Chapter 19: Clouds Before the Sun

Wyndham, 1 and a Half Months Later

The first winter snows, harsh and biting, had now given way to somewhat more measured weather, the snowy days now mixing at times with a cold rain that never quite froze in the daylight. It had spoiled the pristine quality of the snow-covered ground and made it a sodden, sometimes frozen mess that was at times treacherous to go out in if one was not careful.

It was a stark, depressing reflection of the current situation, Daniel thought as he watched the on-again, off-again rain that made today so gray. He sighed quietly as he turned away from the window of the White Phoenix's barracks. It was official, now. They were noblemen and women of the realm of Midland, with all the rights and duties that came with it. He'd been informed that he was the local lord of some spit of land to the north that focused on ore mining in the hills and mountains only a few days ago and that it was ready for his review as he so desired.

But it all felt so… hollow. It was a feeling that none of the commanders of the former Band of the Falcon could escape. Not even Corkus, so haughty as he had been in the days after the departure and especially on the day that they had been raised to the peerage, could fully escape the strange sensation that had come with the absence of Guts.

Daniel took a deep breath. 'It's good for him.' he mused as he stood from his seat by the window, ready to find something else to do. 'He'll find his purpose out there. Or at least the start of it.'

Then, there was a knock at the door, Daniel's focus drawn to the present place from his reverie. "Come in."

The door opened, and Daniel found himself somewhat surprised to see Griffith stepping through. It was the first time since the ceremony 2 weeks ago that he'd seen him. And he'd only seen him once before that. "Lord Griffith? Can I help you?"

Griffith took a deep, weary breath as he closed the door, looking at Daniel with eyes that, while skilled at deception, could not help but betray his exhaustion to Daniel. "I have some questions that I must ask you," Griffith said as he took a seat in one of the open chairs next to the writing desk that had been moved into his room without him asking for it.

"What might those be?" Daniel took a seat himself.

"Guts…" the first word, even without all other context, told Daniel everything he needed to know. "Did he speak to you about leaving the Band of the Falcon?"

Daniel considered the question for a silent moment. Here was a chance to try and steer things. One that he'd been looking for for what felt like ages now. "To some extent or another, yes. Since he's met you, he's become more and more concerned about not being looked down on by you. He sees you as someone he wants to be a friend to. Something greater than he already was."

"But he was already useful," Griffith said, his look uncharacteristically puzzled. "He was a vital part of all my plans."

"Yes," Daniel admitted. "But it's only human to want to be something more than a tool. You and your friendly company with him inspired him in a way that I don't think I ever fully could as a parent."

Griffith still seemed puzzled. "He had a place in the Band of the Falcon. He had a place at my side. Could he not find his dream here, with us?"

"I will tell you what I told him that day. That every man's path must diverge from those he cares about at some point, in some way. It is the only way for one to control their destiny, their dream, after all."

Again, it was silent as Griffith took in the words, an implacable expression allowing Daniel to see little more than the gleam of continued confusion in his eyes. "Destiny can only be controlled by so many." Griffith surmised quietly. "We see that here in Midland, and I have seen that in every nation that I have traveled to with the Band. The only chance to control one's life is here."

"Is that really so?" Daniel ventured. "Were you not the masters of your destiny, able to take your pay from whomever you so pleased, when we were but mercenaries?"

"Mercenaries depend on the generosity or necessity of others to survive." Griffith countered. "Even the other nobles here require fealty to the king of this land. There is only one way to truly control one's life in this place that I know of."

"Even the king requires the bounty of his lands, the loyalty of those around him, to ensure his place as the ruler of this kingdom. After all, did nobility save the queen from the flames of her tower?"

Griffith's gaze darted up at him for a moment, and Daniel held a level expression as he wondered what might have been given away, if anything, of that night.

Finally, Daniel continued. "In fact, I would even hazard to say that, in some form or another, Guts is more free than any of us here. He simply pursues his dream, his desire to be your friend, without restraint or enforced direction. He has no one, not even me, to tell him where he must go. Only he decides what he will, now."

Griffith looked down at the floor, and Daniel accepted the long, calm silence as it stretched on. Finally, Griffith stood. "I see," he said quietly. "Thank you for… enlightening me."

With that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving Daniel alone once again. He wondered if his words, far more than his strength of arms, might have helped Griffith stray a little from the path his story dictated he should wander to.

He wondered if such help for Griffith was even possible now.

