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Aric looped his arm around her, his fingers pressing into her hip. “That was never on the table, Rochelle.” His arm around her was unspeakably comforting.
The King recovered, composing himself quickly. “I realize this does nothing to compensate for your experiences, but I hope it will open your heart to trusting my reign moving forward.” He flicked a brief glance toward Aric. “In the event that we remain in each other’s lives in some way.”
Her heart finally kicked into gear, and Rochelle sucked in a sharp breath. “What about everyone else? What about Cecilia?”
The King’s faint, but visible, amusement faded away and he turned back to his seat. “Cecilia Rey will be punished for her crimes. I can assure you she will not be a threat moving forward.” He swept his arm over the table. “In the morning, I will make a public announcement of everything, with the exception of your origin. That truth will remain our secret. Aric has already agreed to help keep it that way. In the meantime, the least I can do before you leave my home is provide you a decent meal.”
Rochelle moved with Aric as he guided her to the seat beside his, allowed him to pull the chair out for her and tuck it in again. Only then did the smell of whatever game meat had been prepared finally reach her and remind Rochelle how truly hungry she was. Maybe a little nourishment would help her process everything the King had said.
She supposed it did, but she was barely through the potatoes when a food-souring thought made her look up. It felt wrong to initiate any kind of conversation at a table with the King, but she needed to know. If what King Jensen had implied was true, and they were being released, she needed to know immediately. So she sought out Aric’s gaze by some force of will and kept her voice hushed. “Will they resent me?”
She was operating on the assumption that Mitzi, Viveca, and Darnel would also be released. If they hadn’t been already. Whether she’d done anything deliberately to earn Cecilia’s hatred or not, Cecilia had been their dear friend and family member. It was certainly possible they’d see her as the reason their loved one had been lost. It was possible Aric would feel that way.
Aric lowered his fork and reached over, curling his hand over hers. He squeezed firmly, as if holding her in place. “No,” he said. “Cecilia is responsible for her own actions.” His brow pinched and his jaw locked for a moment.
“Go ahead,” King Jensen said. “It’s your story. I trust your judgment.”
The permissive statement distracted her focus for a second and Rochelle missed any cue that might have crossed Aric’s face before he spoke again, voice still quiet, but tighter. “Cecilia’s Inquest revealed that she did murder Trisha. On her own.”
Rochelle gasped. She honestly hadn’t expected that. She’d thought the worst-case scenario, the most likely bad twist, was that Cecilia had somehow and for some reason gotten Denham to do it. But she didn’t have to ask to understand that wasn’t what Aric meant. “Why?” She cleared her throat when she realized the word had escaped her. “Why would she have done that? Weren’t they friends?”
Aric looked down, frowning at the plate and table before him. “She was jealous,” he said. “Trisha and I had developed an attraction to each other, and we’d agreed to pursue it after graduation. Cecilia overheard that discussion, and it seems she was still sore from the time I rejected her feelings some two years prior, so she strove to keep us apart.” He paused, his hand clenching tighter to Rochelle’s as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “The Inquest revealed that though her intention was to kill Trisha, some part of her didn’t realize she was killing her friend until the action was done. So the manic grief we all saw was real, but what she was grieving was her own sense of self.”
King Jensen spoke up again when Aric finally trailed off, his voice grave and solemn. “Cecilia met Denham shortly after the incident, and he helped her destroy, and hide, the last piece of evidence they believed connected her to the crime. He also took her on as a pupil, teaching her magic geared toward deception, and sometime later they became lovers. Co-conspirators.”
Rochelle moved her free hand to cover the one Aric still had over hers. “I’m so sorry.”
He offered her a grim smile. “You are only responsible for my finding the last piece of that puzzle. Cecilia had placed a time-activated trap on the brooch, but needed help removing the remnants of her own energy from it in the aftermath. Apparently, Cecilia believed Denham had destroyed it entirely, and was surprised to see it again when I showed it to her. So we can only guess as to why Denham kept the brooch, but I wouldn’t have found it without you.” His smile eased slightly. “None of what happened is anything the others will hold against you. You didn’t turn her into the person she is.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, not when she could clearly see the ache in his eyes. He might have spoken the truth, but it hurt his heart to know that someone he had loved for years—considered one of his best friends—was directly responsible for the terrible death of someone else he’d loved. For the pain so many of them had suffered. She understood that pain, as much as she understood grief itself. Sometimes surviving seemed worse.
“As I will explain in my announcement tomorrow,” the King said after a long moment, “Cecilia and Denham were also jointly responsible for stirring up the unrest and agitation of the people. Her Inquest revealed their carefully woven lies and tactics of persuasion used to manipulate the less satisfied nobles. It will take some time, but I can smooth that all over now that I understand the root of it.” He lifted his goblet, a sad smile in his eyes. “Though it came at a cost none of us desired, once again, job well done, Sentry.”
Aric quietly offered thanks for the recognition, and the table drifted into silence. Slowly they resumed their meal, but Rochelle doubted she was the only one who struggled through it. When dinner was done, King Jensen asked Rochelle to either stay in the castle or at Aric’s estate until his envoy could arrive with her formal gift. It was hardly a difficult request, so with Aric’s consent, she agreed.
She never expected to be greeted by a visibly startled, emotional Tinsley upon her return to the Vardanyan Estate. She hadn’t been sure Tinsley showed that type of emotion. It made her feel bad for leaving the way she had, even if she still believed she’d done what she’d needed to.
“Everything is in order, sir,” Tinsley said once he’d pulled himself together. He tucked his kerchief away, suddenly the picture of composure again. “There were no incidents.”
“Good,” Aric said. He clapped a hand on Tinsley’s shoulder. “I owe you an apology, old friend. And a long weekend.”
Tinsley smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, sir. And you’ve already offered me the best apology.” He inclined his head. “Call if you need me.”
Rochelle watched him disappear around the corner with a scowl. “He’s the worst workaholic I’ve ever met.”
Aric chuckled. “He might be.” He tipped her chin up. “This is your only chance,” he said. “Your room is still open. I had Tinsley maintain it for you.”
Her breath faltered. There was so much they should really talk about, and the only thing she could think to say was, “Or?”
Aric crashed his lips to hers, tangling a hand in her hair and looping an arm around her waist as his tongue pushed into her mouth. He held her tight and close, demanding she open for him as he deepened the kiss and sucked the air from her lungs. Fire sparked in her blood and she clung to him. She felt as though she was burning by the time he eased up and found her gaze again. “Welcome home, Rochelle.”
Epilogue
Five Weeks Later
Rochelle smoothed her fingers over the fabric of the emerald green dress as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror. It was the most luxurious thing she’d ever worn, with lace across the top that grazed her collar bone and swept down her arms. The body of the dress was form-fitted silk that flattered her every curve, sweeping into wrap-around ruffles from just below her right hip that flared at her knees. There was even a part between the ruffled layers, like a slit, over her left leg. She never would have felt comfortable wearing such a thing before. It was a little surreal, with everything that had happened, to be wearing the dress Aric had taken her shopping for months earlier—the dress she’d completely forgotten about.
“You look stunning,” Aric said from behind her. He stepped into view in the mirror, his gaze drinking her in.
