Yes.
Murder was a crime among his people, too, a truth I reminded myself of far too often. If he had killed someone, then what did that have to do with all the people in the city? The truth had to be linked to his estate.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked, pulling me clean out of my thoughts.
“What?” I replied too quickly. “I am not.”
His eyes swept over me as though he could sift through my mind. “I can hear your pulse.”
I frowned at him. “You cannot.” We were nowhere near close enough for him to hear anything of the sort, even in the quiet of the room.
“Am I wrong?” he said with a faint smirk, a deliberate little provocation that only pushed my pulse higher. “Why are you nervous?”
“What crime did you commit?” The words escaped me before I could steady myself. I forced my tone into something calm. “You mentioned your sentence, but I never asked why you were given it.”
He leaned back in his chair, his chin dipping as the earlier smile slipped away.
“Are you afraid?” he asked, searching my face.
I didn’t want to admit it, and whatever he gleaned from my silence, he didn’t seem to like it.
I started to rise from the couch. “I think I’ll—”
“Wait,” he said pointedly. “Sit.”
For a moment, I debated leaving. But there was never a situation in my life that I willingly chose ignorance.
I sank back into the couch.
“What happened is common knowledge. You could have asked the staff if you wanted.” His hands settled on the armrests. “I was sentenced for negligent conduct as a ruler,” he said, the admission dry, unadorned.
It wasn’t enough to soothe my quickened pulse. I hoped he might remain civil enough to offer more.
“What did you do?”
Reagan exhaled heavily. “I suspected you would ask eventually, being bound to someone you barely know.”
I stayed silent, watching his gaze drift past me toward the window.
“Negligent conduct means I didn’t fulfil my obligations as Lord of Mountheim and an...incident occurred. It was bad enough that, for two years, the estate survived only because of the staff. Cerridwen and Barracus.”
“Why did you neglect the estate?” I asked.
He paused, clearly reluctant. “Why would a fifteen-year-old, who didn’t want his uncle as regent but had no other options, also not want to rule?” He laughed low. “I didn’t take it well when my parents were murdered.”
I swallowed at the blunt admission, but didn’t speak.
“This was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to track down my parents’ murderer and make them pay. Slowly. But six years ago, I was away from the estate for three months, and Judge Malory, the magister you met, summoned me to Court. She told me torelinquish my title and leave Mountheim Hall so the next in line could take my place.”
His jaw clenched for a heartbeat, hard eyes still on the window. “I refused, and had a very poor moment of judgement when I might have frightened some of the staff. I made a mess, tore apart Malory’s chamber, the hallways, and the tiles on the walls. I thought it was unfair that I was punished.” His mouth twitched as if he found the memory almost laughable. “When she noticed the power I was clearly not careful about wielding, I thought she would send me to Pavilion. But instead, she passed her sentence.”
“She took into account my years of negligence and decided to call in Fate to judge me. Fates are rarely merciful, so it rippled across the estate. That is why my people have those features, why I turn, why the farms fail no matter what we do.”
He returned his attention to me.
“So that is it. Now you know.”
“Does your sentence also cause the attacks?” I asked softly.
