The memorandum arrived folded so neatly that, at first glance, it looked harmless.
It was waiting on Lucien's desk when he returned from a short meeting with the cultural council no seal, no crest, no identifying mark of origin. Just a single sheet of parchment placed with deliberate care, as if whoever had left it wanted to be sure he would notice.
Lucien stopped in the doorway.
"Was someone here?" he asked the attendant trailing behind him.
The man shook his head quickly. "No one besides myself, Your Highness. The room was empty when I entered."
Lucien nodded and dismissed him. The door closed softly, leaving the room quiet.
Too quiet.
He crossed the room and picked up the paper.
The handwriting was elegant. Controlled. The kind that came from someone educated, someone who had learned long ago how to make their thoughts look respectable on a page.
Lucien read the first line.
History has a way of correcting itself.
His stomach tightened.
He kept reading.
