Part 2: The baby screamed until the palace waitress held him, but when he pulled her locket to reveal the dead princess's face, the entire royal wedding plunged into pure terror.

The heavy oak doors of the nursery rattled as the palace alarm blared in sharp, terrifying pulses.

Julian immediately drew a compact sidearm from his coat, while Alexander positioned himself directly in front of the chair where I sat with Oliver.

The internal comms speaker crackled to life on the wall: *"Code Black! All units to the West Wing! Duke Sterling’s private loyalist militia has breached the south armory! They have severed main power grid three!"*

"He’s not giving up without a bloodbath," Julian hissed, cocking his weapon. "Sterling has enough private contractors on the palace payroll to stage an armed breakout."

"He wants the documents," Margaret gasped, clutching her bag to her chest. "The original birth register. If he destroys the physical register before Parliament convenes at sunrise, he can claim the video was a foreign cyber-attack!"

"He won't touch it," Alexander said, his voice turning to pure ice.

He reached into a decorative mahogany panel beside the fireplace, revealing a hidden weapons compartment. He pulled out a combat-grade tactical rifle, loading a magazine with effortless, terrifying precision.

The regal, restrained prince was gone; standing before me was a military commander who had served two tours in the desert.

"Clara," Alexander said, turning his piercing gaze upon me. "Take Oliver and follow the emergency shaft behind the wardrobe. Margaret, you go with them. It leads directly to the royal bunker under the Thames."

"I’m not leaving you," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Alexander paused. For a split second, something fiercely tender flickered in his eyes. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my jawline.

"You just got here, Princess," he murmured, his voice rich and steady. "I’m not letting anything happen to you. Keep my son safe. That is your only mission."

Before I could argue, the exterior nursery doors groaned under a violent impact.

"Move! Now!" Julian shouted, wrenching open the heavy wardrobe and pressing a concealed lever. The false back of the closet swung open into a dimly lit, reinforced concrete tunnel.

Margaret pulled me by the elbow. I clutched Oliver tightly against my chest, shielding his ears from the terrifying bangs outside.

Just as I stepped into the darkness of the tunnel, the nursery doors blew inward with a deafening blast of splinters.