James stepped into Sterling's hospital room. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, and monitors blinked quietly beside the bed.
"Sterling, how are you holding up?"
Sterling shifted against his pillows, wincing. "The glass tore through a muscle. Recovery's been hell. I'm surprised to see you."
"I had to come anyway. I've got an appointment with the radiologist."
Sterling's expression hardened. "Why? Are you sick?"
James sighed. "Persistent cough. My doctor wants to check my lungs. I'm sure it's nothing."
Sterling didn't flinch. "James, I'm worried it's serious. Could be the smoking."
"Sterling, I've been smoking cigarettes since I was fifteen. I'm too old to quit now."
Sterling reached for his water glass, his hand trembling. "And now I hear you're reinstating the draft?"
James pulled up a chair. "I didn't want to. But Governor Richard Scott turned Ossory against the Intermarium—twisting minds, rewriting history. Now he's declaring himself ruler."
"That's madness," Sterling said. "Doesn't he care how this fractures the alliance?"
"Richard's always been ambitious." James's gaze drifted. "I thought giving him that post would stabilize the border. I was wrong."
Sterling set down his glass with deliberate care. "Speaking of wrong—what about the accusations that someone in the royal family's been siphoning funds from the treasury?"
James blinked. "Treasury transactions are locked down. Those are just rumours Richard's spreading."
"Is Lolita still handling your schedule?"
James hesitated. "Yes. Why?"
"She still has access to your secure line?"
"She coordinates diplomatic events, vendor payments, receptions…" His voice trailed off as realization crept in.
"At the diplomat's ball last month," Sterling said casually, "she wore new Auris de Jayland gowns. Said she had five."
James didn't respond.
"Fifty thousand credits each. That's a quarter million on fashion alone."
James looked away, jaw tightening. "She said they were gifts. From allies."
"Maybe." Sterling's voice dropped. "But if someone wanted to undermine you, planting evidence of embezzlement would be clean. Stir up the provinces. Make it look like you're hoarding wealth while the borders burn."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the steady beeping of monitors.
"Of course," Sterling added quietly, "if the funds are actually gone… maybe it's not just politics."
James's hands clenched. "Lolita wouldn't betray me."
Sterling's gaze didn't waver. "Then explain the encrypted transfer I traced to her account. Dated the night of the ball. Routed through an Ossory bank."
James's eyes snapped to Sterling's face, his own draining of color. The monitors continued their relentless rhythm—each beep hammering against the crumbling foundation of his trust.