Chapter 6
A persistent, gray drizzle fell over the palace courtyards, blurring the sharp lines of the wrought-iron gates and turning the cobblestones into slick, dark mirrors. A sleek, armored black limousine idled by the grand entrance, its exhaust pluming white against the damp morning air. Several palace guards stood at attention nearby, their heavy coats glistening with rain, their faces impassive as they watched Princess Cassandra emerge from the heavy glass doors. She wore a dark woolen trench coat, her long red hair pulled back tightly into a practical braid, her chin held high despite the humiliating circumstances of her departure.
King Edward watched from the second-floor window of his private study, standing half-hidden behind the heavy damask drapes. He did not go down to the courtyard to bid her farewell. Protocol, pride, and the fragile peace of the kingdom dictated distance, and Edward was a master of erecting walls when emotions threatened to overwhelm his duty. Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw her pause briefly before stepping into the vehicle, her gaze lifting once toward his window. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met across the misty courtyard—father and daughter, ruler and exile—bound by blood and torn apart by the very crown resting invisibly on their brows.
Inside the limousine, the leather interior smelled faintly of cedar and expensive upholstery, offering a stark contrast to the grim reality outside. General Vance sat opposite her, his posture rigid as the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the curb, gliding through the palace gates and out into the bustling, indifferent streets of the capital. The flashing lights of the lingering paparazzi flickered through the tinted windows like distant lightning storms, a reminder that the world outside had not forgotten the scandal. Cassandra pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the grand buildings of the city dissolve into gray suburban sprawl as they headed toward the private military airfield.
"The flight will take approximately two hours," Thomas broke the silence, his voice steady and professional. "A security detail is already stationed at the estate, but they have strict orders from the Home Office to restrict your communications. No outgoing international calls, no internet access beyond official correspondence, and all visitors must be pre-approved by the Privy Council." Cassandra turned away from the window, looking at the man who had known her since infancy. "House arrest, dressed up as a rustic retreat. Does my father really think locking me away in the Scottish mountains will erase what happened on television?"
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"Your father believes in containment above all else," Thomas replied, folding his hands over his knees. "When a fire threatens a forest, you clear a wide perimeter of dry brush so the flames have nothing left to consume. You are the brush, Cassandra. He is trying to save the dynasty." Cassandra’s eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp intensity. "A dynasty built on lies and buried secrets is not worth saving, Thomas. And if he thinks silence is what he’ll get from me in the highlands, he severely underestimates the blood running through my veins." She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the cold brass key, feeling a surge of defiant strength as the car sped toward the grey northern horizon.
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