. . .

Far, far away from such worries, Guts sat down on a felled tree, doing his best to piece together a fire to combat the cold night. He'd been walking for… a while, now. Going from town to town, doing small things to keep himself fed. But none of that had brought him much closer to what he was looking for.

The night, like most of them had been thus far thankfully, was lit up as Guts tended to the nascent fire, watching as it grew. His sword and pack rested at his side as he watched, calmed by the flickering, crackling flames.

A rustle of the branches behind him sent his heart racing as he grabbed for his sword, turning back to see… the shadow of a wolf darting away from the firelight.

He took a deep breath, his hand slipping from the hilt of his sword only after long moments. 'What's got me so scared?' he mused. 'It's not like I've never seen a wolf before.'

He pondered on the thought for a moment. 'But it is the first time I've acted largely on my own… ever. It's still weird.'

He looked up at a gap in the treetops, out into the night sky. 'I forgot the night was this dark. This deep. Ever since that time when we started wandering.'

Those harsh, early days in the aftermath of their leaving the Thunderbolts were stuck in his mind now. How they contrasted with those days surrounded by Falcons. 'Am I throwing something away I can't get back?'

He reached out to the fire. 'There'll be time to think about that later. Right now, isn't it enough that I'm warm?'

Even still, he felt that creeping, nagging doubt as he looked around the silent forest after long moments contemplating the question. 'Am I just throwing away some irreplaceable today for a vague tomorrow I might not even see? If it even exists at all? Even without some big dream, people just… keep on living. Daniel, with that simple dream, just… keeps on living.'

'Am I even out here because I wanted to be?'

Guts mused as the fire began to die down, the man reaching for a stick to break into kindling. 'All this happened because of what Griffith said that night. So can I really say I struck out and left of my own will?'

He contemplated the man he hoped to become equal to. Who had barred his way in what he now realized was fear. Not a jagged, terrified one, at first. But a fear nonetheless.

Corkus' words flashed through his memory for a moment. "You can never become like Griffith."

'That's not today anymore, though.' Guts thought. 'That's the past. I've made my choice.'

Then, as a mist began to creep across his little camp, vine-like tendrils crawling and writing around him, Guts felt something behind him. Something… monstrous.

Quickly, he took up his sword, turning to stand and facing…an empty forest. 'What is that? Bloodthirst? Sheer power? Wait a minute… I remember this.'

He remembered Zodd. He remembered Wyald, all those years ago. 'That savagery that clings to your skin… could it be?'

Then, he felt the crushing weight of some vast power behind him, Guts almost able to see the eyes that bored into the back of his skull. 'How did it get behind me?' he wondered. 'He was just in front of me.'

He trembled slightly as his mind, a somewhat jumbled mess, tried to sort out a way to strike. 'If I move, it almost feels like I'll die. But if I do this right…'

After resolving what he was going to do, he pivoted on his back foot, ducking as he swung his sword at the legs of…

Nothing. The only thing that seemed affected was his guttering fire. The mist now seemed to smother the world around him, anything past the immediate trees surrounding him having vanished into the sea of fog.

Then… something emerged from the shallow end of a misty wave. A shadow, a shape… a skull.

The rest of the figure, and the massive horse that it rode on, emerged fully into the lonely light of the fire, revealing a similarly skeletal armor, with strange, thorny shapes for the shoulder guards, from which a dark cape flowed, and the gambeson, a smoothly sloped tall collar with those same thorns that adorned his shoulders and ringed the skull-like helmet like a crown.

'Who the hell are you?' Guts wondered at the strange being. 'And how did you make me misread where you are twice?'

The air was thick with tension, a feeling of unease stretching with the silence between them that seemed to engulf… everything.

"So," the figure finally said, his voice echoing and booming as though it came from deep within the armor he wore, "the gears have indeed begun to turn."

'What the hell does that even mean?' Guts wondered.

"You. Struggler. Take heed." the figure once again spoke, his tone one of proclamation. "One year hence shall be the time of the Eclipse. You and your friends, those of ephemeral flesh, and that unkingly half of yours. All will be gathered then in their place. A torrent of madness, a tempest of death and the rending of flesh, from which no body can atone, will sweep over you all."

"But… be warned, struggler." the skeletal knight seemed to hesitate for a moment. "There are other forces that intrude upon this world."

Guts finally seeming to get his wits about him, shook his head slightly. "What do you mean? Who the hell are you, even?"

