The silence that followed was absolute. Lucian stared at her, the cup forgotten in his hand.
"What are you saying?"
"Exactly what you heard." Rosaline turned to face him fully. The loving-wife mask was gone. In its place stood something harder, sharper, forged in the long months of watching her husband pine for another. "Simon will be gone. From your service. From this castle. From your life. I have already set the pieces in motion. Accidents happen to commoners more easily than you think. Rumors travel faster than truth. And if the right ears hear the right stories… well. The king has little patience for scribes who overstep their place, let alone squires who forget theirs."
Lucian's face drained of color. He set the cup down hard enough that the wine spilled across the wood. "You cannot—"
