CHAPTER 117
Grace had not slept. The candles in her chamber had burned to nothing, leaving hardened wax across the table, yet she remained seated, her eyes fixed on the window. The courtyard below stirred with life as dawn stretched across the stones, but she felt no sense of morning.
Robert's figure had been clear, too clear. She could still trace the outline of his shoulders, the scars across his jaw, the way he stood silent, judging her.
A knock sounded. She did not answer at first, but the door opened, and Mathew Sterrn entered, his face lined from the long hours he had spent away.
"You haven't rested," he said.
Grace did not look at him. "Rest is no longer loyal to me."
Mathew set down another bundle of parchment. "Then at least read this. The threads are tightening."
Her gaze finally shifted. "Tell me."
