Early February. The Houses of Parliament hum with unrest.
The Gathering Storm
No one remembered when the murmur began — only that it spread like frost through every marble corridor.
"They've evidence against him."
"Bank records, secret accounts — old rebel money."
"And the duchess — that song, it was never innocent."
By the time Charlton arrived, the chamber was already half-filled.
Every seat gleamed under the gray daylight slanting through the tall windows.
He could feel the change in the air — a tension more elegant than violence, the kind that came before a duel where words drew blood instead of blades.
Christopher sat across the aisle, immaculate as ever.
His silver-gray cravat, the faint gleam of a signet ring, the calm composure of a man who had already written the ending.
He met Charlton's gaze briefly — and smiled.
Charlton's jaw tightened. So that's how it will be.
When the gavel struck, the air broke.
The Questioning
