Chapter 106

When the picnic finally drew to a close and they prepared to go their separate ways, Cassandra privately congratulated herself on having survived the afternoon in Hester’s company with her dignity intact and, more importantly, without losing her temper even once.

It wasn’t easy.

After exchanging her farewells with Georgiana, Constance, and the others, she climbed into her carriage and settled into the seat, grateful for the privacy at last. The door closed, shutting out the rest of the world.

She was furious, so much so that she wished she could go back and wring Hester’s pale neck.

Cassandra was furious with John for coming at that woman’s behest, and even more so for using one of the worst experiences of her life to taunt and torment her.

Yet beneath all that anger lay a deeper frustration, one directed entirely at herself. She could not forgive herself for the fear that had taken hold of her when he came too close, or for the helplessness that had swept over her and left her feeling utterly weak.

She had barely been able to think while John cornered her and took control of the situation.

The memory stung. She tried to remind herself that anyone might have reacted similarly when confronted by the man who hurt and tormented them for years.

Fear did not make her weak; it was an instinctive response to danger. John was dangerous, he had proven that repeatedly. But no matter how many times she told herself that, it did little to appease her.

The carriage rolled steadily toward the capital, its wheels rattling over the road while sunlight slipped through the curtains in shifting bands.

Cassandra leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the solitude do what it could for her. She used the journey back to the palace to clear her head.

She had escaped him once.

Yet their conversation continued to trouble her.

John knew about Whitmore. But how and to what degree? Was he just like Mattias Holstoke, another one of Whitmore’s friends?

The possibility was deeply troubling.

By the time the carriage neared the palace, Cassandra had managed to temper some of her anger. She turned her attention to the view beyond the window, her gaze settling on the large architectural structure that jutted into the sky. That was when she noticed the rider waiting astride his horse.

He stood some distance ahead, his attention fixed upon the approaching carriage with an intensity that made it seem like he could see straight through its walls and directly to the passenger inside. Cassandra watched him as the carriage drew nearer, recognizing him instantly.

He was the intermediary she appointed to maintain a line of communication between herself and Ruth while the woman continued her role as a spy within the Ashford household.

If he was here it meant there was something from Ruth.

She sat up straighter, hoping this time it would be the solid proof she needed for her plan, something she could use to ruin her horrible family once and for all.

"Stop the carriage." She ordered, banging on the roof to get the coachman’s attention.

Seconds later, the carriage slowed to a halt.

As expected, the rider turned his horse and came toward the carriage. When he reached her window, he leaned down and passed a leather portfolio through the opening. It was tied securely with twine, the papers inside evidently substantial enough to require something more than a loose bundle.

"You should read these carefully, my lady," he said quietly. "There is much here."

Cassandra took the portfolio.

"Thank you." She muttered.

The intermediary inclined his head, turned his horse, and rode away without lingering.

Cassandra watched him disappear before looking down at the portfolio in her hands.

She was tempted to open it. Instead, she placed it down beside her.

Whatever Ruth found, Cassandra wanted to examine it properly, preferably in the solitude of her chambers. She did not want to skim through documents while sitting in a moving carriage, her thoughts already scattered by everything that had happened that afternoon. If there was evidence in those pages, she needed a clear head to understand it completely and come up with a way forward.

With a flick of the reins, the carriage was off another.

Cassandra had barely taken a few steps toward her chambers after entering the palace when a servant approached.

"My lady, His Royal Highness asked that I bring you to him as soon as you returned. He is waiting for you in his private study."

This was hardly the first time she had been summoned to his study. Theodore likely had something of a sensitive nature to discuss, something he would rather not risk being overheard.

Cassandra looked down at the portfolio still in her hand. She intended to take it upstairs and examine it in private.

Instead, she turned toward the Prince Consort’s private study.

The moment she entered the room, she knew something was wrong.

Theodore was seated behind his desk, but he looked nothing like the calm and composed man she knew. His eyes were bloodshot. His dark circles were even more pronounced from several nights of poor sleep.

His hair was tousled by the repeated passage of his fingers through it, and several papers lay scattered across the desk rather than arranged in the neat stacks he ordinarily preferred.

He looked tired.

More than tired. He looked troubled.

He had been rather scarce of late, and Cassandra hadn’t seen him in several days. She hadn’t thought much of his absence, assuming he was simply occupied.

Since the queen fell ill, Theodore had been stretched thin, doing everything he could to care for his wife and taking on many of the duties she was no longer able to manage.

He had been pushing himself to his limits, and even now, he showed no signs of slowing down.

Cassandra closed the door behind her.

"Your Highness." She curtsied.

"Come in. Sit down." Theodore said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. His raised, jagged scar stood out starkly against the rest of his otherwise unblemished skin.

She obeyed, settling into the seat while still holding the leather portfolio against her lap. They gazes met and she got a glimpse of the fathomless torment churning in his dark eyes.