The study room at Kensington Palace, candlelight flickering beside the fireplace, the flames licking at the logs.
Conroy stood in the center of the room, one hand clutching the back of the armchair, the other holding a letter that had been opened and refolded.
The edges of the paper were slightly crumpled, as if it had been forcefully crumpled.
He had read this letter three times.
Every word, every sentence, every paragraph conveyed a sense of calm and decisiveness. No matter how he analyzed it, he couldn't find any hint of concession in this letter.
The familiar handwriting on the letter was evidently Leisen's, but the signature was unmistakably—Alexandrina Victoria.
Conroy could feel the blood in his knuckles slightly throbbing, as if it were about to break through the veins with his next breath.
"Refusal." He slowly uttered the word, his voice devoid of any fluctuation: "Refusal…"
The servant standing by the fireplace dared not speak, bowed his head, and quietly retreated.
