Chapter 4

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of my solar, casting a golden glow across the polished oak table where the Security Council petitions lay spread before me. I traced my finger along the edge of Isabella's application, her flowing signature at the bottom seeming to mock me with its practiced elegance.

Six years of diplomatic training had taught me to recognize a calculated move when I saw one. The Security Council wasn't just any position—it granted access to our most sensitive intelligence, our defensive strategies, our vulnerabilities. Precisely what a spy would covet.

"I cannot approve this," I…