The Morland petition had been in Evelyn’s hands for less than five minutes when the messenger returned to Celeste’s salon.
“Delivered to General Vesper in the west corridor,” he reported. “High Alpha Blackcoast and Alpha Greyhaven were both present.”
Celeste dismissed him.
Across the table, Lady Morland pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. Her son lay in the infirmary with a broken jaw, a ruined sword hand, and a family name already being discussed in servants’ passages.
The narrow silver circlet at Celeste’s temples felt heavier than it had that morning.
“Will Albert grant it?” Lady Morland asked.
“He cannot ignore it.”
“That was not my question.”
Celeste rested one finger on her copy of the petition.
The first draft had demanded only Elias Ward’s permanent arrest. Celeste had re
