Catalina’s hands shook as she walked down the long hallway, the photo still on her phone like a live flame. Proof. Finally, something solid. But proof meant nothing if she couldn’t get it to the right person at the right time. Isabella was cunning, and Frederick still didn’t trust her enough to listen. One wrong move, and she’d be thrown out before she could even speak.

She turned into the servants’ corridor, her heart still racing. The air felt heavy with the scent of furniture polish and tension. She wanted to find Calvin, to tell him what she had seen, but the staff were already moving quickly, setting up the...