The room fell into a suffocating silence.

The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long, dancing shadows on the tapestries.

“Rachel,” Alexander said, turning his head slowly toward his fiancé.

“Tell me this is a lie.”

Rachel did not look at him.

She looked at the floor, her fingers tearing at the edges of the lace.

“Emily, please,” Rachel whispered.

“You don’t understand what it was like.”

“I understand that you buried our mother alive to secure the inheritance,” I said.

“I understand that you lied to the royal family to climb the social ladder.”

King Alaric leaned forward, placing both hands flat on his desk.

“Is this true, Rachel?” the King demanded.

His voice carried the weight of an absolute ruler.

Rachel sank to her knees on the Persian rug.

Her white silk gown billowed around her like a collapsing sail.

“Our father left everything to Mother,” Rachel sobbed, her face hidden in her hands.

“If she was declared incompetent, the trust was supposed to be split between Emily and me.”

“But Emily was always gone, always at sea.”

“And the debts were piling up.”