“The beginning?”
He nodded. “One moment—that showed you everything you needed to know about Camelot Court.”
While I racked my brain, trying to figure out what he meant, Morty turned to Kingston. “I didn’t break the rules. I didn’t tell her anything that could get her disqualified, and she needed to knowsomethingmore than the clues you three have been feeding her.”
“What—?” Kingston shook his head.
I glanced from him to Landon, whose eyes had narrowed at Morty’s accusation.
Morty scoffed, dragging his gaze over them both. “Oh, play dumb all you want.”
Landon’s hand clenched into a fist at his thigh, but before another fight broke out, I stepped between them.
Placing my hand on Morty’s shoulder, I tried to draw his eyes back to mine. “Thank you.”
Morty swiveled his gaze from Landon’s fist to my face so slowly, I flinched when he finally spoke.
“Don’t.”
He glanced out at the lake with a glassy, faraway look in his eyes, his expression cracking before hardening to stone. Beneath the sheen in his gaze, staring but not seeing, memories played out like a silent film. And when his eyes met mine, regret lingered in the dark brown depths.
“Pas de rédemption pour les redoutés.”
Chapter Five
Morty delivered his ominous words in French, shot an apologetic look in Kingston’s direction, and another filled with regret at me.
We stood there in silence, and I realized he wasn’t going to expand on that. “What does that mean?” When Morty clenched his jaw, I turned to Kingston, searching his face for answers. “What he just said—What does it mean?”
Kingston dropped his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Landon answered. “No redemption for the dreaded.”
I furrowed my brow, still no clearer on the meaning but understanding the potential tie to the Dread family for now. But I put aside the words as I took in Landon’s posture.
My White Knight stood so rigidly still, he practically vibrated with tension. The longer I watched him, the more I saw it was to keep from moving.
Or breaking apart.
Hands clenched into fists, it was like he was trying to contain everything roiling inside his body. As if everything he was had been trapped beneath a suit of armor.
Just like when I first arrived at Camelot Court.
I stepped toward him.
Wrapping one hand around his tightly clenched right fist, I stared up into his eyes and tried to pull him out of it.
But his attention locked on Kingston. “Le Redouté Vin.”
Kingston nodded while I struggled to recall where I’d heard it before. While I didn’t speak French, I’d taken enough basic Spanish in school to piece togethervinandvino.
Wine.
The other word—Redouté—had to be redemption or dreaded. I’d recognized it when Morty had spoken in French, and his use of the word gave me an idea of what it meant.
“The Dreaded Wine?”
My realization pulled their attention to me.
I stared between them, waiting for an explanation, but none came immediately. “Max’s family owns the vineyard? Where the drugged wine came from?”
