“What happened then?”
“My mother was buried in an unmarked grave, unsanctified.” His voice hardened. “Given the circumstances, my father was forgiven for the crime of killing her. The Church was able to purge the spell from his body. He married his betrothed a year later and by all accounts, they’re happy together. They live on the family estate in the Cashel province and rarely return to the capital. They have two children, a boy and a girl, teenagers now. I met them two years ago at my half-brother’s request. They seem nice.”
She tipped back her head so she could see his face. “You’re of noble blood.”
Of course he was. She should have realized it sooner.
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m a bastard, Rowan. It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s not something shameful either if you’re expecting me to be shocked by it. Most of the people in Toam are bastards of one kind or another.”
He raised one brow. “I’m not sure that’s a flattering comparison.”
“Is that why they sent you to the orphanage? To hide you away from the new wife?”
“At first, it was feared that my appearance might trigger a relapse in my father. After a while, I think it was just easier to bury the past.” He shook his head. “Not that it stayed buried. Everyone knows the story. I was at the orphanage until I turned twelve and was old enough to enter the Academy as a guard in training. It followed me there.”
“You have a terrible father.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “He gave me his name. That opened some doors. Last year, he gave me an estate. One of the family’s old summer homes where they used to stash widows and inconvenient relatives. Not much land, but the house is sound. It’s not far from here, actually.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“That mouth of yours.” His gaze dipped to her mouth for the briefest of moments.
“Tell me he’s not an asshole,” she dared him.
He smiled a flat, humorless smile. “My father is well respected by everyone in the province. His older brother, the duke, spends most of his time at the capital as an advisor to the king. My father handles the affairs of Cashel—land disputes and treaties and such. He’s said to be a fair and compassionate man.”
She just looked at him.
He shrugged. “I had high marks at the Academy, and a talent for fighting. It’s where I belonged, no matter how I got there. I am good at my job, Rowan, your mother’s case being a glaring exception.”
There was something like an appeal in his eyes as he looked at her. In the way he hesitated for a beat too long. Like he was waiting—hopeful—that she’d forgive him like her mother had. She couldn’t give him that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Even if she was starting to think he wasn’t as awful as she’d once thought.
She lowered her head back to his shoulder, burrowed deeper under the blankets. “Before the trial, I remember you told me that I could survive the scandal. This is what you were talking about, isn’t it? You were speaking from experience.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s why you decided to become a witch hunter? You blame the witch who made the love potion for your mother’s death, the loss of your home, your father.”
She didn’t know what to think about the story. She felt badly for him, for the child he’d been, his life ripped apart by adults who should have protected him. As difficult as her life had been, she’d always known her mother loved her. She was certain that would always be true, no matter what. Her mother was on her side. Casrian had been so young when his mother had chosen his father over him. His father had rejected him entirely. Casrian didn’t blame his parents though. He blamed some nameless witch who’d sold his mother a potion.
In the end, it was his mother who poisoned his father. His father’s hand holding the knife.
He traced small circles on her palm with his thumb. “I became a witch hunter because I saw the evil that witchcraft can do firsthand at a young age and I wanted to fight against it. I’m not trying to avenge myself or my mother. I believe in what I’m doing.”
“Branding women?”
“Preventing evil from spreading within the kingdom,” he said. “Keeping innocent people safe.”
Her mother had been innocent. It was on the tip of her tongue to say so, but she swallowed the words. They both knew it was the truth but hurting him with it had lost its appeal. He was sorry for what happened. She knew he was. She believed that. She didn’t need to hear him say it again. It didn’t change anything.
After a moment, he sighed and then tipped her face up. “Have I scandalized you, angel?”
“No. You tell the best bedtime stories.”
He searched her face. “Most women in the capital run away when they find out who I am.”
