The storm had passed, but the world hadn't grown any kinder.
Evelyn sat by a dim oil lamp in the corner of a French tavern, ink-stained fingers trembling as she wrote. Every word felt like a heartbeat pressed into paper — fragile, desperate, alive.
Edward,
If you live, then God has not abandoned me yet. The sea could not keep us apart, though it tried. I am safe, for now. I don't know where I am, but I will find my way back. There are things you must know — about my father, about the false report that doomed him. Someone close to you forged it.
Be careful whom you trust.
—Evelyn
She sealed the letter with a trembling hand, pressing the last wax she owned into the envelope. A passing courier promised to deliver it to London with other dispatches bound for the palace.
But Evelyn never saw that courier again.
Two weeks later, inside the Duke of Kent's private study, the same envelope rested unopened upon his desk.
The Duke turned it over, smirking faintly. "So, the girl survived."
Beside him, a young officer — pale, anxious — shifted nervously. "Should I deliver it to His Highness, sir?"
The Duke broke the seal. "No. That won't be necessary."
His eyes flicked over the page, absorbing every word Evelyn had written. Then he folded the letter carefully, placed it into the fire, and watched the flames consume her handwriting.
"Love," he murmured, "is always the easiest leash."
Meanwhile, Edward spent sleepless nights unraveling documents, chasing whispers through the corridors of Parliament and the palace. Every thread of his investigation led back to the same shadow — the Duke.
Tobias warned him, "You're walking into a lion's den without a sword."
Edward replied, "Then I'll use truth as my blade."
But that night, when a messenger arrived at the palace gates claiming to carry a letter from France, Edward ran to the receiving room — only to find the courier dead in the street, his satchel missing.
The lie had already begun.
Across the sea, Evelyn stood on a cliff overlooking the water, unaware of what had become of her message. The wind whipped through her hair as she whispered, "You'll find me, Edward… won't you?"
The horizon remained silent — but the tide carried her hope forward, even as darker forces began to move beneath it.