Across the city, Jonas blended in among refugees at a shelter. To them, he was quiet, broken. In truth, he was an undercover agent. His dark eyes scanned every gesture, listening.
A man muttered, handing him bread: “Police don’t protect us. Gangs do.”
Jonas gave a faint smile. “I just want peace.”
But inside, he felt the city’s pulse tighten. Something was coming.
Behind the gilded doors, King Gustav met Count Håkansson. His words were low but sharp:
King Gustav: “This nation cannot bend forever. Immigration weakens us. My daughter must understand what blood means.”
Elin, listening unseen, felt her stomach twist. The king celebrated publicly as a benevolent monarch, yet in private he carried contempt for the very people she wanted to defend.
Snow muffled Stockholm. Elin stood by the palace window, her reflection fractured by frost. She was the last heiress, the sole future of the monarchy. Tonight, the burden of history felt heavier than the crown itself.
Anna entered quietly.
“You’re thinking too much again.”
Elin forced a smile. “Father says that’s weakness.”
Anna’s eyes softened. “It’s what makes you human.”