispered in corners, guards moved in pairs, and the Queen's personal advisers seemed to appear everywhere at once.
Evelyn could feel it — something had shifted.
The air itself carried suspicion.
She found Prince Edward in the west courtyard, standing beneath a sycamore tree. The leaves dripped silver in the early light.
"You were right," he said before she could speak. "Someone destroyed the report."
Evelyn froze. "Destroyed?"
He nodded grimly. "The archives caught fire late last night. Contained to one section — the same shelf where the Dawnveil files were kept."
Her chest tightened. "That can't be coincidence."
"It wasn't," he said quietly. "The guard who was stationed there has disappeared."
They retreated to Edward's private study — the only room left untouched by palace gossip.
Evelyn paced near the window, her boots clicking sharply on the marble floor. "So whoever did this isn't just protecting a secret — they're erasing it."
Edward watched her with quiet intensity. "You said your father didn't trust everyone in his unit. What if the traitor wasn't a soldier at all?"
Evelyn stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "What if the betrayal came from someone inside the royal command?"
Her pulse quickened. "You're suggesting—"
"Yes," he said, meeting her gaze. "That General Harrington wasn't the only one involved."
Evelyn turned to the window. Rain still clung to the glass, reflecting her pale face. "Then this runs deeper than we thought."
Edward nodded. "And if we're not careful, it will destroy us both."
Hours later, Edward received a sealed note.
The wax bore the insignia of the Queen's private secretary.
He read it once, and his face hardened. "They've summoned me to the council chamber again."
Evelyn frowned. "Why?"
He hesitated. "Someone reported that I've been accessing classified documents… and meeting with you in secret."
Her stomach dropped. "Who would—"
She stopped herself.
Both of them knew the answer.
Edward exhaled sharply. "Harrington."
Evelyn stepped forward. "Then he knows we're close to something."
"He's not just trying to silence you," Edward said grimly. "He's trying to turn the Crown against me."
The room felt suddenly smaller — as if the palace itself were closing in.
Later that evening, as guards escorted Edward toward the council chamber, Evelyn slipped into the shadows of the gallery above. She had to know what was being said.
From her hidden perch, she could hear the Queen's voice — low, measured, and cold.
"Edward," she said, "I trusted you with the dignity of this crown. Yet you risk scandal for the sake of a soldier's daughter?"
Edward's voice, calm but steady: "If truth threatens the crown, perhaps it's not the truth that's wrong."
Gasps rippled through the council.
Then General Harrington spoke. "With respect, Your Majesty, the prince has been manipulated. The girl's motives are unclear. Her father was under investigation for treason before his death."
Evelyn's blood ran cold.
That was a lie.
She clenched the railing until her knuckles whitened. Edward's voice rose. "That accusation was fabricated — by you."
"Careful, Your Highness," Harrington warned. "You speak against the very men who protect this kingdom."
Edward's reply was a whisper that carried like thunder.
"Men who protect the kingdom don't hide behind lies."
The Queen's voice cut through the silence. "Enough. Edward, you will cease all contact with Miss Hartley immediately. The matter of Colonel Hartley's death is closed."
Evelyn bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
When Edward finally emerged, his eyes found hers in the corridor.
For a moment, neither spoke — they didn't need to.
"They're watching you now," she said softly.
"I know," he replied. "But I won't stop."
"Then you'll lose everything."
He stepped closer, his voice low and certain. "Not everything."
For the first time, Evelyn saw the war behind his calm — the prince torn between two worlds, and choosing her over both.
And somewhere deep within the palace, a hidden hand folded away the last surviving copy of Field Report 72-A, sealing it in an envelope marked only with a single word.