The morning after the memorial, London awoke beneath a gray sky.
The streets were damp from last night's rain, the air heavy with the scent of wet stone and smoke. The city still bore the scars of war — crumbling walls, boarded windows, and silence where laughter used to live.
Evelyn Hartley walked through it all with her head high and her heart trembling. She hadn't slept. The prince's words from the memorial still echoed in her mind:
"There are things you deserve to know."
She had tried to forget, to dismiss him as just another polished voice from a gilded cage. But something in his tone — weary, almost human — refused to leave her.
At the small boardinghouse she called home, a knock came just as she was pouring tea.
A young footman stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone, holding a letter sealed with the royal crest.
Her Majesty's Palace of St. James
To Miss Evelyn Hartley,
By order of His Royal Highness, Prince Edward Lancaster, you are requested to attend a private meeting at noon tomorrow, regarding matters of military record and family honor.
Transportation shall be provided.
Her fingers trembled as she lowered the letter.
"Matters of military record…" The words burned like a promise and a threat.
Noon came too quickly.
The carriage that arrived at her door gleamed black and gold, drawn by two white horses. The driver wore the Lancaster crest, and the people on the street stopped to stare. Evelyn's cheeks flushed as she climbed in, clutching her father's locket — the only piece of him she still possessed.
The city blurred past, and soon the spires and chimneys gave way to the clean avenues of the royal district.
When the palace gates opened, Evelyn's breath caught.
It was more beautiful than she imagined — and more suffocating. Marble courtyards stretched endlessly, soldiers lined the paths, and the flag of the crown fluttered high above her head like a silent challenge.
She was led through gilded corridors filled with portraits of past kings. Their painted eyes followed her, cold and unyielding.
When the doors to the prince's study opened, she found him standing by the window — no guards, no attendants, just a man in uniform staring out at a world he didn't seem to belong to.
"Miss Hartley," he said, turning as the door closed behind her. His voice was calm, but softer than before. "You came."
Evelyn straightened. "I'm not in the habit of ignoring royal commands, Your Highness."
A flicker of a smile touched his lips — brief, almost sad. "Then let's not waste the formality. You're here because your father's records were sealed after his death."
Her breath caught. "You knew?"
"I suspected," Edward said, walking toward his desk. "Your father… was a man my father respected. Until the end."
"Until he was betrayed," she corrected sharply. "By your government. By your crown."
He met her gaze, gray eyes unwavering. "Perhaps. That's what I want to find out."
Evelyn's anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "You?"
Edward nodded. "There are files you will never reach alone. But I can. If you help me."
"Help you?"
"To uncover what happened — and why." He paused, lowering his voice. "The truth isn't what it seems, Miss Hartley. It rarely is."
For a long moment, silence filled the room.
Outside, the wind stirred the curtains, carrying the faint sound of distant bells. Evelyn's heart pounded against her ribs.
She wanted to hate him — this prince with his polished manners and haunted eyes — but something about the way he spoke made her chest ache.
"Why?" she asked finally. "Why would you risk your reputation to help me?"
Edward looked at her for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper.
"Because I am tired of being the crown's silence."
The words hung between them like a confession.
For the first time, Evelyn saw not a prince — but a man.
Outside, rain began to fall again, soft against the windows.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
And in that quiet, the first fragile thread of trust — or perhaps fate — was spun between their hearts.