It was silent again for a moment, as if the knight had not expected him to speak. "Foes beyond the ken of the Apostles, or any being of this world, mortal or otherwise, have I slain. Many are tainted with a fire, a flame that chars the mind even as it burns the body. A Flame of Frenzy, they call it before they perish."

"That still doesn't tell me what you are." Guts said challengingly.

"Take heed, struggler!" the knight continued. "You are one born from a corpse, having taken your first breath in entrails. You are closer to death than any in this world. You excel in escaping it. Struggle, contend, persevere! For that is the sword of one who confronts death. Never forget this."

With that, the knight began to turn away, Guts, incredibly, taking a step after him. "Who the hell are you?" he shouted.

The knight only paused to look at him again. "In the abyss of despair, only he who stands with a broken sword… perhaps…"

Then, the knight fully turned his horse, and walked away, disappearing into the night as the mist began to clear from the campsite. Guts watched intently, looking around him before walking slowly over to where the knight had stood. 'Was that an illusion? Am I going crazy already?'

Then he came to a stop as he looked upon, imprinted in the still somewhat damp dirt, the form of a horseshoe.'No.' he realized. 'That Skeleton Knight… he was real.'

He didn't know what any of what the knight had said meant. But with how closely it sounded like Zodd…

. . .

The rumble of thunder that hummed through the barracks' stone walls made Daniel uneasy, even in present company. But, with all his experience, he hid it well.

"So, Rickert," he said over a largely quiet meal, "heard anything new from your more reputable sources?"

"Not much that would probably interest you," Rickert admitted, "but with soldiers coming back from the front and cycling through the capital, I've heard some things that sound… well, kind of weird."

"Kinda weird seems to be what most soldiers like to share," Corkus said from a table over. "Especially when it looks like Zodd."

He said the name quickly as if wanting to cast it away. It seemed that the encounter had stuck with him even still. Daniel returned his focus back to Rickert, who ate next to Judeau and Pippin. "Well, don't leave us in suspense. What strange sights have Midland's soldiers seen now?"

Rickert leaned on the table, his usual excited gleam in his eyes. "Well, the weirdest one I've heard so far was from a bunch of soldiers making sure an abandoned fort was cleared of any traps. They swear up and down that they ran into these… living jars with wax on their tops, walking towards them and smacking them with arms and legs of hardened clay."

"They must be nuts, then," Corkus once again interjected from his table.

"That does seem a little far-fetched," Judeau admitted.

"That's not even the craziest part!" Rickert said emphatically. "They said once they shattered them, blood and guts spilled out of them. I don't know if these guys should be swinging swords around anymore, but there's enough of them that say they saw them and destroyed them that people are noticing."

"Living jars…" Daniel pondered, looking over at Anna and Casca, who ate with them. "Well, compared to Zodd, that sounds downright tame."

"They do, don't they?" Anna said, chewing thoughtfully. Unbidden as it usually was, Daniel wondered what happened with all the food she ate, and decided he didn't need to find out any time soon.

"There's also been talk of some new knights roaming around." Rickert continued. "Whatever they are, they aren't Tudors."

'More Nox?' Daniel wasn't even sure how the Nox had made it from their Echo of origin in the Lands Between into this one in the first place. From what he could tell from Anaa'ri's memory, the Echoes were barely even brushing against each other, let alone merged to such an extent as to allow visitors.

Theorycrafting for another time. "What kind of knights?" Daniel asked.

"Well, there's two kinds a bunch of patrols have seen prowling around." Rickert began. "One is tall and slim, carrying these curved swords and shields most of the time. They have these little golden crowns on their heads. The others are more… beastly. Jumping at things like dogs even in full armor, wielding just a longsword."

"Huh," Daniel said quietly. They sounded so familiar. And yet… "Was there anything else about them?"

"Well," Rickert said, "the soldiers that came across them always swore it was colder around them, even in the dead of a snowy night. The beastly ones even looked like frost and snow was coming off of them."

It clicked, and old memories, old fears and hatreds, gripped Daniel's heart. "Pontiff Sulyvahn's…" he whispered aloud without realizing.

"Who?" Pippin asked, and Daniel had to stop himself from jumping slightly.

"No one worth mentioning, really," Daniel replied. "It's just strange that his forces are around when they shouldn't even exist here. Anymore, at least."

