Chapter 24
The Gun Room of Noordeinde Palace was an anachronism—a vaulted chamber of dark oak and cold steel that smelled of linseed oil and ancient, preserved violence. Casper didn’t reach for a modern rifle or a ceremonial sword. He stood before the glass case of his grandfather’s hunting collection, his hands steady, though his heart was a thundering engine of rage. He wasn't going to shoot anyone. He was a man of the earth; he knew that to kill a weed, you didn't just clip the leaves. You had to salt the ground. The heavy oak doors creaked open. Floris stood there, his face ashen, silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. He looked at the weapon in Casper’s hand—a twin-barrel break-action—and swallowed hard. "Casper, put it back," Floris whispered, his voice cracking. "The press i
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