“So you think the curse is not a curse?” Countess Everly says softly.
“No, I don’t.” I can feel their eyes burning into my skin. Everyone is watching me, judging me by my words.
Refusing to let their scrutiny unnerve me, I run my fingers through my hair and stare back. But they seem to be more nervous than I am. The lot of them twitch in their seats as they think about the option. A few clearly already dismissing it.
“It’s important that this thought doesn’t leave this room.” I have to repeat it. If this got out, we could be facing more than just a small rebellion trying to overrun the castle. We would be facing an entire country gone mad. Enemies would break down our borders at a chance to claim the kingdom who poisoned themselves from the inside out.
I won't let that happen to this kingdom or to my King.
I turn my attention toward Bartley, who still stares at the flower. His slender, sunken face is slack with worry twinkling in his ocean-blue eyes.
“Sir Bartley Joveth.” As I speak, he slowly lifts his gaze to mine, his hand falling away from his mouth. “Who appointed your daughter as the castle healer?”
Sir Bartley’s worry twists into outrage as he glares right back at me with as much menace as I assume he can muster.
“Your fiancé. My King,” he hisses. “And he kept her there even after he embarrassed her, because he knew she was a valuable asset to the kingdom.”
“You mean a liability.” I give him my best, most endearing grin.
Eat shit, asshat.
The snark earns me a somehow narrower and more pointed dirty look. Not that I care, because I’m sure he is just as terrible as his nasty daughter.
“I want her history. Where is her mother? Who are her friends? Where would she go if she were to leave here?”
I close the space between us, keeping my chin held high as I look down my nose at him.
“Wait.” Marken holds up one leather-gloved hand. “You’re asking about Aisha? Your previous lady in waiting?” Confusion wrinkles his forehead, making him look more aged than the grey in his hair.
“What does Aisha have to do with this flower?” Jesting taps a finger to his clean-shaven chin.
Miranda sighs heavily, resting his head atop a fist as he waits for our company to put two and two together.
“You’re suggesting that Aisha is poisoning people?” Marken’s light green eyes light up as he processes the thoughts.
“She already confessed to poisoning Donovan,” I start.
Everly brings her hand, heavy in expensive rings, up to her mouth in surprise. I turn away to suppress the urge to punch the dramatic woman in the vagina.
“And she tried to poison me.”
This time, Everly leans herself back into her husband, fanning herself like she’s sitting under the sun in a billion-degree desert.
And you think I’m a drama queen.I say to Iri.
“You watch yourself with accusations like that!” Sir Bartley wags a boney finger toward me, his entire face red.
Iri stands up from where he has been quietly watching, letting his presence be known. Bartley snarls and leans back into his chair.
“How am I supposed to believe any of this?” Bartley throws his hands up in the air. “My daughter is missing. I’m worried sick about her. And now... now you want to label her a murderer.”
Well, because she is, but whatever.
“She could be dying out there alone,” he continues. “She was raised a proper girl. She doesn’t know how to fend for herself.”
Chaplain folds his hands and brings them up to his face, whispering a prayer into his hands. “May Goddess Celeste cover her.”
May Goddess Nature strike her down hard.I counter internally.
