"And this intermediary gave you no name?" Cassandra pressed. "He didn’t, by any chance, leave you with anything that might identify him?"
"No, my lady."
Cassandra studied him carefully.
She had spent enough years navigating the royal court to distinguish between a man who lied out of fear and one who spoke truth because he genuinely had nothing more to offer.
Mr. Granger belonged firmly to the latter.
He had been nothing more than a hired pen.
A convenient tool.
A disposable piece in someone else’s scheme.
He knew next to nothing. That did not absolve him of blame.
There was still something deeply unsettling about a man willing to tarnish a woman’s reputation for a handful of coins. He had accepted the assignment without questioning who stood to benefit or what consequences his words might bring.
What, then, was another person’s good name and dignity worth to him?
Apparently, not very much.
The realization was disappointing, though not altogether unexpected.
John Ravenshire had never struck her as a man foolish enough to expose himself through a trail so easily followed.
If he had indeed orchestrated the rumors—as she had believed from the very moment they first surfaced—he would have taken every precaution to ensure that several degrees of separation existed between himself and the newspaper.
Men like John preferred their hands to remain clean while others dirtied theirs on his behalf.
Rather than weakening her suspicions, Mr. Granger’s answer only strengthened them.
"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Granger."
Relief washed visibly across the writer’s face.
His shoulders, tense for what seemed like an eternity, finally loosened.
He bowed once more, offering his thanks in return, before stepping aside as Cassandra and Adrian took their leave.
Within a matter of days, the newspaper would publish its retraction.
And though the rumors that had spread so eagerly through the capital would not disappear overnight, certainty would begin to give way to doubt.
For the first time since the gossip had surfaced, Cassandra had managed to reclaim a small measure of control.
And it was only the beginning.
Adrian could barely hide his glee as they exited the building together, walking arm in arm. He looked like the cat that had eaten the cream, a grin softening his handsome features and making him appear years younger.
"How you handled them... God, you were spectacular in there." He chuckled, their close proximity making the pleasant sound reverberate warmly through her. "The man was so frightened of you he looked ready to fall to his knees. You barely needed my intervention, I daresay. You had everything well in hand."
"This is merely a single victory out of the countless we are bound to claim together in the future." Cassandra preened. She beamed up at him, looking immensely pleased with herself, his praise settling pleasantly in her chest and warming her from the inside.
It had been a long while since she had allowed herself to relish a triumph so openly, and she found the feeling surprisingly intoxicating.
"Come, let us return to the palace. This calls for a celebration." His eyes sparkled with satisfaction, clearly still amused by the spectacle they had left behind.
The road had grown noticeably quieter during the time Cassandra had spent inside the newspaper office. Earlier, the street had bustled with activity and hurried messengers weaving between pedestrians.
Now only a small handful of people remained, most making their way home.
"I am afraid I have one more stop before returning to the palace. An errand of sorts I need to attend to." She spoke casually, but realizing how incredibly vague she sounded—and knowing Adrian would never be satisfied with so little—she added, "I shall be paying a friend a visit."
Curiosity glinted in his eyes like polished gemstones.
"And who might that be? Am I acquainted with this friend of yours?"
"Perhaps. Though it is equally possible that you are not." She paused, carefully choosing her next words and weighing just how much she ought to reveal. Every answer she considered seemed capable of inviting another question.
Unfortunately, Adrian knew her far too well.
He saw straight through her hesitation, and though the smile remained on his lips, it lost much of its luster.
His steps gradually slowed until he came to a complete stop, forcing her to halt beside him.
Their carriage stood only a few feet away now, the coachman patiently holding the horses’ reins, but Adrian paid it no attention. Instead, he regarded her with an expression she recognized immediately.
Suspicion, with a touch of concern.
Both battled quietly behind his eyes as he tried to preserve his easy smile.
"Cassandra, who exactly are you going to meet after this?" he asked, abandoning subtlety altogether. It was a direct question, one that left her with precious little room to dance around the truth.
She had always possessed a politician’s gift for twisting words until they suited her purpose.
Yet for all her talents, she had never truly mastered the art of lying to Adrian’s face.
A silent battle unfolded between them, fought with nothing more than eyes. Each waited for the other to yield first.
Unlike her feud with John, however, this was not a battle she was hellbent on winning.
"Sebastian Reaver," she relented at last. "He is a watch officer, and there are several matters I wish for him to take care of."
She turned away almost immediately after admitting it, unwilling to witness the exact moment his expression changed.
But she did not need to look.
The pleased smile vanished from his face in the space of a heartbeat and his lips had flattened into a thin line, his brows drawn together in disapproval.
"A watch officer?" His gaze settled firmly on the side of her face, searching it for some explanation that would make sense. "Why would you want to enlist the services of a watch officer?"
His worry was hardly surprising.
The watch officers were covert operatives employed by the Watch Office, the kingdom’s foremost law enforcement institution, which worked alongside the Royal Secretariat to investigate Arden’s most dangerous criminals and unravel its most intricate conspiracies.
The watch officers were indispensable to Arden. They operated in the shadows, uncovering conspiracies, infiltrating criminal circles, and solving cases beyond the reach of ordinary constables. Their profession demanded deception, secrecy, and a willingness to dirty their hands in ways polite society preferred not to acknowledge.
It was dangerous work and they often found themselves walking a razor’s edge between law and lawlessness.
Their loyalty to the Crown was unquestioned. They were respected for protecting the kingdom, yet few nobles welcomed their company. One never knew what they knew—or what methods they had employed to learn it.
Respectable ladies, especially noblewomen of Cassandra’s standing, were expected to keep as far away from such people as possible.
"Retribution, Adrian." She met his gaze fully now, and the severity in the look on her face stole away any hope that she might be persuaded. Never before had he seen her eyes look quite so cold.
Something had awakened something fierce inside her.
"Someone made me a target and that scandal was merely the beginning. But I am far from an easy target, Adrian. Now it falls to me to show them the error of their ways."