CHAPTER 125
The banquet hall had fallen into silence once the last noble slipped through the great doors. The scent of roasted meat still lingered in the air, though untouched platters cooled on the tables.
Grace remained at the center of the hall. She refused to leave first. If she left in haste, it would be taken as confession, admission that she had indeed been shouting at shadows. Her shoulders squared, though every muscle beneath her robe trembled.
Mathew Sterrn lingered near, pacing at her side as if guarding her from unseen arrows. He bent closer.
"My King, we must retire. Let the hall be cleared. Do not give them more to whisper about."
Grace's jaw tightened. She kept her gaze on the heavy doors. "If I walk away now, they will say the King runs from his own ghosts."
"They already say worse," Mathew murmured.
