Read Chapter 15: The Turncoat

The telegraph office reeked of ink and coal smoke. Élise stood at the counter, scanning the encrypted message she’d received from Louis’s secure channel—and felt her stomach drop.

*Philippe knows a place. Meet us at the old mill outside Verneuil. He has been our eyes in the palace since the beginning.*

She read it twice. Prince Philippe. Louis’s younger brother. The spare heir, perpetually in the shadow of the man who would one day be King. Élise had never met him, but she knew the palace gossip well enough: Philippe was a dilettante, more interested in racing horses and drinking Burgundy than in affairs of state. A useful fool, the court called him.

That was the last thing Louis needed right now.

She folded the message and tucked it into her coat, stepping out into the cold Normandy afternoon. Two days had passed since the farmhouse meeting. Two days of Louis moving between shadows while she worked the periphery, feeding him what she could gather without her badge. Her suspension had made her invisible—a stroke of luck buried in the humiliation. No one watched a disgraced captain.

The old mill stood a mile outside Verneuil, its wheel long since rotted away, the building itself half-collapsed into the riverbank. Élise approached through the treeline, scanning for watchers. She saw none. That was its own kind of wrong.

Louis emerged from the mill’s doorway, his face tired but hopeful. He’d stopped dressing like a prince—plain wool coat, worn boots. He looked like a man running out of options.

“You came,” he said.

“Your message didn’t leave me much choice.” She stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Motes of dust hung in the air. “Philippe?”

“He should be here any moment.” Louis folded his arms. “He’s been sending me dispatches since the attack. Names, dates, which ministers were meeting with Duval. Without him, I wouldn’t have known half of what we uncovered.”

Élise said nothing. Something itched at the back of her skull.

“I don’t trust him,” she said flatly.

Louis’s jaw tightened. “He’s my brother.”

“And your father chose his ministers over you. Blood hasn’t protected you yet.”

A sound outside. Footsteps, careful and deliberate. Louis moved toward the doorway, and a figure slipped through—tall, fair-haired, dressed in the kind of nondescript tweed that cost more than Élise’s monthly wages. Prince Philippe. He had Louis’s build but none of his weight; everything about him seemed lighter, easier. A man who had never carried anything heavier than a wine bottle.

“Louis.” Philippe clasped his brother’s arm. “I was beginning to worry.”

“We need to keep moving,” Louis said. “Élise, this is my brother. He’s the reason I knew about Valencourt’s meetings with Duval. The reason I knew about the sell-off at all.”

Philippe’s smile was polished, practiced. “A lesser brother might have let the palace swallow the truth. But I’ve been watching them, Captain. For years. They’ve been gutting the crown from within, and no one would listen to me.” He shook his head. “No one listens to the second son.”

Élise studied him. The details Louis had shared—the dispatches, the names—had been accurate. Precise. Whoever had fed Louis his information had access to the true machinery of the palace. And Philippe, charming and dismissed by all, would have been the perfect vessel.

Too perfect.

“Tell me about the meeting in February,” she said. “The one with Duval and the Marquise.”

Philippe blinked. “I don’t—I wasn’t at that one. Louis told me about it after.”

“And the draft sale documents. Where did you see them?”

“In Valencourt’s study. I was paying a call on his daughter.” A small, self-deprecating laugh. “I was looking for a distraction, not a conspiracy. The documents were on his desk, dated and stamped.”

Élise felt the cold spread through her chest. She turned to Louis. “He said they were dated.”

Louis frowned. “You told me they were undated. Waiting for political alignment.”

“That’s what the paper trail showed,” Élise said slowly. “The shell companies, the escrow accounts—everything pointed to a closing date still to be set. If Philippe claims he saw them dated and stamped, then either he’s lying, or—” She turned back to Philippe. “Or you’re not the ally you claim to be.”

Philippe’s smile didn’t crack. “I’m telling you what I saw, Captain. Perhaps you misread the accounts.”

“I don’t misread accounts.” She took a step toward him. “The only way you’d know the documents were dated is if you were present when the date was set. Which means you’re in the room with them, Philippe. Not spying on them.”

Louis moved between them. “Élise, that’s enough. He’s my brother.”

“He’s your executioner, Louis.” Her voice was flat, dangerous. “Think. Who told you I was meeting you at the farmhouse? Who arranged your movements in Paris? Who knew the exact route the carriage would take the night you were attacked?”

Louis’s face went pale. “No. He was with me that night. He saw me.”

“He knew where you would be. He fed you information so you would trust him, and every step you took toward the truth, he was already two ahead, placing the next piece.” She turned to Philippe. “Who’s the target, Philippe? The sale is just the cover, isn’t it? You want the throne yourself, and a provisional government is the shortest path to a coronation that doesn’t require a crown.”

For a long moment, Philippe said nothing. Then his smile widened. “She’s smarter than you, Louis. You should have listened.”

A whistle from outside. Philippe moved fast, faster than Élise could react, and suddenly he was at the doorway, his hand closed around something small and silver—a pistol, drawn from his coat. He fired once, into the roof. The sound was deafening.

“They’re coming,” Philippe said, almost pleasantly. “I thought we’d have more time, but you accelerated things, Captain.” He stepped through the doorway. “Enjoy your run.”

Louis lunged—but Philippe was already gone, and the first shot from outside tore through the mill’s wooden wall, sending splinters into the air. Élise grabbed Louis’s arm and pulled him toward the rear of the mill, where the river ran fast and dark beneath the broken floorboards.

“We move now,” she hissed. “Or we don’t move at all.”

Louis’s eyes were empty, stunned. “He was my brother. He was the one person I trusted.”

Élise dragged him toward the water. “You trust me now. That’s the last thing you’ll trust until this is over.”