His dark lashes stuck to his cheeks. A scrape above his eyebrow. A silver bracelet, yes. But there had been something else.
I searched the memory carefully.
Not as a soldier. As a witness.
“He spoke,” I said suddenly.
Everyone leaned forward.
“He was barely conscious, but he said something.”
The king’s breath caught. “What?”
I pressed my fingers to my temple.
The memory flickered like a damaged film.
A boy shivering against me.
My arm under his knees.
His tiny hand gripping my sleeve.
“He said… ‘Mila.’”
Alexander went still.
“Mila?” I asked.
The king shut his eyes.
“That was his mother’s nickname. Amalia was called Mila by the family.”
A heaviness entered the room.
I swallowed.
“He kept saying it. Then he said something else. I thought it was just shock.”
“What?” Alexander asked.
I looked at him.
“He said, ‘The man took my star.’”
Lady Maren frowned.
“His star?”
The king’s face changed so sharply that I knew before he spoke that the words mattered.
“Nikolai wore a small gold star pendant,” he said. “A christening gift from his grandmother. It was never found.”
Alexander moved toward the table. “The man took it?”
“That’s what he said,” I replied.
The king turned to one of his officials. “Find every person who had access to the evacuation route and field hospitals. Every contractor, medic, volunteer, driver, liaison.”
The official bowed and left immediately.
The king faced me again.
“Commander, I cannot ask more of you. You have already given my family more than we deserved.”
But I was no longer thinking only of his family.
I was thinking of a frightened little boy who had called for his mother in the rain.
I was thinking of sealed files, altered records, a stolen pendant, and years of silence.
And I was thinking of Rachel.
Because Rachel had worked with the Helena Foundation. She had been around the people who managed old records. She had been close enough to lie about me.
Had she stumbled onto something else?
The thought was unbearable.
“Does Rachel know about Nikolai?” I asked.
The king’s eyes narrowed.
“We do not know.”
Alexander looked toward the chapel corridor. His face tightened.
“I’ll ask her.”
“No,” the king said.
Alexander stopped.
“Not as her almost-husband,” the king continued. “Not today. You are too wounded to hear clearly.”
Alexander flinched, but he did not argue.
I surprised myself by speaking.
“I’ll ask her.”
Every eye turned to me.
Lady Maren shook her head. “Commander, after what she did—”
“She’s my sister,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I forgive her. It means I know when she’s lying.”
The king studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
Rachel was not in a bridal suite.
She was in a small sitting room guarded by two palace officers, her enormous gown spread around her like wreckage after a storm. Her veil was gone. Her makeup had run in dark lines beneath her eyes. Without the diamonds, cameras, and rehearsed smile, she looked younger.
Almost like the sister I remembered.
When I entered, she stood too quickly.
“Emily.”
I closed the door behind me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “Do you hate me?”
I looked at her.
The honest answer was complicated enough to hurt.
“I don’t know what I feel.”
She nodded, tears spilling again.
“I deserve that.”
I did not come to comfort her, but the old instinct tugged at me anyway. I pushed it down.
“Rachel, I need you to answer something carefully.”
Her face changed.
Fear returned.
“What?”
“Did you know about Prince Nikolai?”
She went perfectly still.
That was the answer before she said anything.
My stomach dropped.
“What do you know?”
Rachel backed away. “Emily, I didn’t know who he was.”
“Who?”
She covered her mouth.
The word had slipped out.
I stepped closer. “Rachel.”
She shook her head. “I found a file.”
“What file?”
“At the foundation. Last year. It wasn’t supposed to be there. Old hospital transfers. Adoption references. A photo of a bracelet. I didn’t understand at first.”
My voice turned cold.
“And then?”
“Then someone told me to forget it.”
“Who?”
Rachel’s eyes filled with terror.
“Lord Voss.”
The name meant nothing to me, but the way Lady Maren reacted when I later repeated it would.
Rachel gripped the edge of a table.
“He said it was a tragic mistake. That reopening it would destroy the king. That the boy was dead and people were using false records to extort the palace.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“You mean you wanted your wedding more than you wanted the truth.”
She flinched as if I had slapped her.
“Emily—”
“No. Tell me everything.”
