Chapter 1

She slipped between the yew hedges, her pale gown catching the moonlight. The garden was supposed to be empty at this hour—the king had retired early, and the ladies-in-waiting believed her safely in her chambers with a headache. "And yet I am here," she said, stopping an arm's length from him. Her heart beat so fast she was certain he could hear it.

He reached for her hand, then stopped himself, letting his hand fall. "There are eyes everywhere, Anne. You know that."

"I have risked more than a walk in the dark for you before." She kept her voice steady, though her fingers trembled. She wanted to close the distance, to feel the warmth of him against the cool night air. But that was precisely what they could not do.

Thomas was back—after eighteen months abroad, after she had convinced herself that the memory of him would fade. It had not. Standing before her now, his face half-shadowed, his dark eyes holding secrets she had once known, Anne felt the same pull she had felt when they were younger, before the king's attention had turned her way.

"I found something," he said, his tone shifting. He reached into his doublet and pulled out a small, leather-bound book, its cover worn and stained. "Hidden in a cavity beneath the chapel floor. I was looking for an old document for the steward, and my hand brushed against a loose stone."

Anne's breath caught. "What is it?"

"A ledger. Payments, names. And this." He opened the book to a marked page. There, pressed between the yellowed paper, was a single black rose—dried, its petals brittle. "It was tucked inside. The rose is silk, not real. Dyed black."

She took the book, her fingers grazing his. A spark that she forced herself to ignore. She studied the rose. It was finely made, the stem twisted into a small loop as if meant to be worn or hung. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know yet. But the ledger lists payments to men who serve the king—members of the Privy Council, guards, even a priest. And there is a name. A woman's name, listed under a column marked 'removal.'" He paused. "Yours, Anne."

The garden seemed to grow quieter. The fountain's trickle faded. "Someone wants me dead?"

"Someone has already paid for it. Twice." Thomas's jaw tightened. "I had to tell you. But you must not let anyone know you have seen this. If they learn the book is missing—"

"They will search. And they will find you." Anne closed the book. Her mind raced. The king had been growing impatient for a son. Her enemies at court were many—Queen Catherine's supporters, the Spanish ambassador, even some of her own family who saw her rise as dangerous. But a conspiracy with a ledger and a black rose? This was beyond court gossip.

She looked at Thomas. His return was no accident. He had risked his life to come back to her. "Why did you bring this to me?"

"Because you are the only one I trust. And because I will not let them hurt you."

The words hung between them. Anne felt the truth in them, older than the king's attention, deeper than any political alliance. But love did not protect a woman from the block. It only made the fall longer.

"I must go," she whispered, though every part of her wanted to stay. "If I am missed—"

"I know." He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "But take this." He pressed the black rose into her palm. "Keep it hidden. It may be a clue, or a warning. But do not let anyone see it."

She nodded, folding her fingers around the silk petals. A choice was forming in her heart, one she had tried to avoid. "Thomas—"

A twig snapped beyond the hedge. They both froze. A torch flickered from the direction of the palace. A servant's voice called out, low and questioning.

"Go," Thomas breathed. "I will find you again."

Anne turned and fled down the gravel path, her skirts rustling. She did not look back. She could not afford to. The black rose burned against her palm like a secret flame. And behind her, in the dark, she heard footsteps that did not belong to the night.

Someone had been watching, after all.