Chapter 2

Lilian recovered first, her voice slicing through the silence. "That's enough. Isabelle has suffered out there while you lived in silk and satin. Now that she's finally home—"

"Suffered?" I let out a laugh. "You live in the property on Osman Lane in the south quarter, with a private courtyard, two maids, and a housekeeper.

"The Hawthorne accountant delivers twenty silver coins on the fifth of every month. If that's suffering, I wouldn't mind a taste myself."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Mike shot to his feet. "How could you possibly know that?"

How did I know? My nanny, the woman they called a thief, a schemer who swapped babies for gold, held my hand on her deathbed and told me everything.

She told me about the night I was born. About Lilian pressing fifty gold coins into her palm, whispering instructions. "Swap the children. Keep Isabelle safe. When the time is right, I'll bring her home."

She told me about watching Lady Hawthorne cradle me in her arms, sing lullabies, and weep with joy. About the moment she realized she couldn't take me away from that.

"I went to see Isabelle," she gasped, tears streaming down her face. "Lilian was raising her well. I thought... I thought maybe this way, both girls could be happy."

Both girls could be happy. Except some people had other plans.

"The question you should be asking, Lord Hawthorne," I said quietly, "isn't how I know. It's why Lilian chose now, with the Crown Prince's bride selection about to begin, to bring Isabelle home."

Isabelle flinched. Her tears kept falling.

"Because only a trueborn daughter can enter the selection," Edward said roughly. "Charlotte, can't you understand? Isabelle just wants a chance. She's had nothing all these years—"

"Nothing?" I turned to face him. "She had a private courtyard and a monthly allowance. Now she even wants to take my life away."

"She didn't take anything from you!" Edward's voice cracked. "This IS her life, Charlotte. Her birthright. Do you have to be so cruel?"

He said I was cruel. I looked at his reddened eyes and felt powerless.

Sixteen years. I'd copied his schoolwork when he was too tired. Brewed him broth when he caught a cold. Gave him ginger tea when his father made him stand for hours.

He said, "You're the only one who understands me, Charlotte. I'll never love anyone but you."

And now he stood there, calling me cruel.

"You're right." I nodded slowly. "I'm being cruel."

I reached for my purse. Three gold bars fell into my palm, and I placed them on the table between us.

I said, "This is everything I saved. It is worth three hundred gold coins, more or less. Not enough for sixteen years of food and shelter, but with what I'm wearing, it should be enough."

I pulled the gold pin from my hair and laid it beside the gold bars. Unclasped my earrings, my bracelet, my necklace. They were all gifts from the Hawthornes.

I straightened my plain white dress and let my hair fall loose down my back.

Edward looked away.

Elinor finally broke down, sobbing, "Charlotte... my Charlotte..."

I dipped into a curtsy. "Take care of yourself, my lady. And thank you. For everything."

I was halfway to the door when Mike's voice followed me. "There's a cottage outside the city. You can stay there until we sort this out."

"That won't be necessary," I said, walking out the door. The early spring air hit me like a wall. The wind cut through my thin dress as I walked down the path.

Behind me, Isabelle's voice, small and pleading: "Charlotte. Please wait."

I didn't turn around.

The gates closed behind me with a hollow thud.

*****

My cottage sat in the south quarter, tucked down a narrow lane. My nanny had left it to me. It was a small place, old and a little wild, with weeds sprouting between the stones. But it was clean and solid.

In the west room, a dozen trunks waited. My maid had smuggled them out the day before, piece by piece. Nothing the Hawthornes had given me. These were mine.

There were paintings, embroidery, and a few things better left unmentioned.

Like the collection of ancient books. The box of pearls.

And buried at the very bottom of the largest chest, wrapped in cloth, was a signet ring. It was etched with vines, and in the very center was a single name: Alex.

I ran my fingers over the cold metal, and my mind drifted back to that stormy night seven years ago.

I was nine, trailing after Lady Hawthorne at the Sanctuary Church, bored out of my mind.

I'd slipped away to the hills behind the church, chasing butterflies or something equally foolish.

I found a young man slumped against a boulder, soaked in blood. His sword lay broken in two pieces on the ground, but his eyes were sharp as glass, watching me the moment I stepped into view.

"Hey, you there." His voice was rough, but steady. "Do me a favor." He tossed me the ring. "Find Father Angelo. Tell him Alex has been attacked."

I stood there, clutching the ring, staring at the blood spreading across his chest.

"Well?" He arched his brow, blood running down his face. "Not scared, are you?"

"That's a lot of blood," I said.

He laughed once, then coughed, wincing. "Not enough to kill me. Go on. Hurry."

I turned to run, then stopped, dug into my purse, and pulled out a small tin of salve. I'd started carrying it for Edward, who was always bruising himself during training.

"Here," I offered.

The young man blinked, caught off guard.