LUCIAN
The capital did not sleep easily that night. The streets near the palace glowed faintly under the lamplight, alive with whispers and watchful eyes. Lucian rode alone through the narrow lanes that led toward the lower quarter, the air sharp and cold against his face. The sound of his horse's hooves was the only thing that broke the silence.
He had left the Everleigh estate hours ago, but the image of Evelina standing in the torchlight outside her family's gates refused to leave his mind. The fear in her eyes had cut deeper than any insult thrown in the council chamber.
He had promised her that he would find the truth. Now he meant to keep it.
The tavern he sought sat near the river, its shutters closed against the wind. To anyone passing by, it looked abandoned. Lucian dismounted and entered through the side door. The smell of damp stone and wax greeted him.
A single candle burned at the back table where his shadow waited. The man rose as Lucian approached, bowing low. His cloak was dark, his face half hidden by the hood, but his eyes gleamed faintly in the light.
"My lord," he said. "I have returned from the docks."
Lucian removed his gloves and sat down. "Tell me."
"The auditors who raided the Everleigh estate today carried orders sealed by the treasury and the royal chancellery. Both seals are genuine. But the documents they acted upon were forged. The ink is fresh, less than a week old. Whoever prepared them used stolen ledgers and duplicated the Marquess' signature perfectly."
Lucian frowned. "Montclair's work."
"Not his alone," the shadow said quietly. "There is another hand behind it. The Marlowes."
Lucian looked up sharply. "Selina's family?"
"Yes. The Count of Marlowe pledged his allegiance to the Crown Prince but since then, he has been promised control of the southern ports once the Everleigh trade licenses are revoked. The auditors' leader reports directly to his office."
Lucian's expression darkened. "So they mean to erase the Everleigh name completely."
"Exactly. The Marlowes have joined with what remains of Montclair's network. They have promised to help him by being with the Crown Prince to restore order by exposing so-called traitors. In truth, they are using his favor to destroy his rivals."
Lucian leaned back, his jaw tight. "Montclair has always preferred to pull strings from the shadows. Now that his name is tarnished, he lets others speak for him."
The shadow nodded. "It is a clever disguise. The Marlowes gain wealth, the Crown Prince thinks he gains loyalty, and Montclair gains revenge. The Everleighs are their common target."
Lucian's thoughts moved quickly. "The Marlowes were never this bold before. Someone must be backing them."
"The Duchess of Wrenford," the shadow said quietly. "She has been far from idle, my lord. Her resentment for not being chosen as Crown Princess still burns beneath her charm. She has aligned herself with the Marlowes, feeding them whispers and promises of favor.
It was she who set this in motion convincing the Queen that supporting the Marlowes would strengthen the southern alliance, while at the same time sending word through Marlowe to Montclair, painting him as the Crown's favored ally. She turned them upon each other with careful precision.
The court believes the feud to be born of pride and politics, but it was she who sowed it. The Duchess wanted chaos, not victory. And in that chaos, she chose her casualty. The Everleighs were simply the family caught between her design, the price of her vengeance against the crown that overlooked her."
Lucian's stomach turned. "So even the royal household is being played."
"Evidence," he said at last, his voice quiet, almost too calm. "Do you have it?"
The shadow hesitated. "No, my lord. The documents that tied the Marlowes to Wrenford vanished before we could secure them. The clerk who first hinted at their exchange was found dead near the river two nights ago. His house was emptied. Every ledger, every letter, gone."
Lucian's eyes narrowed, though his tone did not rise. "And the messenger who carried Wrenford's seal to the south?"
"Also missing," the shadow said. "The trail ends in the harbor. Whoever she employs, they move quickly and cleanly. It is as if someone knew we were coming."
Lucian turned toward the window, the cold light of the moon falling across his shoulder. "Then she has already buried her sins."
The shadow hesitated before speaking again. "There is more. A courier intercepted at the docks carried correspondence from Montclair to the Count of Marlowe. It speaks of a final move, something meant to silence the Everleighs completely. He writes that once the King signs the decree against them, the Everleigh trade fleet will be seized and sold to cover fabricated debts."
Lucian stared at the candle flame for a long moment. "They mean to strip them of everything."
"Yes, my lord."
Lucian rose from his chair, pacing the length of the room. His boots echoed against the stone floor. "They think the King will sign whatever is placed before him. They think he will not question the details. If I do nothing, they will be right."
"What will you do?"
Lucian stopped by the window, looking out at the dark river. "We strike before they expect it. Montclair has always hidden behind noble pretense, and Marlowe behind royal favor. But both have one weakness. They believe power protects them."
The shadow's tone was cautious. "And you mean to show them it does not?"
Lucian turned, his expression hard. "Yes. Gather every record you can find that connects the Marlowe family to the Crown Prince's treasury. The smuggling contracts, the bribes, the altered port ledgers. There will be evidence, they are not as careful as they think."
The man bowed. "I already have some of it. The Marlowe merchants have been moving contraband through the southern harbors under the royal emblem. They are using the same network Montclair built."
Lucian nodded. "Good. Bring it all to me by morning. And send a message to the royal archivist. I want copies of the treasury seals used on the Everleigh orders. We will prove they were forged from Marlowe's own dies."
