I slipped inside, leaning my back against the wood to catch my breath.

The silence of the palace interior was deafening after the wind outside.

My hands were covered in dark garden soil, and my silk trousers were ruined.

I pulled the silver drive from my pocket and wiped the mud from its connector.

I needed a terminal.

I knew Alexander’s private study had an unmonitored satellite uplink he used for state council business.

I made my way through the dim service corridors, avoiding the main galleries where the wedding guests were still being detained.

The air in the hallways smelled of stale candle wax and old tapestries.

I reached the door of the study and slipped inside without knocking.

Prince Alexander was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, his wedding coat discarded on a chair.

He looked up as the door clicked shut.

His face was pale, his eyes rimmed with red.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, pointing to a small scrape on my cheek.

“It’s just dirt,” I said, walking to the desk. “I have the drive.”