The table was silent, and even Corkus was looking at Daniel curiously. He kept a somewhat curious, confused expression on his face as he dealt with the burning anger that warmed his entire body, almost seeming physical as it threatened to consume him. 'Damn you, Sulyvahn. Damn you! No running from you or skulking by this time. If you're really here, this time, you're mine, and you're dead.'

Then, he saw a soldier enter the room. Several people, including most of the command staff, looked over at him. They were the only ones who still did anymore. And, as always, the soldier had a confused, disheartened look on his face.

No one had seen Griffith exit his rather opulent room since he'd talked with Daniel nearly 2 and a half weeks ago. They'd started taking his food up to him just to see him but to little avail. He'd only open the door after someone had walked away, taking the meal and shutting it without a word.

The soldier began to speak softly to his companions, and Casca looked over at Daniel with a heavy sigh. "I wish Guts was still here," she said softly. "Then… maybe Griffith would still be alright."

Daniel regarded Casca intently. "Griffith simply needs to be patient. Guts will come back, and I think that he'll find that not as much has changed as one might expect."

"How can you be so sure?" Casca asked him. It was not the first time that she had asked him that question. Each time afterward, it had become less and less acerbic.

"Because sometimes, all you need is a reminder of why you do what you do," Daniel said assuredly. "Sometimes, the dream you're trying to find is just a part of what you've already done."

"Have you always been so damn cryptic?" Corkus interjected. "He ran off, and he's probably not coming back. Why keep worrying about him so much?"

"Because then what does Griffith's promise to us mean?" Casca said challengingly. "'A Falcon will always be such'. That's what he's promised all of us. Even with this, do you think he'd go back on it?"

"He's not what he once was."

The words barely registered for a moment before all turned to a random soldier, one who was next to the man who had taken Griffith his dinner. "And he's getting worse as time goes on. Garith here stuck around for 10 minutes waiting for the door to open. It never did. He went back, never even heard a sound."

Casca stood, then Daniel, the commanding officers of the Falcons all making a quick march towards the room of their general. Casca reached the door first, opening it and stepping over the still untouched food to find the massive, well-furnished room… empty.

"Where could he have gone?" Rickert asked as they spread out. "Maybe out the back door?"

"Someone would have seen him," Judeau said, his brow furled in confusion.

Daniel walked over to one of the windows and saw that it was unlatched, just a little ajar from its frame. He pushed it open gently, allowing the quiet hiss of rain to become the driving downpour that it actually was.

Daniel's jaw clenched as the others began to gather around him, all of them looking at the tree that was next to the window. "Did he… climb down?" Corkus said incredulously. "In this torrent?"

"It's the only plausible explanation for why this window would be open now, of all times," Daniel said. He'd wondered if this day would come. He dreaded what was sure to come next.

. . .

Across the city, watching from an equally opulent room, Princess Charlotte watched the rain pouring and hoped that Griffith was well. It had been so long since she'd seen him… anywhere. That pillar of stability, the light in the darkness he'd become after her family had been so ravaged in the last few years… she found more and more that she needed it.

"Your Highness?" one of her chambermaids said. "Come retire to your bed, at least. We would hate for you to catch a cold."

"I'll be along soon," Charlotte said. "You're dismissed for the day."

The two maids nodded, and as they retreated, Charlotte continued to watch the driving rain, flashes of lightning peeling away the darkness or brief moments before the blanket of shadows fell again with the thunder's rumbling crash.

Then the lightning flashed again, and Charlotte's eyes went wide as she saw a sight that seemed impossible. Hanging in the branches, looking in at her, was Griffith.

She gasped softly, putting a hand over her mouth as she glanced at the door, hoping her maids hadn't heard. After a moment of shock, she went to the window, unlatching and opening it. "Lord Griffith! What are you doing out in this deluge? And at this hour?"

"Good evening, my lady," Griffith said calmly.

"If anyone saw you here like this at this hour, alone at that…" Charlotte began to say.

"It thus stands to reason that, if someone were to see me in this position, it would tarnish your honor as well," Griffith said. "So, may I come in?"

Charlotte hesitated for a moment. Griffith took the moment to slip in. "Your pardon," he said as he stepped inside, closing the window behind him.

"Do forgive me for dripping so much water into your quarters," Griffith said. "And for visiting at such a late hour."

