“Now better.”
Her father stepped to her bedside.
“The suspects are in the cells,” he noted, voice clipped. “We’ve questioned several of them. Through persuasion, they confessed to a coordinated assassination attempt against the royal family.”
Evelyn’s blood ran cold.
“Do we know who gave the orders?”
“They said it came from a man they called Thandros. No description. The Lord Justiciar and his magistrates are handling it now.”
She looked at Alaric. He looked back. A beat passed between them. Her father caught it.
Evelyne turned toward him fully.
“It’s time you knew,” she said. “What I’ve discovered. Whatwe’vediscovered.”
Alaric stepped closer, as if to saywe are doing this together.
And they told him everything.
Every thread, every hidden chamber, every sigil traced in blood. Her father didn’t interrupt, didn’t so much as flinch when they described Ravik’s orders, the missing guards, the tunnel under the chapel. He merely stood there, hands clasped behind his back.
And when they finished, he gave her the look she remembered from childhood—stern, unreadable, and quietly, infuriatingly immovable.
“I don’t believe Ravik was behind it,” he declared. “I’ve trusted that man with my life for decades.”
Evelyne took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. “You trust him. I understand that. But how do you explain the letter tied to the Maroon Slaughter found in his private possession? And the conversation with the High Preceptor. He actually confessed.”
Her father exhaled through his nose, the way he always did when forced to acknowledge something inconvenient. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s suspicious. Deeply. But Ravik is not reckless. If he kept those documents, he had a reason.”
A hollow laugh nearly escaped her lips. “A reason? A reason to kill my fiancé? To murder his family? Children, father?”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Mind your tongue, child. Do not speak as if verdicts come before the trial. You know better.”
The wordchilddropped like a stone in her stomach. It silenced her, but not because she agreed. Because it being the future empress didn’t stop her from still being a woman.
She held his stare, unblinking. But she could feel it—her fury rising like a tide she could no longer command.
“And the proceeding you gave him in the square? The names you read? You risked more than your dignity with that performance,” he raised his voice. “You stood in front of our military, our people, and cast doubt on the very man sworn to protect you. You could have broken the spine of this court.”
She clenched her fingers around the sheet. “And if I am right?” she returned. “Then he has already broken it.”
His shoulders squared. She could see the soldier rising in him again. She wanted him to believe her. Desperately. Just once. Just this one time, when it actually mattered. When truth wasn’tstrategy, and her voice wasn’t another calculated risk on the chessboard of their lives.
“Your Majesty,” Alaric cautioned, “in the face of this evidence, I must recommend that we question the Grand Marshal and High Preceptor.”
Rhaedor turned his eyes to Alaric, and for a breath, Evelyne couldn’t read him.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“I must agree.”
“Your Majesties…”
The physician approached from the side and bowed.
“Your Majesties. The Grand Marshal is awake.”
