Page 128

“The streets erupted in violence. Civilians became unintended casualties. A government official, Lord Kilwarden, fell dead amid the fray. Some claimed it was friendly fire, but the justice would hear none of it. The rebellion collapsed before it truly began, and all blame landed on Robert’s shoulders.”

Amelia presses on. “He tried to stay hidden, but the distance from your mother became unbearable. He risked everything to see her again, writing letters—confessions of his plans, his failures, his dreams.”

She draws a slow breath, as if the next words pain her to say aloud. “That was his undoing. Those letters never reached her. They were intercepted. Someone betrayed him—and threatened my sister’s life if he didn’t surrender.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, shaking her head like she still can’t believe it. “That’s how they caught him. He didn’t even hesitate. He gave himself up willingly to keep her safe. They used the only weapon that could ever bring him to his knees.”

Then, softly, as if delivering a final blow, she utters, “Mere weeks after learning of your existence… he was sentenced to death.”

Amelia’s eyes begins to fill with tears that she tries to quell. “We had to leave to keep safe. Sarah was devastated, leaving the only place she’d ever known. The place her love story had blossomed, but knowing a part of Robert would live on comforted her. She told me, ‘This child will be everything we dreamed of, Amelia. Everything Robert and I fought for.’”

Amelia pauses, her gaze distant, as if the memory pulls her back. “Sarah grew sick after your birth, so we had to make a very hard decision. She knew her time was running out, and she was desperate to protect you. She begged me, Triona. Begged me to take you somewhere you’d be safe. Somewhere far from the danger that had already stolen Robert.”

“We agreed on the Sinclairs,” Amelia continues. “Not just because they were good people, but because they loved you before they even knew you. James and Ellen—bless them—they didn’t hesitate. Not for a moment. When I told them about you, they agreed with a gleam in their eyes.”

Amelia’s voice catches, her throat tightening as she looks down at her hands. “That was the last time I saw you. You were swaddled in my arms, so small, so perfect. And I had to let you go.”

Triona’s face crumples, her hands curling into fists on her lap. “You just… left me?”

“I had no choice,” Amelia says softly. “It was the only way to keep you safe. If I stayed, they’d have found me. And then they’d have found you. The same people that intended to harm Robert never knew of your existence. If they had, they might have done everything in their power to harm you like they had your father.” She looks up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I knew, with James and Ellen, you’d have a life. You’d have love.”

Triona exhales sharply, her voice barely above a whisper. “But they still found us. So now I learn I lost a father before I knew what life was, a mother before I could walk, and now…”

Her gaze flickers between Amelia and Callan, searching—grasping—for something. Denial. Reassurance. Anything but the truth unravelling before her.

Then a spark. That familiar flicker in her eyes—the one she gets when realisation strikes like a blade through fog.

She swallows hard, her head shaking, as if sheer defiance could turn back time, could unmake what’s already been spoken. “Cal… did you—did you know I wasn’t your sister?”

The second the words leave her lips, my stomach turns to stone.

Callan doesn’t answer right away. The silence drags and the weight of it presses down on all of us.

She’s searching his face, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and betrayal.

I want to move. To reach for her. To offer something—anything. But I don’t, because this isn’t a wound my hands can mend, nor a battle my presence alone can shield her from.

He finally shifts, his broad shoulders stiffening, but his eyes stay steady on hers. “Aye, but Triona… ye’re no less my sister now than ye have been most of my life,” he says, his voice low, heavy with conviction. “I respected our parents’ wishes, their secrets—their burdens. It wasna my truth to spill.”

Her lip quivers, but she doesn’t say a word, letting his explanation unfold.

“They wanted ye to learn this now,” he continues, his words careful, deliberate, “with the answers ye’d demand close at hand. I waited so ye wouldnae face this unarmed… so ye’d know the why as much as the what.”

The flicker of guilt in his eyes is unmistakable, but there’s something else too: tenderness, unwavering and fierce. “Would ye rather fate ripped it from my lips,” he says quietly, “without caring for yer heart, yer choice?” His words strike like a blow, sharp but with no malice. Triona opens her mouth, then closes it.

Her breath quivers, and for a moment, she just stares at him, unblinking, as if she’s trying to see past his words to something deeper.

And that’s when I see it—the moment she realises a thought that had been echoing in my mind. This wasn’t just Callan’s secret.

She turns to Amelia, her chest rising and falling too fast, her voice sharp with something close to desperation.

“Who else knew?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Deidre straighten, her usual calm demeanour unshaken—but her hands, pressed together in her lap, are too still.

Amelia inhales deeply, then exhales, slowly. “Deidre has always known,” she says, her voice quiet but steady. “And so has Alex Mumford.”

She doesn’t falter. “He may be a recent ally to you, but he’s known your parents for a long time. His presence now was no happenstance.”