His gaze drifted back to the screen, where the names of the offshore shell companies were listed in neat rows.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, drumming a frantic pattern against the stone walls of the palace.

A sudden, sharp knock sounded on the study door.

Alexander and I both froze.

“Your Highness,” a stiff voice called from the hallway. “The King requests your presence in the private chambers immediately. Her Ladyship, Rachel Carter, is already there.”

Alexander looked at me, his eyes filled with a deep, silent pain.

“It is time,” he said quietly.

I ejected the drive, pulled it from the laptop, and slipped it into the inner pocket of my navy blue tunic.

“I am coming with you,” I said.

He nodded once, his expression hardening into the mask of a prince.

We walked out of the study and down the long, dimly lit corridor of the palace, our footsteps echoing on the cold marble.

Two royal guards in full dress uniform fell in behind us, their gloved hands resting on their sidearms.

The air in the palace felt thick, charged with the tension of an impending storm.