The storm had rolled in fast, swallowing Redmere's harbor in wind and rain.
Thunder echoed through the rebel camp as Evelyn walked swiftly toward Rowan's tent, the letter still clenched in her fist.
Inside, Rowan sat alone — his coat half-drenched, a pistol on the table, and maps scattered beneath a flickering lantern.
He looked up when she entered, one brow raised. "You're soaked. Couldn't sleep?"
"I found something." Her tone was flat. Controlled.
She tossed the letter onto the table. The wax seal glistened red in the lantern light.
Rowan froze. Then, slowly, he reached for it.
"Where did you get this?"
"Does it matter?" she countered. "You told me every royal contact had been cut. Yet this—this carries Edward's mark."
His jaw tightened. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" Evelyn's voice dropped. "Because someone's feeding information to the crown. And now this appears, warning me not to trust you."
The air between them thickened with tension. Rain hammered the tent roof like drums of war.
Rowan met her gaze. "You think I betrayed him?"
"I think," she said quietly, "I don't know you anymore."
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Then Rowan reached for something under the maps — and in a flash, a small, curved knife landed between them, its blade still wet from oil.
"If I wanted you dead," he said, "you wouldn't be standing here."
Evelyn didn't flinch. "Then prove it. Tell me where Edward is."
Rowan exhaled slowly, eyes dark with something unreadable.
"If he's alive, he's beyond our reach. The capital's prisons aren't made for rescue."
Her heart lurched. Alive. He hadn't denied it.
Before she could speak again, a messenger burst through the flap — soaked, breathless.
"Commander!" he gasped. "Patrols spotted royal ships moving north along the coast. They're searching for someone!"
Evelyn turned sharply toward Rowan. "He's alive," she whispered. "And they're hunting him."
Rowan nodded grimly. "Then we move at dawn."
Meanwhile – The Dungeon Beneath the Capital
Edward sat in the shadows, his wrists bleeding against iron.
From the darkness beside him came a whisper — rough, low, unmistakably human.
"You're the prince, aren't you?"
Edward turned his head. A man sat across the cell, shackled but smiling faintly.
"Name's Tobias. Been here longer than the walls remember. But I can get us out."
Edward narrowed his eyes. "Why help me?"
Tobias leaned forward, grinning through the dark. "Because you're not the first royal they've thrown down here… and the last one owed me a favor."