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They both drop their heads in shame. Guilt has a way of doing that. They had one job, and it wasn’t fulfilled.
“Please forgive us, Lady Robyn,” one of them pleads, but it’s too late.
The damage is done. My father is dead. His sworn guard allowed my traitorous grandmother to murder him with ease.
I dismiss the guards with a wave of my hand.
“It isn’t the proof you were looking for, but it could be enough to call them into question,” Tristan says, hope beaming in his piercing blue eyes.
I shake my head. “We would be foolish to question them in front of the court with such little evidence. My grandmother is a slippery snake. She will play the doting, concerned mother. I can hear her now. ‘I just couldn’t sleep knowing my only son was lying there, hurting. I was helpless. I only wanted to help.’?”
“Shit. You’re right.” Tristan curses.
“Did you just curse in the presence of a lady, Sir Tristan?” My eyes narrow on him.
He scans the room before leaning forward. His hot mouth once again too close for comfort. “I don’t see a lady in this room. Only you, little bird.”
A flood of heat rushes to my core. It’s such a foreign feeling, but I think I could easily get used to it.
When they do things like this, it makes me flustered.
Makes me want to toss all the laws of the land to the side and give in to my temptations.
Because that’s what they are, my forbidden fruit.
“Stop trying to distract me, Tristan. We are at war.”
“Just wanted to lighten the mood before you go off to battle, My Lady.” He smirks, taking my hand, leading me back out to the hall.
A woman turns the corner, eyeing us closely. Tristan lets go of my hand before anyone else can see us.
The last thing I need is gossip about me and my guards. Or is that exactly what I need?
Chapter
Twelve
Robyn
We’ve wasted the last few hours, slowly stalking through the castle, looking for a clue of any kind to show me a clear path to take from here.
I have no idea what or who we are looking for, but I’m determined not to go back to my chambers empty-handed.
Information would be nice, but someone who can testify to their actions would be better. Then I can hold them accountable for their actions. Rumors and gossip have no place in court. I need something concrete.
We turn the corner, down another long, dark hall in the east wing.
Tristan slams his hand against my chest, pushing me into a doorway with a finger pressed to his lips.
I peek my head around the corner to see Mortianna step out from her chambers. She checks her surroundings before sliding a key into the hole, locking up the room. Her room.
Her hands slips into her pocket and come out empty. The grimace on her face is a permanent marking. It’s her go-to look.
She takes off, heading straight for us. I quickly decide it’s now or never.
A fake laugh bellows out of me as I tug on Tristan’s hand to follow. Stepping back into the hall, we let laughter fill the space between us.
“Oh Tristan, you are so funny,” I say with a fake smile plastered to my face.
