CHAPTER 126
Grace walked through the stone corridors, her robe brushing softly against the cold floor. The murmurs from the council chamber still clung to her ears. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the torches themselves leaned in to judge her.
She entered her chamber and shut the door behind her with more force than intended. The silence pressed in. For a long moment, she stood with her hands pressed against the wooden frame, her breaths slow and deliberate.
"They believe me," she whispered, then shook her head. "No, they only feared me."
Her eyes drifted to the study desk where Quicke's brown jotter still lay open. She traced her fingers along the edge of the parchment, her thoughts swirling. The council had been silenced, yes, but silence was not loyalty. It was the pause before another storm.
Grace seated herself slowly, hands clasped together. "Robert," she muttered, almost afraid of her own voice. "If you still linger, what more do you want from me?"
