Royal Palace, Norvale - Wednesday Morning, 9:23 AM (Local Time)
Lord Marcus stood alone in his private study, staring at the tablet in his hand, watching the press conference footage for the third time. The woman on screen.....this Emily Blackwood, this supposed Princess Emily.....spoke with calm authority, presenting DNA evidence, answering questions with composure that made his blood boil.
And then.....worse than anything.....Alexander's video.
"The woman who gave a press conference in Geneva today is really Princess Emily of Norvale. My cousin. The rightful heir to Norvale's throne."
Marcus's hand tightened on the tablet until the screen cracked slightly. Three years. a year since he'd orchestrated the perfect coup. a year since he'd eliminated Frederick, Elara, and supposedly Emily. More than a year of carefully constructed legitimacy.
And now this.
A ghost. A dead princess. Rising from nothing to challenge everything he'd built.
