He nodded to Lady Maren.

She opened the leather folder again, but her hands shook.

“The night of the flood,” she said, “our convoy was separated. Prince Stefan and Princess Amalia were traveling with their son, Nikolai. Their vehicle was swept off a lower road. Rescue teams found wreckage later. Stefan and Amalia were confirmed dead.”

Her voice cracked, but she continued.

“Nikolai’s body was never recovered.”

Alexander looked away.

This was not politics to him. This was family.

Lady Maren turned a page.

“During the evacuation, you brought in a young boy with severe exposure. No identification beyond a damaged silver bracelet. The field hospital was overwhelmed. Roads were cut off. Patients were moved across multiple sites.”

I remembered carrying him.

He had been so small. Too still. His fingers curled around my jacket like he was holding on from somewhere far away.

“I asked about him afterward,” I said. “They told me he was transferred.”

“He was,” Lady Maren said. “But records later listed him under the wrong nationality and wrong name. A clerical error became a legal mistake. Then the hospital wing was evacuated again after structural damage.”

The king’s jaw tightened.

“For years, we believed every lead had failed.”

“What changed?” I asked.

Alexander answered.

“A bracelet.”

Lady Maren placed a photo on the table.

A small silver bracelet lay on a blue cloth, dented and scratched. Inside the curve, barely visible, were engraved initials.

N.S.A.

Nikolai Stefan Arven.

The missing prince.

My chest tightened.

“Where is he now?”

The room went dangerously quiet.

The king looked at the photograph, not me.

“That is what we do not yet know.”

I stared at him. “But you said he lived.”

“We believe he did,” Lady Maren said. “The bracelet was recovered from a private children’s home in Portugal that closed last year. Records show a boy matching Nikolai’s age was placed there under the name Nico Santos. He was later adopted.”

“By whom?”

“We don’t know,” Alexander said. “The adoption files were sealed, then illegally altered.”

A strange chill moved across my shoulders.

“Illegally?”

The king’s eyes hardened.

“Someone hid him.”

The silence after that felt alive.

I thought of Rachel, of lies layered neatly beneath flowers and diamonds. But this was bigger than her. Bigger than jealousy. Bigger than a wedding.

A missing heir had survived.

And someone had made sure he stayed missing.

“Why bring me here?” I asked.

Lady Maren looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Because you are the last verified person who held him before he disappeared into the medical system. You may remember something no record preserved.”

I closed my eyes.

Rain.

Screams.

Muddy water.

A child’s face.

His dark lashes stuck to his cheeks. A scrape above his eyebrow. A silver bracelet, yes. But there had been something else.

I searched the memory carefully.

Not as a soldier. As a witness.

“He spoke,” I said suddenly.

Everyone leaned forward.

“He was barely conscious, but he said something.”

The king’s breath caught. “What?”

I pressed my fingers to my temple.

The memory flickered like a damaged film.

A boy shivering against me.

My arm under his knees.

His tiny hand gripping my sleeve.

“He said… ‘Mila.’”

Alexander went still.

“Mila?” I asked.

The king shut his eyes.

“That was his mother’s nickname. Amalia was called Mila by the family.”

A heaviness entered the room.

I swallowed.

“He kept saying it. Then he said something else. I thought it was just shock.”

“What?” Alexander asked.

I looked at him.

“He said, ‘The man took my star.’”

Lady Maren frowned.

“His star?”

The king’s face changed so sharply that I knew before he spoke that the words mattered.

“Nikolai wore a small gold star pendant,” he said. “A christening gift from his grandmother. It was never found.”

Alexander moved toward the table. “The man took it?”

“That’s what he said,” I replied.

The king turned to one of his officials. “Find every person who had access to the evacuation route and field hospitals. Every contractor, medic, volunteer, driver, liaison.”

The official bowed and left immediately.

The king faced me again.

“Commander, I cannot ask more of you. You have already given my family more than we deserved.”

But I was no longer thinking only of his family.

I was thinking of a frightened little boy who had called for his mother in the rain.

I was thinking of sealed files, altered records, a stolen pendant, and years of silence.

And I was thinking of Rachel.

Because Rachel had worked with the Helena Foundation. She had been around the people who managed old records. She had been close enough to lie about me.

Had she stumbled onto something else?

The thought was unbearable.

“Does Rachel know about Nikolai?” I asked.

The king’s eyes narrowed.

“We do not know.”

Alexander looked toward the chapel corridor. His face tightened.

“I’ll ask her.”

“No,” the king said.

Alexander stopped.

“Not as her almost-husband,” the king continued. “Not today. You are too wounded to hear clearly.”

Alexander flinched, but he did not argue.

I surprised myself by speaking.

“I’ll ask her.”

Every eye turned to me.

Lady Maren shook her head. “Commander, after what she did—”

“She’s my sister,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I forgive her. It means I know when she’s lying.”

The king studied me for a long moment.

Then he nodded.