Chapter 2

Before Charlotte closed her eyes, she noticed light still glowing from the study next door.

Edward was awake.

She rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Whether he slept or not was none of her concern.

Edward sat behind the desk in his study with the divorce papers spread open before him.

The handwriting was neat, the terms laid out with precision, and even the division of assets was accounted for in full detail.

It was not the kind of document one would expect from a sheltered noblewoman.

He picked the papers up and read through them once more, his eyes settling on the final line. [Upon dissolution of this marriage, we shall never meet again.]

Never again. Those words had been pressed into the page so hard the pen had nearly torn clean through the paper.

Edward set the papers down, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

What on earth was going on with this woman?

Charlotte woke to a knock at her door.

Isabelle's voice drifted through the woods, soft as a spring breeze and sweet as honey. "Good morning. I've come to pay my respects."

Charlotte opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above her bed for a long moment. A slow smile curved across her lips.

Right on schedule.

In her past life, that voice had always knotted her stomach with equal parts anxiety and relief. She never knew how to handle Isabelle's tender, doting act, but at least someone had come to keep her company.

Then Isabelle had spilled an entire bowl of scalding broth over her hands, leaving a trail of blisters across her skin, and wept the whole time, swearing she hadn't held the tray steady enough.

Edward blamed Charlotte for the scene and ordered her to copy the Book of Wifely Virtue for three days straight.

Charlotte sat up and dressed at an unhurried pace, then called toward the door. "Come in."

The door swung open, and Isabelle glided in carrying a silver tray, two handmaidens trailing behind her.

She wore a lavender gown today, with a white magnolia pin tucked into her hair, and she looked as delicate as a figure stepping out of a portrait.

Isabelle set the tray down with a warm smile. "My Lady, I made this broth myself, just for you, to help you build your strength."

Her voice dipped, tender and conspiratorial. "Prince Edward didn't stay the night. You must not have slept well."

On the surface, it sounded like concern. The real message was that Edward didn't want Charlotte, and Isabelle was here to remind her of it.

Charlotte took the bowl and glanced down. The broth was thick and rich, flecked with dried fruit and herbs. She had to admit, it looked good.

She offered a polite smile. "How thoughtful of you."

Isabelle stepped closer, her gaze locked on the bowl in Charlotte's hands. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

In her past life, this was the exact moment Isabelle had "accidentally" stumbled, and the entire bowl of scalding broth had gone straight onto Charlotte's hands.

Charlotte set her bowl cup down on the table and stood up, one heartbeat before Isabelle could make her move.

Isabelle's hand grabbed at nothing, her fingers frozen awkwardly in midair. "My Lady?"

"Lady Isabelle, perfect timing." Charlotte pulled a stack of papers from beneath her pillow and turned to hand them over. "I've been needing a witness. Would you mind delivering these to the Crown Court for me?"

Isabelle glanced down, and the smile on her face went rigid.

It was an inventory of wedding gifts, each line packed tight with entries. But in the margins, someone had annotated every item in red ink, listing the true price and the actual source of each.

At the very bottom lay a copy of the Rivers family's military procurement ledger from years past.

It detailed embezzled wages, substandard goods passed off as regulation issues, and counterfeits mixed in with the real thing.

Any single entry would have been enough to bury them.

The color drained from Isabelle's face. "My Lady, what is this?" Her voice came out thin and cracked.

"Evidence." Charlotte smiled with the kind of wide-eyed sweetness that could fool anyone.

"More than half the wedding gifts my mother left me were skimmed off, and the rest got swapped with fakes.

"I don't know much about these things, but I figured someone as worldly as you could take a look for me, Lady Isabelle. Do you think there's enough here to bring to the Crown Court?"

Isabelle's mind raced. The Rivers family was her lifeline, and if they went down, she'd have nothing left.

She lunged for the papers. "My Lady, listen to me. You can't—"

The door swung open from the outside.

Edward stood in the doorway with a cup still in his hand, clearly just coming from the study.

What he saw was Isabelle with her arm outstretched, and her body pitched forward, her face twisted into something ugly, like she was trying to snatch something away.

And Charlotte stood off to the side, clutching the papers to her chest, looking innocent and wronged.

"Forgive me, Your Highness." Charlotte's voice came out small, trembling at the edges. "It was wrong of me to bring these. Lady Isabelle was right. I should never have looked into any of this. I'll put them away at once."

Edward frowned. "Give them here."

Charlotte handed the papers over without a word, head bowed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

Edward took them and scanned the first page. Confusion crossed his face, then something darker settled in, and his jaw tightened until his complexion went pale with fury.

The Rivers family had been embezzling military funds.

A hundred thousand soldiers under his command had gone three months without pay the previous year. They fought on empty stomachs while he petitioned the Crown to investigate the Treasury. Every lead pointed back to the Rivers family, and then the trail went dead.

Now the evidence sat right in front of him.

Edward lifted his gaze to the woman standing before him, head still bowed, making herself as small as possible.

She was putting on a show. He could see it plainly.

The moment she handed him the papers, the corner of her mouth had curved upward, barely, for only a fraction of a second, but he caught it.

Charlotte had placed the blade directly in his hand.