“The federal authorities have cleared the outer gate,” the King said.

He slowly set the red receiver back onto its cradle.

His hand remained on the phone for a moment, his knuckles pale against the plastic.

“They have the Swiss warrants,” I said.

My voice sounded steady, carrying the flat cadence of a military briefing.

King Alaric looked at me, his eyes dark with a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

“They are accompanied by your federal agents, Commander Carter,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied. “The Department of Justice has been tracking the offshore transfers for forty-eight hours.”

On the floor, Rachel let out a low, ragged sob.

She reached out, her fingers catching the hem of Alexander’s trousers.

“Alexander, please,” she whispered. “Tell them it’s a mistake.”

The Prince did not move.

He stood by the rain-streaked window, his shoulder blades tense under his formal jacket.

He did not look down at her.

“The mistake was mine,” Alexander said, his voice barely audible over the wind outside.

“I believed the story you built.”

The heavy oak doors of the private chamber clicked.