The wind off the French coast tasted of iron and salt — the flavor of war that refused to die. Evelyn stood on the deck of a merchant ship bound for Dover, her shawl drawn tight against the cold. She had traded the last of her jewelry for passage, her heart carrying only hope and fear in equal measure.
Each night, she dreamt of Edward — sometimes drowning, sometimes calling her name through smoke. Other nights, she dreamt he stood in chains beneath the royal crest.
The sea had taken much from her, but this time, she refused to let it take her purpose.
In London, the Duke's whispers had already spread like fire through dry grass.
Reports circulated through the press: Prince Edward accused of conspiring against the Crown.
False testimonies, forged signatures — all arranged to stain his name.
At a tavern near the docks, Evelyn overheard sailors speaking in hushed voices.
"Poor prince," one said. "They say he plotted with the enemy to expose royal secrets. Can you imagine?"
Evelyn's cup froze midair. "What did you say?"
The man looked up. "Prince Edward. The papers say he's under investigation. Treason, they call it. Word is, the Duke himself ordered it."
Her heart dropped. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The Duke... again.
The one name that had haunted her father's fall now hunted Edward's too.
She left the tavern without another word, the rain swallowing her footsteps.
Across the Channel, Edward stood in the palace courtyard under that same rain. Soldiers in black coats lined the steps. The royal crest on their uniforms gleamed like judgment.
"By order of His Majesty's Council," the officer announced, "you are hereby confined to quarters pending investigation for subversive acts against the Crown."
Tobias started forward, but Edward raised a hand. "Let them. The truth doesn't hide behind walls."
As they escorted him inside, the Duke watched from the balcony above — silent, satisfied.
But beneath that calm, Edward's mind worked like a clock. Every tick, every heartbeat was a plan forming. He knew Evelyn was alive. And if the Duke feared her enough to silence him... then she was closer to the truth than anyone realized.
Two nights later, Evelyn's ship reached the cliffs of Dover. She stepped onto British soil for the first time in months — weary, wounded, and burning with resolve.
From across the harbor, the bells of London faintly rang through the mist.
"Hold on, Edward," she whispered. "You've carried me through storms. Now it's my turn."
She pulled her hood tight and disappeared into the fog — toward a city where love had become treason and truth the most dangerous weapon of all.