The groom attacked a waitress over the diamond on her finger—but when an eight-year-old boy revealed where the ring had come from, the entire royal banquet descended into chaos.

Mara’s breath shortened with every step.

Water roared somewhere below, each crash against stone striking her chest like memory trying to break through bone. Noah clutched her hand. Arabella moved behind them, pistol raised, though the passage was too narrow to aim properly. Silas led with the lantern, calm as a funeral bell.

The walls grew wet.

The air turned salty.

Mara began shaking.

Noah noticed.

“Mama?”

“I’m here.”

But part of her wasn’t.

Part of her was eight years in the past, stumbling through storm and blood, carrying a newborn wrapped in blue cloth while Tristan’s men searched the upper floors. Hester had taken the baby. Silas had opened a passage. Someone shouted behind her. A gun fired. She ran toward the sea because every other exit had been closed.

Then hands grabbed her.

Tristan’s voice in her ear.

If I cannot own Marrow, no one will.

She remembered falling.

Not into water first.

Onto rocks.

Pain exploding behind her ear.

Then cold.

Endless cold.

Mara stumbled.

Noah caught her with both hands.

“You don’t have to remember now,” he said.

She looked at him.

He sounded like a child repeating words once said to him in the dark.

“Who told you that?”

“Hester. When nightmares came.”

Mara forced herself to breathe.

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest.”

They reached a wider chamber where the tunnel split in three directions. The sound of water came from the left. Wind from the right. Silence from the middle.

Silas stopped.

“That’s new.”

Arabella frowned. “What is?”

He pointed to fresh boot marks in the mud.

Someone had been there recently.

Mara’s stomach tightened.

“Vale?”

Silas crouched. “Not soldiers. One person. Small feet.”

Noah whispered, “A woman?”

Before anyone answered, a voice came from the silent tunnel.

“I wondered when the dead girl would come home.”

Arabella raised the pistol.

“Show yourself.”

A lantern flared in the darkness.

A woman stepped into view.

She was perhaps forty-five, tall and elegant even in a travel cloak, with blonde hair pinned beneath a hood and eyes sharp enough to cut silk. Mara recognized her from the miniature portrait.

Seraphina.

Arabella inhaled.

“You.”

The woman smiled. “Your Highness. Still dramatic, I see.”

“You were my mother’s lady-in-waiting.”

“And your mother was always terrible at choosing loyal women.”

Silas moved slightly in front of Mara.

Seraphina noticed and laughed.

“Still playing guard dog, Mr. Crowe?”

“You should have stayed gone,” Silas said.

“I did. For eight years. Then Tristan became reckless.”

Mara stepped forward. “You helped him.”

Seraphina’s gaze moved over her face.

“So it’s true. You lived.”

“No thanks to you.”

“No,” Seraphina agreed. “Thanks to bad weather and poor aim.”

Noah’s hand tightened in Mara’s.

Seraphina looked down at him.

“And there is the little fortune himself.”

Arabella cocked the pistol.

“Speak carefully.”

Seraphina looked amused. “You won’t shoot me.”

“Many people believed that about me yesterday.”

The smile faded slightly.

Mara said, “Why are you here?”

“To offer a trade.”

“I don’t trade with women who helped bury maids.”

Seraphina’s eyes hardened.

“Clara Finch was already dead when I arrived.”

Silas snapped, “Liar.”

“She was,” Seraphina said. “But Tristan killed her, not me.”

Mara felt cold. “And that excuses you?”

“No. But it clarifies my bargaining position.”

Arabella looked disgusted. “You speak of murder like accounting.”

“Because men like Tristan taught me that feelings are expensive and records are useful.”

Seraphina reached into her cloak.

Arabella aimed.

Slowly, Seraphina withdrew a bundle of letters tied with red thread.

“Tristan kept copies of everything except what could hang him fastest. I kept those.”

Mara stared at the letters.

“Why?”

“Insurance.”

“Against him?”

“Against everyone.”

The cave shook as a distant explosion boomed above.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Arabella looked upward. “What was that?”

Silas’s face darkened. “They’ve breached the west wing.”

Seraphina glanced toward the water tunnel.

“Then decide quickly. I know a boat path out. You need the ledgers safe. I need royal protection.”

“No,” Arabella said immediately.

Seraphina smiled. “Then enjoy dying nobly in a cave.”

Mara studied her.

“What do your letters prove?”

Seraphina’s expression changed.

For the first time, something like fear crossed her face.

“That Tristan did not plan this alone.”

Silas went still.

Mara’s pulse slowed.

“Who else?”

Seraphina looked at Arabella.

“Your uncle.”

Arabella froze.

“My uncle died five years ago.”

“No, Your Highness,” Seraphina said softly. “Prince Corvin did not die. He has been funding Tristan from exile.”

The cave seemed to shrink.

Prince Corvin had been the king’s younger brother, disgraced after attempting to seize influence over the northern armies. Officially, he had died of fever abroad.

Apparently, another royal funeral had been a lie.

Noah looked up at Mara.

“How many dead people are alive in this family?”

No one answered.

Another boom shook the tunnel.

Shouts echoed behind them.

The soldiers had entered the passage.

Silas drew a pistol from beneath his coat.

“We move.”

Mara looked at Seraphina.

“You get protection only if every letter is real.”

“They are.”