I sat across from Marcus Wilkerson in my study, watching the royal court official squirm under my gaze. The man's face revealed his discomfort despite his attempts at maintaining composure. Good. He should be uncomfortable.
"Master Wilkerson," I said, my voice deliberately measured, "let me be perfectly clear. Lady Beatrix Beaumont will be transferred to royal custody only when I'm satisfied that justice for my wife is complete."
Marcus shifted in his chair. "His Majesty insists—"
"His Majesty understands far more than you give him credit for," I cut in. "I've already discussed this matter with Theron personally."
That wasn't entirely true, but I knew my friend well enough to predict his reaction. Marcus didn't need to know the details of my relationship with the King.
"What exactly are you proposing, Your Grace?" Marcus asked, resignation creeping into his voice.
