Ingrid was short for a Partizan, hair black like an oil spill, and since her tantrum in Tokyo she’d not been caring for it. The strands fell in cobweb clumps over her delicate feline features. It bothered Claude immeasurably to see someone who served him looking so unkempt, shivering and red-nosed in the cold air, and he made a note to have his valet fix her appearance.

‘Come,’ he demanded, gesturing to the wooden chair on the other side of the table. ‘I want to show you something.’

She hesitated, but Claude caught it. Usually she jumped at the chance to be near him, and he knew exactly what this meant. Despite his continuing irritation with her, it was time to bring her back in, remind her why she served him. He’d learned from Saskia that it was better to let them in than keep them at a distance.

He’d always suspected Saskia would be the weak chain in their group. She was never loyal only to him. Her heart belonged to her Parisian master, and it’s precisely why he was wary of letting her in on their plans, demanding that she prove herself first.

His first clue that she’d never truly be his was her desire for payment in exchange for adhering to his list of demands, and there was always the expectation that when she had acquired the money he’d offered to lure her in, she’d leave them to run away with her girlfriend. Having factored this into his plan, he’d kept her in the dark about most of their operations, eventually deciding that the pros of having someone close to the princess outweighed the cons.

Claude hadn’t expected Saskia to turn on them so soon and was now left wondering if she might have stayed had he not alienated her from the group. Her betrayal was still a humiliating mark on Leviathan, one that he would be sure to make her pay for. He would not be making the same mistake with Ingrid.

Lifting the lid, Claude reached into the box, careful not to disturb the rest of the items, and pulled out the two new clues he intended to send his niece.

‘Do you know who this is?’ Between his fingers, Claude held out an old photograph. The colour had faded with time, yet the faces in the picture remained clear, their purpose sharp and vibrant.

Ingrid swallowed, her eyes flicking over the photo with nervous speed. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m going to send this to the princess,’ Claude explained. ‘It will be my second-to-last letter to her before the truth comes out. Do you understand why I am doing this?’

Ingrid nodded, and Claude raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to say it out loud.

‘You want to give her a chance to put things right,’ she said quickly, looking down at her lap like a petulant child.