CHAPTER 119
The palace had grown quiet, but it was not the peaceful kind of quiet. It was the kind that came after a storm, where the air still carried a charge and every whisper seemed heavier than it should. Grace walked the corridor with her head lifted, though she knew the guards behind her were speaking in hushed tones. They thought she could not hear, but she caught fragments: the King shouted in the hall.
Her steps slowed for a moment. She wanted to turn, to demand silence, but she pressed on. Power did not come from arguments in corridors; it came from walking as though nothing could touch her.
Inside her chamber, the fire was burning low. Grace stood before it, letting the warmth lick at her skin though her body was cold. She thought of Robert again, Robert with his quick tongue and quicker betrayals. Gone, yes. But not entirely. He had appeared again. He had stood there, silent, only watching, and her voice had broken out without control.