The shadow hesitated. "If you reveal this, it will expose the Crown Prince's negligence. He will turn against you."
Lucian's voice softened, but his words were firm. "If silence keeps the innocent condemned, then silence is no virtue. The Crown Prince can hate me if he must. But I will not let Montclair or Marlowe win through deceit."
The shadow bowed again and disappeared into the darkness.
Lucian stood alone for a long moment, staring at the faint reflection of the candle in the window glass. The river outside moved sluggishly under the moonlight, its surface rippling like silver thread.
He thought of Evelina again. Her face had been pale when he left, but her eyes had held something fierce behind the fear. She had not broken. She would not.
He sat back down and began to write. The quill scratched steadily over the paper, forming careful lines of ink. Letters to the royal steward, to the Duke of Hatherleigh, to every ally he still trusted. Each one carried the same warning: Montclair's hand still moved in the court, and now it wore the Marlowe crest.
When he finished, he sealed each letter with the Ravenscroft emblem and set them aside. The candle burned low, casting long shadows across the table.
The door creaked softly behind him.
Sir Rowan entered and bowed. "Forgive the interruption, my lord. Word from the palace. Grand Duke Montclair has been seen again in the King's audience chamber. He has returned to court."
Lucian looked up from his desk, his expression sharpening. "I was told the King dismissed him from the council."
"He did," Rowan said. "Neither the King nor the Queen favoured his presence, but several members of the council argued that removing him entirely would divide the southern houses. They claim his name still carries weight, even without his holdings."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Then they kept him out of fear, not respect."
Rowan nodded. "It seems so, my lord. There are also reports of correspondence between Montclair and Count Marlowe. Messengers traveling through the southern roads at night. Nothing official, all private."
Lucian set his pen down, the motion precise. "How many letters?"
"Three that we know of," Rowan said. "Two were intercepted by the palace guard and never reached Montclair's estate. The third disappeared before it could be seized. Whoever carries them knows how to avoid being seen."
Lucian leaned back in his chair. "And what do the letters say?"
Rowan hesitated. "Only fragments, my lord. The first mentions 'the balance of the court' and 'a promise renewed.' The second speaks of 'loyalty that must be proven before winter.' Nothing more could be recovered."
Lucian's voice lowered. "Then they are planning something."
"Yes, my lord. It may already be underway."
He stood and crossed to the window. The moon hung low over the northern hills, pale and cold against the dark. "The King does not trust him, the Queen cannot stand him, and yet he walks the palace halls again. That means someone else has opened the door for him."
Rowan's silence was answer enough.
Lucian turned back to the table, his hand brushing the letters spread before him, reports from the capital, accounts from merchants, and intercepted seals from the south. He had seen this pattern before. It was the same slow poison that had nearly destroyed the Everleighs, now creeping through the veins of the court once more.
"They think I will stay silent," he said quietly. "That I will let the council pretend the past is buried."
Rowan stepped forward. "Forgive me, my lord, but if Montclair and Marlowe are in contact again, you will have few allies left to challenge them. Even those loyal to you will hesitate. They remember the last time the court was divided."
Lucian gave a small, humorless laugh. "Then perhaps they should remember how it ended."
Rowan bowed his head slightly. "You mean to face them."
Lucian met his gaze. "I mean to make the truth visible again."
"The council will resist."
"They always do," Lucian said. "That is how we know we are close."
Rowan studied him for a moment, then said quietly, "If I may, my lord. The people still believe Montclair regrets his part in the old deception. If you accuse him now without proof of these letters, they will call it vengeance."
Lucian's hand stilled on the edge of the desk. "Then we will find proof. The truth does not vanish simply because someone burns it."
Rowan inclined his head. "I will send word to our watchers in the capital."
"Do it," Lucian said. "And tell them to follow the money. Montclair always hides his intentions behind another man's purse."
"Yes, my lord."
When the captain withdrew, the room fell silent again. The only sound was the crackle of the dying fire.
Lucian remained still for a long while, staring at the map spread across the table. Red pins marked the estates of the Marlowes and Montclair, a thread connecting their movements like the outline of a snare.
He poured himself a small measure of wine, though the glass remained untouched in his hand. The reflection of the flame flickered across its surface.
"Letters and ghosts," he murmured. "That is all they have left."
He thought of the Everleighs, of how close they had come to ruin. He thought of Evelina, whose faith in him had never faltered, even when the court had branded her name.
"They will not touch her again," he said quietly.
The words steadied him.
Outside, the horizon was beginning to pale with the first light of dawn. The sky was a soft silver, streaked with the faint color of ash.
Lucian extinguished the candle and gathered the papers into a neat stack. The scent of wax lingered in the air, mingling with the cold breath of morning that seeped through the open window.
He stepped outside, the stone corridor cool beneath his boots. The courtyard below was wrapped in mist, the world still half asleep.
Somewhere beyond the hills, Montclair and Marlowe plotted in their letters, convinced the game still belonged to them.
Lucian looked toward the rising sun and felt the weight of resolve settle over him again.
The court had forgotten that truth could fight.
And he, Lucian Ravenscroft, would remind them.