Snow fell steadily across the rooftops of Caerthwyn, muffling the sound of hooves and whispers. Beneath the white hush, tension threaded through the capital like pulled wire silent but ready to snap.
Rumors were spreading. Of secret meetings. Of noble houses shifting allegiance. Of Lady Evelyne Ashthorn reclaiming more than her name.
In the palace, Queen Viora sat before a wall of letters and reports, each bearing a family crest, each telling her the same thing in different ways:
The court was beginning to fracture.
And Evelyne was at the center of it all.
Evelyne read the latest note by firelight.
House Morrigan offers discreet financial support.
House Ferel vows neutrality fools.
House Elowen is ready.
It was happening faster than she'd planned. Faster than she'd dared hope.
But war real war wasn't just steel and blood.
It was a war of stories.
And hers still needed one thing.
A confession.
She left the Ashthorn estate at dawn, cloaked and veiled. Julian tried to stop her, worry etched between his brows.
"You're not untouchable," he said.
"No," she replied. "But I am necessary."
She traveled to the old cathedral ruins on the edge of the noble quarter, where the condemned once prayed before execution.
There, waiting beside broken stone and ivy-covered statues, was Duke Eldrin Vale.
The man who had pulled her into the web of court intrigue.
The man who testified against her in exchange for the Queen's favor.
He looked older now. Thinner. Eyes like tarnished silver.
"You asked for a meeting," he said. "I'm curious why I haven't been dragged here in chains."
Evelyne stepped into the light.
"Because I'm not like them. Not yet."
The duke scoffed. "Still clinging to virtue, Lady Ashthorn?"
"No," she said calmly. "But I still believe in debt."
She threw a sealed letter to the ground between them.
Eldrin picked it up. Opened it.
Inside: a list of names. Every noble who had worked with him to frame her. Dates. Places. Evidence she should not have.
"I don't need your death, Duke Vale," Evelyne said. "I need your truth."
He looked up sharply. "And if I don't give it?"
She stepped forward, her voice soft as snow.
"Then I'll expose every secret I've uncovered. I'll make you the face of treachery. Not just a man who lied but the reason an innocent woman burned."
Eldrin's hands trembled.
"And if I agree?"
"Then you'll have a chance to cleanse your name with your final breath. Redemption, Eldrin. Or ruin."
He stared at her.
And slowly, bowed his head.
"Then let me confess."
That night, Evelyne returned to the estate with the signed confession tucked in her coat.
It wasn't a weapon.
It was a crown.
Because now she had proof.
She wasn't just a victim.
She was the beginning of a reckoning.
And in the court of Caerthwyn, no lie lived forever.