My Bratty Wife

The heavy parchment felt cool in Ryan’s hand. He had returned to his study with Davis immediately after leaving Suzy at the picnic spot, the news of Commander Thorne’s arrival a burning coal in his mind.

He broke the seal with a flick of his thumb, his eyes scanning the neat, slightly hurried script. The very first sentence leaped out at him, stark and chilling:

There’s a spy in your household, Your Grace.

Ryan’s blood ran cold for an instant, his gaze instinctively flicking towards the closed study door, a sudden unease prickling his skin. A spy. Here, in Carleton Hall, within his own trusted circle. " I thought I killed all the spies here after Evan’s death." He thought to himself.

He read on, Thorne’s words painting a grim picture of betrayal and hidden observation.

"I have reason to believe this operative reports directly to the architect of our current troubles," the letter continued. "Their purpose is undoubtedly to monitor your movements, your investigations, and perhaps even to gauge any weaknesses that might be exploited."

Ryan paused, his mind racing. A spy. Instead of pure outrage, a different, colder thought began to form. "But that," he continued , almost to himself, though Davis stood patiently before his desk, "that will be beneficial to the plan I intend to implement. In fact, I want him to report back to his master. Let him carry the news I wish his master to hear."

Davis looked back at him, a silent question in his usually impassive eyes, a flicker of confusion at the Duke’s unexpected reaction to such dire news.

Ryan’s gaze returned to the letter, his expression now one of grim determination. Thorne’s script detailed his own precarious situation:

"The murderer, or rather, those who command him, are actively hunting me, Your Grace. I have evaded them thus far, but my time and resources are dwindling. I possess information of the utmost gravity – the identity of the prime mover behind these assassinations, the one who seeks to destabilize the entire region, and for whom Duke Charles was but an early victim. This knowledge is too perilous to commit fully to paper, even in code. Therefore, we must meet."

Ryan’s heart hammered. The identity. Thorne knew.

The letter went on: "I believe our enemy anticipates my attempt to reach you. They will be watching. Therefore, I propose a meeting where their observation can be turned to our advantage. I intend to offer myself as bait, to draw them into a place of our choosing. The old abandoned St. Jude’s Chapel ruins, east of the city walls, beyond the old toll gate. At midnight, tomorrow. Come with only your most trusted men, or come alone if you deem the risk to others too great. The choice, and the peril, are yours. Be wary, Your Grace. The viper is coiled close." The letter was signed simply, "Thorne."