Morning came pale and brittle.
The rain had stopped, but the sky hung low and gray — the kind of gray that made Windsor look carved from ash.
The city was already awake.
From the steps of Parliament to the cafés along Eastbridge, the air hummed with rumor.
The fall of Christopher Cross, Minister of Justice, had become both spectacle and warning — a reminder that no man, not even a Duke's heir, was untouchable.
--
In the small sitting room of Emily's townhouse, the newspapers were stacked like accusations.
Serena sat at the table, her coffee untouched.
Across the front page, the headline burned:
"THE CROSS LEGACY SHATTERED — MINISTER FALLS UNDER CHARGES OF TREASON AND CORRUPTION."
Beneath the bold letters, a sketch of Christopher — composed, proud, defiant even in disgrace — stared back at her.