Before he could continue, he found himself almost bowled over by Charlotte as she embraced him tightly, unconcerned with his soaked clothes as her tears joined the rain within them. "I've missed you," she said quietly. "Ever since that attempt on your life, the Queen dying… everything's been in chaos. It's been so long since I've seen you, and I've been so… alone."

She shook her head. "Why have you waited all this time to come see me?"

Griffith said nothing, simply looking down at her as she looked up at him. Then, he pressed her closer to him, her quiet gasp stifled by his lips locking with hers. They stood there silently for a moment before she began to pull away.

She managed it, a startled look on her face. "Griffith, wait…"

"Please."

It was such a simple word. One that Charlotte had heard all her life. But coming from someone such as she knew Griffith to be, tinged with such desperation…

The next she knew, she was walking back, falling back onto her bed. Griffith loomed over her, his eyes boring into hers. "Are you afraid?" he whispered.

She was shuddering, unable to do anything as he drew slowly closer. "Take everything that frightens or saddens you," he said as she felt his hand, cold and slightly trembling, begin to hitch up her dress, "and cast them into the fire."

Slowly, unsurely, Charlotte fell into Griffith, baring herself in this most fundamental way for the first time… ever.

. . .

The night grew long, and those in the White Phoenix Knights barracks felt the passing of the time in agonizing fashion. The commanding officers sat around a table in a now empty mess hall, silent as the rain continued to drum at the stone halls and shadowed windows.

"Where could he have gone in this sort of storm?" Judeau finally asked.

"Whre's 'ven close?" Corkus slurred, having not let go of a bottle for longer than it took to grab the next. "'S not like he would go n' train or sumthn. He's not like that bastard Guts."

His eyes, hazy though they were, slowly managed to focus on Daniel, who regarded him with a largely level stare. "He wuldn't be like this if it wasn't for your damn kid getting shit stuffed into his head. Maybe it's your…"

Before Corkus could continue, Daniel's hand flashed out to the man's collar, standing as he dragged the still rather thin man to his feet. The silence that fell across the room was tense, and it wasn't long before everyone else was on their feet.

"The past is," Daniel said calmly, quietly, to a clearly rattled Corkus. "Now, it is up to you to decide what the future will look like, in your own little way."

Corkus' jaw clenched silently, then he finally shook his head. "Can y' just let me finish my beer before I decide?"

Daniel took a deep breath and released him, walking away as he shook his head. "Something's coming. I can feel it in my bones. My very soul. If Griffith doesn't make it back soon…"

He couldn't say. So much as he wanted to.

He walked out from the mess hall, making his way to somewhere… different, wherever that might be. As he opened the door before him, however, he came into a remarkably different room than his. He paused at the door, what light could pass from behind him making the chestplate and broken blade upon it gleam.

Daniel took a deep breath as he stepped in slowly, pausing before the table and drawing a finger across the fuller of the blade. So much of what would come did rest on Guts' decision to leave, it was true. A part of him wondered…

"You miss him too."

Daniel looked back to see Casca standing in the doorway, who walked in slowly as she placed a candle in the holder by the door. "If he hadn't left… would all this be what it is?"

"To some extent," Daniel admitted as Casca entered fully, coming to Daniel's side as they both regarded what was left behind of the man for them. "But his destiny was always his to determine by then. Even if I didn't want him to finally find out who he was for himself, I wouldn't have been able to stop him."

'Even if it meant saving the lives of everyone here?' a part of him whispered soundlessly as Casca brushed her fingers across the broken sword, picking it up and beginning to clutch it to her chest. 'Even if it meant he might not be able to stand up to what now inevitably comes next?'

'I would protect him.'

He clenched his jaw. 'I always have. And I always will.'

'Right up until you can't.'

He did his best to turn away from that line of thought as he looked over at Casca, who, somewhat surprisingly, looked at him somewhat expectantly. "So," she asked quietly, "you're really sure he'll come back?"

Daniel nodded slowly. "Yes. He cares about us too much to leave us forever." he paused, then smiled slightly. "He cares about you more than he cares to admit."

Casca was silent even as she blushed slightly. "Then why did he go?" she whispered.

It was silent between them for a moment. "Because he wants to be worthy of you as much as he wants to be worthy of Griffith."

Again, it was silent, save for the slightly slackening rain.

. . .

He couldn't get him out of his head.

It didn't matter what he did, what position he took, what pliant pleasure he extracted from the heir of an entire kingdom… Griffith couldn't stop thinking about him. Him.

