Chapter 44 Kieran
Kieran
The lawyers left me hours ago, without the false certainty that this trial will end in my favor. To put it bluntly, they don’t know how they’ll secure a win—not without evidence proving I’m innocent of the more heinous crimes against me.
“Another visitor,” the guard says as he opens my cell. He holds out shorter cuffs and ankle restraints. “Just a precaution, but since you’ve been more cooperative, I don’t think we’ll need to result to violence this time around.”
I scowl but let the man cuff me without a fight. “Is it the queen?” Only one of the royal family would warrant this treatment. Not even Leland got this.
“Her Majesty has granted you an audience.”
“I’m to be brought to the palace?” I ask, hoping I might catch a glance of Gen, at least the comfort of knowing she’s safe.
“Yup. They’re sure making a fuss over you. I’d say just set the gallows and be done with it, but you’re to be given a fair trial. No one will deny justice was served when you hang.”
They march me through the dark, meandering tunnels of the prison until I’m loaded into a prisoner’s wagon.
The drive is jostling and harsh as we rattle through the back alleys of Crawford, avoiding any place where a prisoner’s wagon might disrupt the pristine image the Ashcrofts work so hard to maintain.
We reach the rear of the palace, where I’m unloaded like cargo and hauled through a set of servant’s stairs.
I haven’t walked these old wooden steps in years, and the familiarity of them—of all the nights my father led me to supper or to evening entertainment with the other servants before guiding me back to our small cottage outside the palace—hits with a vividness that stings.
He’s been gone for years, and though I’ve tried to bury the painful memories of our last months together, it’s the good ones with their laughter and warmth that hurt most.
We exit into the Ashcroft family’s private floors, and I’m led to the queen’s office.
Queen Penelope doesn’t bother lifting her head from the paperwork on her desk. She simply waves me forward. The chains around my ankles clink with every step. There’s no seat for me. No polite gesture. Nothing like the previous weeks’ meetings.
“Leave us,” she says to the guards, who bow and exit. “One night in a cell and you already smell foul,” she mutters, bringing a handkerchief to her face.
“I shouldn’t have been subjected to a single night in your prison,” I retort, refusing to let her insult hang unchallenged.
At last she meets my gaze, eyes tight above the handkerchief. “Your first mistake was coming back. I told you never to return. Whether you thought it was Genny telling you or not makes little difference. You weren’t wanted here.”
I don’t let my emotions show, knowing she caused my grief and pain all those years ago. She deserves none of it.
“Your second mistake was meddling with Princess Genevieve. She’s above you in both station and comportment.
You never deserved her, and I’ll be damned if I see my daughter married to a redblood servant.
Oh—wait. That’s right. A blueblood. A deceiving, malicious blueblood with intent to destroy the crown. ”
I say nothing. She’s wrong about many things, but she’s right about one: Gen is better than me in every way. If she offered me even a fraction of her heart, I’d worship the ground she walks on.
“You’re known as a redblood, and that blue blood of yours will work against you in the trial.
I know you and Prince Leland are scheming—even trying to involve Genny.
Stop it. I have enough evidence against you that no lawyer on the continent could clear your name.
In three days’ time I’ll be rid of you.”
I meet her harsh gaze. “If you were so certain of your evidence, you wouldn’t feel the need to tell me any of this.”
She laughs. “I’m telling you to give up. You’re beat. You’ll be the one ruined—not Genevieve.”
A small part of me fractures, knowing the odds are against me. Getting out of this alive is unlikely, but I won’t show that to this woman. The last thing I want is for her to see my true feelings.
“If that’s all, I’d prefer to return to my cell,” I say, turning my back to her.
“You won’t see her again! I’m making sure of it!” the queen shouts as I reach the door, thumping my arm against the barred frame.
It will be far too soon if I ever have to see Penelope Ashcroft again.