That night, Ernest did not sleep.
He sat alone in his study, the lamp burning low beside him. The palace letter lay folded on the table, untouched since Lina had left. Her words echoed clearly in his mind—not spoken in desperation, but in logic.
Unless she was a fool, she would never expose the palace's original findings if she were truly guilty.
Dorothy had everything to lose by sending that message. Her status as the king's mistress. Even her life. No schemer would take such a risk unless she was certain of her innocence.
Ernest exhaled slowly.
He believed her.
And more than that, he understood the situation clearly now.
The queen.
Elizabeth had motive. She had authority. She had access to the kitchen, the servants, the garden—everything. If she wanted to harm Anastasia and place the blame on someone else, Dorothy was the easiest choice.
But understanding the truth did not mean he could find evidence.