That night when everything had come together, when everyone against him had been cleared away from his path. "So, why start doubting now, of all times?"

That morning when everything had fallen apart. When he'd had proven how far he'd come… and walked away. "Take care."

The words pounded in his head in time with his heart, mixing with feelings he'd never been able to figure out since that fateful day when they had met. A part of him, its whisper lost in the maelstrom of heat and sweat and passion, urged him to be careful, to ensure that no handmaiden might wander over to the door and find them out. But such a seemingly trifling thing didn't matter when he had some semblance of control again. This choice was his, and she was his.

Finally, though, they were both spent. Charlotte sprawled on the sweat-soaked sheets, quickly slipping into sleep. Griffith remained alone in his wakefulness, staring into the fire as tears still welled in his eyes, eyes that had tried to focus on this moment of sublime dominion. Eyes that could only see Guts. Could only see him walking away.

He curled into himself, spent and alone on a battlefield he had seemingly no hope of conquering.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, stewing in his mind's chaos, but eventually, he began to see the light of dawn begin to make its way through the windows. He dressed as quietly as possibly could and slipped out into the fog-wreathed day.

Finally, as Griffith crept out of the castle ground and the day grew steadily brighter, Charlotte slowly stirred and stretched. She found no other body, warm and inviting, waiting for her. "Griffith…"

As she sat up in bed, she found something else, small and familiar. Her hand clasped around the lodestone necklace she had given as a gift to Griffith. "Griffith…"

As she shifted, she winced in pain, lifting the sheets to see blood on them. Blood that could only have been hers.

'Oh, no…' Charlotte thought, her mind whirling as she tried to come up with some suitable explanation.

Heedless of Charlotte's plight, Griffith clambered the last wall in his way, dropping to the misty ground as he looked around him. The mist began to part, one person approaching. Then another, then several more. All were palace guards, and all leveled their pikes at him.

Then, from behind the hedge of blades, a somewhat better-armored man stepped through. The captain of these guards, most likely. "Lord Griffith. I must admit, I find it strange to see you around here at this early hour." the man said rather airily.

Griffith, on instinct, reached for his belt. An empty belt. "There's been a break-in of the castle, near Princess Charlotte's quarters. At the moment, my lord, you happen to be the prime suspect. Therefore, until we can ascertain the truth, we will have to take you into custody. Guards, take him away!"

As Griffith began to be led away, there was some small part of him that knew it was over. But this had been his choice. He had taken control of a life again, for a fleeting moment.

. . .

King Adamar strode down the hall, a cluster of followers trailing behind him. One of them had been speaking all this time. "My lord, I must urge you to remain calm. There is no need to completely trust the word of one novice handmaiden. I am sure Princess Charlotte has some sort of explanation for what might have been seen."

Adamar opened the doors to his daughter's stately room and saw Charlotte rise. "Father!" Charlotte said. "I must ask what has you bursting in so early in the morning."

Adamar simply looked around the room, spotting first the slightly opened window, then the slight puddles of water leading over to Charlotte's bed. "Did your window come unlatched last night?" he asked, his tone purposefully level.

"Well," Charlotte said bashfully as she threw the sheets aside and slightly stumbled out of bed, "I saw this poor, pitiful cat on the tree outside. I tried to bring it in and have one of the handmaids warm it up, but it scampered away."

Adamar nodded, then glanced over at the sheets. Blood. "And why is there blood on your sheets?"

Charlotte blushed slightly. "Well, it is that time of the month. I hitched up my nightgown to combat the heat and forgot I hadn't put a rag on. Really, Father, must you ask such embarrassing questions?"

Adamar blushed slightly himself. It was… a decent enough story. But there was one more way to confirm the story that the frantic handmaid had told him. "That is well enough, I must guess. However, the palace guards apprehended Lord Griffith for trespassing. Apparently, there was a break-in and he may have been involved."

Charlotte's eyes went wide and a hand went to an open mouth. "How could that be the case when Lord Griffith was-"

She paused, going pale, and Adamar's jaw clenched. "Where was he, Charlotte?" he asked softly, dangerously.

She blushed silently, and it was all the confirmation that Adamar needed. "So the handmaid's tale is true. That man Griffith stole into your chambers and took advantage of you."

His heart and head were pounding now, a rage he hadn't felt since his days on the battlefield muffling Charlotte's cries as he turned and stalked towards the dungeons. He had punishment to mete out.